#so i take hammer and fix the canon

[borealtwilight]

why yes, i don’t ascribe to every aspect of halo canon. why do you ask?

and no, i don’t just refer to game canon ( see: halo 5, halo infinite ), but canon that comes from the novels or other tie-in media ( such as the lore books )

[howldean]

.

[midnight-in-paris9]

Thats it.

I’m rewriting the Teen Wolf Movie.

[untitledgoosegay]

re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis

[thought--bubble]

To Punish My Darling

Canon Aemond (Dark) X (Maid Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 3,375

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Based off THIS request

Warnings: Child labor, Arranged Marriage, Execution, Dub-con, Smut. (Oral male receiving)

"It is a privilege to work at the red keep" Your mother had said to you as she fixed a bonnet on your head.

At the age of 10 you did not see it this way but alas you were the oldest of your siblings and your parents did not have much money, it was your turn to start helping the family, so you would join your mother in being a chambermaid at the red keep.

"I have been working up there for years and haven't had any trouble. You will simply take your work and keep your head down." This is how you came to work at the red keep. Your first assignment had been collecting the washing.

At the age of ten you were not trusted to do much else other than scuttle about the castle collecting clothes for washing and then once washed bringing them back to their rightful owner. This was an easy job and the first few days you completed the task without so much as a hiccup. But today, your third day, you were to pick up the washing of the Prince Aemond Targaryen.

The problem? He had recently received a grievous injury, which left him recovering in his chambers.

"He will be in there; you will need to knock and await a clear order to enter. is that understood?" The head maid Alandra had warned you. You nodded your head furiously in understanding and skipped through the corridors making your way to his chambers. When you arrived you simply rapped upon the door as you had done with all the others putting your ear to the door to await a response.

"Enter!" You hear a voice muffled, from the door and distance. You open the door and enter the chamber looking for the basket for washing.

" I said do not enter!" The angry voice of a young boy came hurtling at you as you freeze in terror. You avert your eyes "M-m-my Prince my apologies, I thought I- I- I heard-" He cuts you off abruptly "Thought what? that you could just enter my chambers when I advised you not to! Come to see, did you? Come to see the horror?" As he says this, he keeps his head turned from you.

"N-no I am here to pick up the washing! I swear!" Your entire body shakes, you have clearly made a grave mistake and upset a Targaryen Prince and even at this youthful age you understand the repercussions that could result from an incident like this.

"Take it and go" he says quietly, still turned away from you. "Do not come back in here.” You bow your head quickly grabbing the basket of laundry and run from his chambers. You quickly drop the laundry off to the woman doing the washing and run to find your mother.

Your mother, most distressed to hear this news, tells Alandra who simply states that all they can do at this point is wait to see if anything comes of it.

3 more days pass and you continue your work waiting for the hammer to fall but it never comes. After a month or two you had all but forgotten the incident, the only lingering reminder being your refusal to return to the chambers of Prince Aemond.

That is until he is released from his recovery, eyepatch firmly in place. Now it is much more difficult to avoid him, this becomes especially apparent when you accidentally stumble onto his hidden reading spot which happens to also be the place you like to eat your midday meal.

"Oh, my apologies my Prince" You bow your head and back up desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible. "What's that?" He gestures toward the oranges in your hand.

"O-oranges my Prince" You back up one more step itching to remove yourself from his presence. "Give me one" he holds his hand out to you; you timidly step forward until you are just close enough to place the oranges in his outstretched hand.

"I said one" He leaves his hand outstretched waiting for you to remove one of the oranges. With a quivering hand you reach down and lift one of the oranges. Once you have it you grip it tightly and take a step back preparing to drop into a curtsy. "Stay" he doesn't lift his head when he makes this command, he simply starts to peel his orange.

You stand rooted in place.

"Well sit. I Cannot have you standing over me like some sort of ogre" he gestures to the empty space to his left. You quietly and slowly lower yourself to the ground and the two of you quietly eat your oranges not exchanging a word.

This one chance meeting develops into a regular meeting tucked away in the back of the garden. The silent meetings change over time into brief conversations which further change into much longer and much deeper conversations.

Before you even understood how impossible this situation is you had become besotted with the prince. You found yourself rushing to your meeting spot and laughing with him until your sides hurt.

Your feelings only got stronger as you saw him grow from a boy to a man. lithe, assertive face and lone purple eye that you still see every night when you lay down to sleep.

The little fantasy you had built up in your head all comes crashing down when your mother announces the son of the local butcher has expressed interest in you.

"I am not interested in him!" You scream. "My heart belongs to another!"

"Do you think I am a fool?" Your mother seethes. "Do you think I do not see the doe eyes you make toward the prince?" You look up at your mother, eyes welling with tears.

"I ... I love him mother." Your mother runs her hands down her face. "He is a Prince of the realm! You are but a maid!" she pulls you in for a hug "Darling it is impossible. You are so bright, my pride, you have to know this."

You cry into your mother's shoulder. You know it is impossible. You have known this all along, but you were happy being able to pretend that maybe, just maybe you could have what your heart most desired.

You lament the thought of marrying another and putting that fantasy to rest. Ending that dream in its entirety.

"He will be a butcher. That is a comfortable life for you. I cannot imagine we could find a better match" She strokes your cheeks fondly. "All I wish for you, my beauty, is a life easier than mine, and with this match, you will get that" her eyes convey a silent plea as she looks at you.

"I understand mother. This is a smart match." You nod your head as you fight back your tears. As much as this hurts, you know she is right. Life as a butcher's wife would be one of moderate comfort, while the life of a Princess would never be yours to have.

Over the coming weeks you are introduced to the young man your parents have decided to be your husband. Alden is a nice boy. He is decent looking and overly sweet. You were pleased to see that he wasn't quite as plump as his mother or have as little hair as his father.

You move about your daily duties in the castle the way you always have. You have not told Aemond of the match set for you by your parents. You knew he would not care but, you had a lingering feeling of discomfort over breaching the topic with him. You did, however, want to tell him before you were wed. Your husband-to-be had decided that he did not want his wife to be a maid at the castle. You would work in the butcher shop like the rest of his family. So, with a heavy heart just two days before your planned marriage you sit down in the garden next to Aemond, two oranges in hand.

He lifts his head from his book. "You're late. I was thinking I may have to go fetch my own orange today. "

"My apologies, I have a few tasks I have been training some of the new girls on" You squeeze your orange in the palm of your hand digging your nails into the course skin.

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't want a different chamber maid; you do things just as I like."

"As will they, I will make sure of it. My.... My time working here has ended. I am to join my husband’s family at their shop in town"

You avoid his gaze as you speak just watching the orange in your hand as you squeeze it tighter and tighter your fingernails buried in the outer layer.

"I did not know that you had been wed." He closes the book he was reading placing it in his lap.

"Look at me" he nearly barks.

The tone shocks you out of your daze "I-I-I-I am not, not yet. I am to be wed in two days."

The playful look he had worn when you arrived has vanished and been replaced with a steely cold look. "To whom?" his voice is quiet but controlled.

You look at him with a dumfounded expression. You were not expecting a reaction like this from him. You really did not expect a reaction at all, let alone one so passionate.

"I asked you a question, I expect that you answer it." His one eye is locked on you, and he taps his finger against the cover of his book.

"Alden. He is the son of the local butcher" You look down at the ground and lower your voice "It is a smart match."

"Hmmmm.... Seems so"

The rest of your midday meeting passed in silence, Aemond's jaw clenched his orange resting upon his book.

Eventually, you bid him farewell and continued with the training of your replacement maids before heading home for the night.

You wake up the next morning preparing for your last day working in the red keep. You will be married the next day, and your new life will start. Your meetings with Aemond, will be just memories of a young girl. Plenty of fodder for dreams and nothing more.

Leaving your home, which normally was no special affair, led you directly into a scene of chaos. People all around you chattering about the execution of a thief, a thief who dared to steal from the icy cold Prince Aemond.

A general sense of dread fills your body as you follow the large crowd into the courtyard. Aemond and a few of the guards stood around a man on his knees his head down.

"Stealing from the crown is an offence punishable by death" Aemond states loudly his voice quieting the crowd. He twirls a large sapphire between his fingers.

"You have stolen something very precious to me."

"M-m-my Prince, I do not know how that came into my home!" The man you now recognize as Alden pleads.

You gasp covering your mouth. Why would Alden steal from the prince? He is hardly at the keep. Only ever there to help his father deliver meats, when would he have had time to steal from Aemond?

"It was found not only in your home but on your person" Aemond's voice is loud, crisp, clear, and cold as ice.

Your mother walks up beside you and takes your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. You look over at her bewildered and frightened, but her gaze is set toward the horrifying display before you.

"Let this be a lesson to all" His one cold eye scans the crowd until it lands on your mother.

"For those who wish to steal from me.... this is the fate that awaits you" his eye stays locked on your mother as the executioner behind him raises an axe over a quivering and crying Alden. Your stomach is cold, as if full of ice as you look at the man you thought was your friend. His eye set on your mother making sure she understands his silent threat.

You hear the sound of the axe come down and quickly lower your head, focusing your thoughts instead on your mothers’ shoes. Her feet are so dainty.

The crowd starts to disperse, and your mother tugs your hand bringing you toward the keep.

"No! I am not going in there!" You try to yank your hand away from your mother, but she pulls it back to her quickly.

"There is no choice in this, I think that much is clear" She snaps at you keeping her voice low. "We go back to work and continue on."

You nod your head; words do not come to you, but you continue with a kind of mechanical movement. One foot in front of the other. You complete your tasks in much the same way. The only deviation being that you decided to skip your midday meal.

Only 2 hours after your usual meeting time you were summoned to Aemond's chambers. He never summons you. He always knew when to expect you to turn over his linens, collect his clothing for washing. He never needed to summon you.

You approach his door as if you are the one being led to the axe. It could not be a coincidence that yesterday you told Aemond you were to marry Alden and today Alden is publicly executed.... could it?

You lightly knock on his door and await his usual call for you to enter; instead, the door flies open. You flinch back slightly at the sudden movement looking off to the side.

"Come in" He stands to the side giving you space to enter.

"You requested my presence my Prince?" you try to keep your voice low, and eyes angled so you are looking just behind him, hoping beyond all hope that he cannot see how absolutely terrified you are.

"Look at me" he stands directly before you, so close you can feel the heat springing from his body. You slowly raise your head and look up at him through your lashes.

"You are to stay working here, at the red keep as my personal chamber maid."

"Yes, my Prince" You slightly nod your head.

"You missed midday meal, I waited for an orange that never came" he places his hands behind his back and leans forward ever closer, bridging the already miniscule gap that lay between you.

"I found myself without an appetite."

"That may be so, but I was famished...." he clicks his tongue. "Still am"

He grabs you by your chin tightly. "You could not have possibly thought I would have let him have you" He growls up against the side of your face. "There are many things that I deserve that are given to others, but I would not lose my darling to a butcher" his voice is filled with disgust.

"This is not possible, you can not marry me I am a maid!" you look at him eyes pleading as he starts to chuckle.

"I know that, I do not plan to marry you."

You look at him questioningly "Then what-"

" I plan to keep you as my own." he lightly traces his finger down your cheek.

your face falls.

"Now, it brings me no pleasure to punish my darling, but you have left me no choice" He moves in close dragging his nose along the side of your face inhaling your scent. "You will be an obedient servant for me? Won't you?"

"Yes, my prince" an unfamiliar feeling of fear mixed with anticipation creeps up your spine as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer to him.

"Now.... I will give you a set of instructions and you will follow each one with immediacy and accuracy." as you go to respond he interrupts "Do not speak unless I ask you to". You nod just to let him know you understood his instruction.

"Good.... now remove everything" You look at him your face conveying a look of confusion.

"Everything that you are wearing" He tilts his head to the side, again putting his arms behind his back, a small smirk on his face.

You slowly start to unlace your dress, hands nervously shaking.

"Quickly now. I have somewhere to be." You take a deep breath in and just as before your movements become mechanical. Taking your clothes off as you would at home before washing. As you pull each piece of clothing off you fold it and place it in a pile by your feet. Once you are fully undressed you look back to Aemond awaiting his next order.

He walks up close to you. "Now me"

Your trembling fingers slowly start to unclasp the buckles on his doublet. He chuckles and clicks his tongue "Quickly".

Your fingers move along his buckles and laces like a musician playing an instrument, quick and precise. Once he is as bare as you are, nothing left on but his eye patch. He motions you over to the bed, as you move to get on it his voice echoes through the room.

"No" he stops you and pulls you back toward the edge of the bed.

"Kneel here" you get down on your knees facing the edge of the frame as he sits before you.

"As I told you, I have someplace to be" He wraps his hand around your chin, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb. "My pretty little darling" He starts to pump himself to full hardness, while gripping your chin tighter, the nail of his thumb digging into the sensitive skin of your lip.

He hits your chin with the hardened tip of his cock and chuckles.

"You look even prettier like this." He slides the tip of his cock against your plush lips.

"open", you open your mouth looking up at him through your lashes. "That's good" he slides the tip into your mouth as you settle yourself down between his legs. He grabs the braid tied up on the back of your head and grips it tight slowly lowering your head. As he pushes you further and further down his shaft you start to sputter

"Shhhhh darling" He coos gently as he strokes the side of your face. He holds your head in place as you get used to the sensation, breathing through your nose.

He continues to push your head down until your nose is buried in his groin and you are gagging, tears flowing from your eyes, drool dripping from the sides of your mouth. He sighs and chuckles, before grabbing your braid and holding your head in place as he pulls you slightly back. You struggle to take in a gulp of air before he is back inside your mouth, his hips thrusting feverishly as he uses your mouth as if it were not attached to an actual human.

The sounds of his sighs and pants, along with your gagging and slurping fill the room as the heat and tingling between your thighs grows almost unbearable. He stands from the bed still gripping your hair tightly shoving his cock further into your mouth battering the back of your throat as he increases his pace.

You attempt to look up at him, but your eyes can only see the blurry shape of the man above you.

Just as your head begins to feel light, like you could just float away, he stiffens in your mouth and presses himself all the way to the back of your throat and holds you there. You fight the urge to pull away as you feel him empty himself directly down your throat as he lets out a choked groan.

When he finally pulls himself out of your mouth and walks back toward his clothes you sit back on your feet, wiping the tears from your eyes and gasping for air.

"Turns out I lied" he says coolly.

You look over at him still panting heavily, face red, chin covered in drool.

"I did find pleasure in that."

To be added to taglist click here

@targaryen-dynasty

[jolapeno]

i. to fix a porch

joel miller x f!reader | chapter one of honey stained hands

chapter summary: it’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged. and all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you.

wordcount: 3.5k warnings: typical canon-angst. my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: i am so nervous about this. i hope you like. huge thanks to @guyfieriii + @thetriumphantpanda for holding both my hands.

The world had gone to shit, but the world hadn’t gone to shit.

It still grew, expanded—and changed.

Just as it once had. The grass didn’t stop turning green. The trees didn’t stop rustling, the flowers didn’t stop pollinating between bones and disintegrating fabric.

Nature, in all its immensity, didn’t bow to the cordyceps that stole minds and whispered destruction along roads and grass. Nature didn’t allow the rot to take the seasons, as it had done with so many other things.

The end of times wasn’t allowed to touch the moon’s schedule. It didn’t have an impact on how the daylight grew shorter and the night span longer. It had no bearing on the way leaves turned golden, the dew appeared on tall grass, or how both danced under amber-rising and lemon-setting suns.

The outbreak took souls, but it didn’t rid the craved scents of stews and freshly baked apples—two aromas that flooded Jackson's roads.

Mostly, even if something else thrummed along the ground, and spoke in claimed lives, it couldn’t try and claim to have any effect on the way frost made the morning path glitter—or how it made the world still feel magical.

Fungus had stolen a lot. Had spread its poison across state lines and once happy towns. But it couldn’t thieve the natural beauty that shifted in three monthly turns.

Joel wakes in a sea of sweat, panic and desperation. Forehead clammy. Salt and pepper hair clinging in thin spider-leg lines against the creases of his frown.

Each morning, since Joel has been here, has followed the same pattern. The shadowy nightmares were still there, ever-present—swirling and twirling, not ready to stop their dance. Even if the sun is blasting through, informing them it’s morning—it’s the time their claws should retract and allow him to experience a new day.

They never really do. They remain, hanging in the edges of his thoughts, his eyes—even as sleeping thoughts diluted into the present day.

Just the same as he did yesterday and the day before, his closed fist rubs in gentle circles against his chest—right over his heart. Where it thumps and beats, hammering quickly. Fingers and palm attempting to soothe it, half-wishing he could weave under milk-white bone and release the guilt-wrapped tendrils around it.

It doesn’t matter what his routine involves, it’s all in vain.

Little to nothing alleviates it. Not the circles of his hand over the bobbled t-shirt he sleeps in or the way he wills himself to breathe, to fill his lungs—advice given against his will.

Joel has attempted a lot of things, but the tightness always remains. The imaginary vines forever constricting, all stemmed with thorns, digging in, tightening their hold as he struggled to gasp, never mind breathe. It’s like a fungus of its own, a thing poisoning him, ruining him, blackening what’s left of his soul.

All because he made a choice—one he’d make a thousand times (if given the chance).

Blinking, he slowly sits. Back aching, body groaning as the honeyed sun coats the place he calls his. It flutters over the set of drawers, the flannel draped over the handle of his closet, and the strings of the guitar, gifted by Tommy to keep him busy and out of trouble.

It’s a good place he’s found himself in. A normal place—one found in the centre of moving on and trying to live life. Something he gives enough of a shit not to let it be torn from him and a thing he worries is being tugged from his grip all the same.

One wrong move.

That’s what he hears, even if no one says it. It never leaves their lips, but instead is etched into the faces of everyone he has been introduced to. It was discernible on his sister-in-law's face when he and Ellie appeared; it was poorly concealed by his brother when he’d handed him the instrument.

So much so, that he’s become worried all of this—the safety, the future for Ellie—will be taken from him if he breathes wrong. If he makes eye contact a little too quickly, a little too sternly, too forcibly and not followed quickly enough by a half-smile.

He tries. Not for him, but for her. The same person he keeps his jeans close by and his t-shirt on for—the one that makes him sleep on the side so his good ear can hear a scream of his name—just in case. The same person who manages to shift off the worry, dusting him down without knowing the impact she has on him—the young person who forms him, shapes him into someone half-decent, who is willing to try, who is willing to do things with his hands that isn’t fighting or shooting.

The only time Ellie has shouted for him since being here, though, is for breakfast.

Now, the house is silent—too silent. A smile almost appearing all on its own. An image bubbling, appearing, blanketing over the nightmares that tried to linger. One of her, in her new bedroom—the one she keeps talking about painting—all asleep, mouth open, catching flies.

Joel snorts, swallowing it back. All of the darkness that is weaved inside of him. Focuses on the little flecks of dust that glitter in the glow of a new day, how they fall absently in the space between light and dark—making a choice, one he makes each day, to be here. To try.

His hand slides from his chest, landing on his wrist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his thumb slide over the broken glass of his watch—the one he never removes—another thing he does daily. Another thing that has become a routine.

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in.

Joel had expected something more to be requested from him. Almost braced to be told he would be stationed on the other side of the gate—in a more permanent role than others. But, he wasn’t.

If anything, he was given tasks.

Menial things, but tasks all the same.

Little jobs, all reminiscent of a handyman back before things to fungus and rot. Oddities, bits and bobs. Projects half-finished or never begun at all—assigned, handed to him, chosen for him because he’s there and capable. And not, as Tommy explains, is because no one trusts him.

The first had been his own porch. The wood split, cracked, creaking—an accident waiting to happen (a thing he’d muttered to Tommy when he’d first walked up the steps of it), more so as the days became shorter and the nights loomed closer.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toolbox placed at his feet the next day. A smug look on his younger brother’s face: think it’s time y’fix y’damn porch, brother. A clap on the back to cement it, a promise silently exchanged—that he could ask more of him when he was done.

And Tommy did, just not how he expected.

His breath mists the same as Tommy’s when he sighs, the weather biting as the two hovered on his newly repaired porch: got something else for you to do.

Maybe he should have said something when the silence filled the air when Joel suggested after. That he’d be good on patrol, that he could help in ways that weren’t repairing porches, front of shops and whatever else he brought to his door. If not for the fact he was grateful for the chance, for her—for the girl who is slowly making friends, who is beginning to smile—he may have done. The old Joel would have. He’d have pointed out that his skin isn’t stained with scarlet, that his hands are worn, but not smeared with the guts of those who’d crossed him. That he’d hung up as much of the former demons as he could.

He suspected, deep down, that Tommy could still see them haunting him. Knew that they kept him awake when the world went silent—that Joel didn’t sleep until the moon was at its highest, and woke with them jeering at him, perched on his shoulders, poking holes into his soul.

Joel also presumed that Tommy could see the way guilt had looped itself inside of him, strangling, making truthfulness harder to spill. Even if Tommy had no idea. Even if Joel hadn’t whispered to even the animals, never mind a person, what happened before he and Ellie had arrived.

So, he doesn’t argue, not as he’s handed another task, and another, then another. Days seep into weeks, weeks ticking into another month. Each time, his jaw grits, and his head nods, all well-versed, practised, as he picks up his toolbox and heads where he’s needed.

Except, today, when he’d finished up the fence that contained the sheep, a request came from someone else—a person he had spotted, but never spoken to. They were weary, guarded—approaching with caution as though bracing for him to snap, to become the callous individual they’ve likely heard through the whispers of gossiped stories.

In time, they approach, asking, burying their hands into their pockets as they do, before they continue with their reasoning for the request—one not for themself, but another person in Jackson.

A person Joel realised was his neighbour.

He’d been a good neighbour once, almost a lifetime ago.

Had hoped that it would come to him when Tommy had introduced him to you the following morning after he and Ellie returned. Your hand in his, smaller, but warm, a smile that was inviting, but slid over to Ellie upon Tommy’s introduction.

You usually rose early, that he had learnt when he’d begun to watch the sunrise before the leaves not just changed, but began to litter the floor in an array of shades. A pattern of habits he had picked up when he’d descended his own staircase, finding you already passing his home or your lights were on, already busy ticking off the hours of your day.

Today, he’d spotted (thankfully) the latter. His coat was thrown on, boots stepped into, toolbox in hand before he closed his door behind him and headed over. Your name on the tip of his tongue, all heavy, thick—an array of unsorted letters he’s hoping will shift into something as he climbs the steps to your front door. The syllables there, desperate to form, but in no order when his hand lifts to knock.

Air is what greets him, as the door rips open before his knuckles can even make contact.

Now, he’s standing in front of you—again. Your eyes land on him, brushing over in thick strokes of warmth, and all he can focus on is how you don’t step back in fright or stand a little taller. If anything, you don’t react, don’t move, as though it’s normal he’s there standing, talking to you.

“Oh, hi? It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

It’s kind, sweet, your tone. Eyes wide in a way that reminds him of a surprised, small animal—except, you’re grinning, not spooked. No sign of fear or question sketched across your features, or into the rest of your face, not as he stands, hovering.

It’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged.

And all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you. Something that has remained, that has weathered the storm of whatever it is, and however you came to be. Your smile rises, sliding into your cheeks, as his brain snaps a Polaroid of it and stores it somewhere less dusty in his mind.

“I just have to nip out, do you need something?”

Your hand sliding a jacket—one he’d just noticed in your hand—around your frame. It buries you, smothering, hiding yourself into it as you pull it around, watching, studying him as he does the same to you.

Shaking his head, he glances at your porch. “No, ma’am. Jus’ here to fix your porch.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I make one comment and… anyway, I don’t want to trouble you. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Looking down, you stare around at the porch. Him waiting, watching. “Guess it’s lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on taking it with me.”

It tugs from him, not forcibly pulled, but rather rolling from his mouth willingly: a laugh. It’s gruff, covered in cobwebs and sheets. It’s different, laughing with an adult compared to a pun book in the hands of a child.

“Well, definitely makes my life a bit easier that you’re not.”

Smirking, you lick your lips—a thing he spots, and finds makes his cheeks burn. “Yeah, guessing that following me around the animal pen wouldn’t be your favourite thing… after the other day.”

His eyes narrow, attempting to follow—until it dawns. Until it slams into him.

“You saw.”

“I did. Roscoe is a very boisterous sheep, though. So, it’s more on him than you.”

Cursing under his breath, he dips his head. Trying to stifle the embarrassment, the one rising in him like a phoenix, swarming up.

“Anyway, do you need any tools…”

That’s when he notices how your voice dies, your smile fading. Your words all fall from existence as the warmth around the two of you suddenly chills, as though he’s been plunged into a snowstorm. Your eyes had dropped, landing on the box in his hand.

It’s long, too long.

Almost prolonged, the quietness shifting into awkwardness until you’re blinking, head lifting, chin rising, determined and full of insolence.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Nodding, he swallows. Ignoring, for your sake, that your voice cracks before you’re hurrying past him. Watching, and staring until you’re a blip, a little figure in the distance of the cold morning—unable to forget about it, the look, the one that unhooked something in him.

Because it made him question—made him want to ask.

His hand shifts around the handle of the toolbox, staring down at it—the one he suspects belongs to someone you knew, someone you were close to. One that is in the hands of someone you don’t know, someone you live next to, that you know nothing about.

Except stories.

And fuck, Joel knows the stories can’t be good.

Joel had maybe made an assumption that you’d never speak to him again.

Sarah’s voice, barely discernable, wafting around his mind, assumptions make an ass of you and me, dad. He blamed it on being bitter, tired—or grumpy, as Ellie liked to call him. The kind of qualities he’d rather be known for, than the ones he sees reflected in the eyes of the people living here, wondering the kind of man he was to go back out there and then return.

He’d made the assumption based on the way your eyes flicked to the toolbox when you’d eventually returned home—him halfway done, waving away your offer to help. You barely spoke, and skirted around him, only placing a glass of lemonade on the welcome mat as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He drained the glass, and hated how good it tasted. Keeping in mind to leave the toolbox outside when he rapped his knuckles on your open door to bring the glass back in, inform you that he’s done. You call out to him, eventually coming into view—apron on, doused in flour, cheeks and smile smothered in it.

For a moment, he could almost forget an outbreak had even happened with the way you looked at him—the way you looked in general. Something out of one of those cooking shows that play at ridiculous hours of the night; a thing that’d had a street talking about with sweet you sounded.

“I bake—sometimes,” you announce, hands down your apron, leaving flour-finger strokes against the navy blue.

He could see that. Placing the glass on the side, thanking you—watching you glance around him, likely for that. He almost tells you, informs you it’s outside, left on your porch. But, he waves himself off as a beeping begins, that he’ll get out of your hair, because you’re busy—knowing deep down it’s the right thing to do.

That’s how he left it.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His thoughts sliding to you when he saw you talking to others; his mind unable to rid himself of the way you’d looked at the box he’d been given to be a helping hand.

So, it surprised him when he watched you climb the steps of his porch from outside Tommy’s. Something in his chest narrowing—different from the way it does when he wakes up in the morning. Observing how you’re nervously shaking your free hand, moving from one foot to the other—a thin t-shirt covering your frame (no coat or jacket on your arms) as you try to stand still in the chill at his dark doorstep.

It’s only as he nears that he sees what your other hand is holding. A bottle, the contents from appearing amber in shade. The hesitancy woven into your figure is more prominent as he reaches his own boundary, unsure whether to clear his throat—and only doing so when you knock.

“Heard he’s out fixing more porches.”

Turning, he finds you smirking. Spinning around on your heels, slowly taking a step down—still above him—before your hand gestures for him to take the bottle. “A thank you.”

Thank you, he thinks, staring at it. His thumb catches your fingers as he tries to ignore the twist and knot of his stomach when he eyes the label. It used to help, for all the wrong reasons. It’s why he’d tried not to drink since arriving here, still able to remember how it used to scratch an itch, how it smothered over scabs—ones that never healed.

It unlocks that part of him that worries that they’ll become inflamed again. All raw, hot to the touch.

“Y’didnt need to.”

“Well, it was alcohol or baked goods—and you strike me as a drinker over shortbread.”

Snorting, he lifted his head, swallowing. “I do like shortbread.”

Your face lights up—shimmers—under the slowly setting sun. A part of him wishing you’d brought him a tin of those instead.

Because the main reason he hadn’t been to the Tipsy Bison is that he preferred the version of him that didn’t drink. The one from before all of this happened—the one with a clearer mind. One that isn’t trying to run but rather settle and live—the one that comes out when he tastes something akin to what he shared with Tess.

The bottle in his hand demands his attention—a note attached to it that reads the same as your words. Gratitude humming, rolling from you, all in plenty. The entry at being neighbours suddenly ajar, the door taken from the hinges so it can never be closed again.

“Next time, then?”

You say it purposeful, full of genuine nature. And, it makes him roll his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek. Palm and fingers still clutching the bottle—unsure if he likes this. The neighbour thing—the pretty neighbour thing. Especially one who looks at him with a sweet smile and who makes lemonade just because.

“I should go, don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“Well, the only thing you’re interrupting is whether or not I should open this now or wait.”

You stop moving at that, coming to a stop in front of him, smile broadening, almost turning into a smirk. “

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. “Got another job in the morning. Be a lot on my own.”

“What problems to have, ay?”

He snorts.

But then, he finds you nodding, licking your lips. “How about this, for the safety of the porches of Jackson, I’ll help you with your problem.”

“And what’s my problem?”

“You don’t wanna drink alone—likely worried about what it means if you do.”

You say it nonchalantly, as though seeing through him was a relatively easy task. Your body is still not moving; the cold either not bothering you, or you are faking it all so well.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” you say, slightly more chipper than him.

CHAPTER TWO ->

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Into My Arms

Pairing: Osferth x f!reader Warnings: Canon typical violence, smut, fluff. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: Osferth is tired of her underestimating him, of being seen as nothing more than "Baby Monk", so goes out of his way to prove to her that he is so much more than that. A little birthday treat for @doomwhathouwilt - based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She points the tip of her sword to her opponent’s chest, dragging him closer by the shoulder as it plunges forward to the hilt, before sliding it back and watching him crumple in a heap before her, his lifeless eyes staring up towards a gray sky. She cannot hear the screams of pain, the cries of triumph around her over the roar of the blood in her ears.

Her body aches with exertion, the arrows in her quiver are long spent, meaning she has to use her blade to defend herself. As the fighting dies down she is left only with the hammering of her heart, panting for breath as the world swims back into focus, and she is greeted by the coppery smell of viscera and the rancid stench of shit. She feels like crying, the adrenaline that courses through her is beginning to subside as she watches what little remains of their opponents flee, the majority of their forces having been cut down.

There is rarely a dull moment on the road with Uhtred and his men; she's been with him since he parted ways with Brida, accompanying him and Leofric on their travels. She enjoys never settling anywhere for long, drinking ale and sharing stories beneath the stars. It keeps her skills as an archer sharp, their battles are frequent, though lately she finds herself tiring of them, there is little joy to be found in taking the life of another.

She longs to give up, to declare she can take no more, but as her weary eyes look up, taking in the aftermath of the battle, she is met with the very reason why she continues on. Osferth’s eyes, vividly blue and wide with fright remain fixed ahead, his grip on his weapon so tight his knuckles are blanched with the force of it. Though he fights courageously, there is fear in his heart and she worries about what will happen to him if she simply walks away from all of this. They all give him a hard time; he is a Christian, always seems to say the wrong thing and has no qualms with passing judgment on their behaviours that he deems inappropriate. Despite all of this, he is steadfast in his loyalty to the group, and so she along with the rest of them would gladly lay down her life for him.

They sit around the campfire, tending to the minor injuries they’ve sustained, cuts and scrapes alike. She bats away Sihtric’s attempts to dab at her temple with a moistened rag.

“It’s a scratch, leave it be,” She says with resignation. Her eyelids feel heavy as she stares ahead into the flames, she longs for sleep.

“I think this calls for ale and women!” Finan declares, slapping his thighs and standing up.

“And prayer,” Osferth adds, with a hopeful smile.

“Yes, but in that order,” Finan counters with a grin.

She remains seated as the four of them head towards the village, she has no desire to join in with their festivities.

Osferth glances over his shoulder, pausing and allowing the group to move ahead when he notices she remains where she is.

“Are you not joining us, my lady?” He asks, brows pinched together with concern.

“Not tonight, no,” She says quietly. “I’m not in the mood.”

He nods, returning to the fire and seating himself next to her. “Then I shall stay with you and keep you company.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t. But I want to.”

She looks at him, a warm smile spreading across her face as she sees the sincerity in his eyes.

“There’ll be women waiting for you in the village,” She teases.

The tips of his ears turn pink. “I’m not interested,” He tells her with a shy grin.

“I doubt you’d know what to do with them anyway, Baby Monk,” She chuckles lightly.

“I do, actually,” His voice is stern, his expression hardened and she worries she’s offended him.

“I was only jo–”

Her words are cut off as Osferth leans in, pressing his mouth to hers. His lips are soft yet firm against her own and the kiss steals her breath away. He keeps their foreheads pressed close, his thumb tracing lightly over her cheek as he pulls back.

Her heart flutters wildly as her breaths come shakily. “Y-your blood still runs hot from battle, Baby Monk, we should not do this.”

“I am tired of waiting for you to see me as I see you,” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I desire you.”

This time when his lips capture hers, she returns the gesture with equal enthusiasm, allowing herself to get lost in the basic primal urge of feeling wanted.

Deft hands exchange caresses across each other’s bodies, each pass of their fingers serving to remove an item of clothing until the two of them lay bare beneath the night sky. Her flesh prickles against the chill of the air, but she barely notices as her eyes drink in the sight of the man before her.

She looks appreciatively, silently cursing the robes that have been swamping the hard planes of muscle of Osferth’s torso. Her breath hitches at the sight of his hardened length, it’s thick and long, flushed pink at the tip, it appears that he is full of surprises.

“You are beautiful,” He declares softly, taking his time to gaze upon her own form, and she feels her skin grow heated at his compliment.

As he moves his body to cover hers, his mouth travels a path from her neck to her chest, leaving a trail of wet, opened mouthed caresses. He suckles on the hardened peaks of her breasts and she arches against him, a soft moan escaping her at the jolt of arousal that rushes through her.

She halts Osferth’s movements when he attempts to move lower, the ache between her thighs is unbearable and she is certain she needs no further preparation. “Please,” She whispers. “I want you.”

He inhales sharply at this, pupils blown wide with lust and hovers over her as she spreads her legs further to accommodate him. The gentle stretch as he pushes slowly inside is exquisite torture and causes her to gasp.

He pauses for a moment, softly stroking her hair. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels good,” She reassures him. “Please don’t stop.”

He kisses her deeply as he bottoms out, allowing her a moment to adjust before he begins to rock his hips. His strokes are sure and even, and she finds herself wondering if this is practiced or purely instinctual. She had expected Osferth to be clumsy and inexperienced, yet every thrust of his hips finds a spot inside her that leaves her crying out as her toes curl involuntarily.

“I have wanted you for so long,” He whispers into her ear, as his hips snap against hers with more urgency. “You feel better than I have ever dreamed.”

She feels her eyes grow misty with emotion at this, the combination of his soft confessions and the pleasure she is experiencing becoming too much, until the tightly wound coil within her lower belly finally snaps, and she falls apart, clenching ceaselessly around him, as her cries of ecstasy are offered up to the stars above them.

Osferth shudders, pulling out of her with a strangled groan, stroking frantically at himself as he paints her upper thighs with his spend before collapsing beside her.

As the euphoria begins to wear off, she becomes aware of the tickle of the damp grass against her back, the coolness that licks against her sweaty skin.

He gently tugs her to his chest and she goes willingly, draping herself across him, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Just fine, Baby Monk.”

“Could you…could you just call me Osferth? Simply Osferth.” He asks gently.

She lifts her head from his chest, raising a questioning eyebrow at him and he smiles fondly down at her.

“It seems more fitting for you to call me by name if you’re to be my woman.”

“Your woman?” She feels her stomach flutter.

“Yes, my woman,” He gives her a squeeze. “If that’s agreeable to you.”

She squeezes him back. Nothing has ever sounded better.

[tvgals]

‘ CHILL OUT ‘

pt.2

— e42! miles morales x black! fem! reader

synopsis — after breaking up with your accused of cheating boyfriend, you make new friends and better yourself on the journey .

cw; — miles is a sorry ass nigga, angst, hurt/some comfort i guess, was watching good girls during this, idk if ganke is canon on e42 but he will be because i said so, made up characters,

you sat in the bathroom for a while, scrolling through your phone. is this what it felt like to be a teenage girl? if so, this sucked ass and was totally overrated. you hear the door to the bathroom open and the squeaky sound of j’s hitting the water splotched floor. “y/n?” one of your friends call out. “what?” you reply, turning your phone off and laying your face in your hands. “can you please come out so we can all talk about this?” she asks, opening the stall door that you forgot to lock.

“talk about what? how miles cheated on me?” you ask, picking up your bag and walking towards the mirror above the sinks. “you really believe her over miles? miles morales?” you sigh and pull the brush out of your backpack to fix your hair. “please just talk to him. he loves you so much y/n and i don’t think you understand what you’re doing to him.” she tells you, fixing her own appearance in the mirror. “it’s just..how could i trust him or..” you start, looking at yourself in the mirror. “or? he hasn’t given you a reason to not trust him before, so why would he start now?” she questions you, walking out after she didn’t get a response. you grab your phone out of your pocket and look at your home screen solemnly, a picture of you and miles together in your bathroom while doing face care. you blink a few times to block your tears and walk out the bathroom, turning your phone off. while in the hallway, you see miles and one of his friends talking while walking down the hall. you take a deep breath and walk past them as hurriedly as you could, leaving out the school and to your dorms.

“she thinks i cheated on her.” miles tells ganke, throwing his head back in regret for not saying more to you. “well, did you?” ganke asks, hauling his backpack onto his shoulder. he was met with silence. “really, miles? you talked about her all the time just to go and cheat?” his now angry friend asked, this isn’t the first time he’s heard instances of miles cheating on his girlfriends, he just thought it wouldn’t happen with you. “i know, man. i fucked up.” “royally.”

you open the door to your dorm room and flop on your bed, tears streaming down your face. why did he do this to you? what did you do wrong? no no no, this was all his fault. his decisions. you hear your phone ring and you pick it up. ‘unknown caller’ you scrunch your face up and answer. “hello?” you say, not trying to hide the sadness in your voice. “i’m sorry, mi corazon. i didn’t mean-“ it’s miles. you don’t know whether to cry or laugh, to berate him or sweet talk him. “get the fuck off of my line.” you say coldly, waiting on him to say something else before you hung up. “baby, listen to me. it was a one time thing and-“ you let a cry escape your lips. he did cheat. she was right and you were wrong.

“so you did cheat? why, miles?” you ask, putting your socked feet into your crocs and throwing on a jacket. “i didn’t mean to. i was hammered and she came onto me. i’m sorry.” miles was currently sitting on his bed with ganke, tears welling in his own big brown eyes. he didn’t mean for this to happen, honestly! it was one big mistake that would’ve never been revealed if he didn’t show around jess. “sorry isn’t gonna fix shit, miles. get the fuck off of my phone.” and with that, you hung up and left out of your dorm.

you couldn’t comprehend what made miles do this, did some girl really come into him or was it something he did all on his own? either way, you needed someone to talk to and fast. you call your groupchat and wait for everyone to answer.

“y/nnnnn what’s the move girl?”

“righhht! and what the hell goin’ on with miles?”

“he cheated on me y’all.” you say out of the blue, cutting off everyone’s conversations. everyone looks like the camera with shock. “deadass?” jaya — the girl who notified you about this whole ordeal — asks, laughter seeming to fall from her mouth. “that shit isn’t funny..” another one of the girls said — aniyah, the one who was comforting you in the bathroom. “no no no,” jaya giggles. “it’s just how i told you and you didn’t wanna believe me.” she snickers, everyone going quiet. “you’re an actual bitch.” another girl says, hanging up the phone. “bye y’all.” you say, hanging up yourself, leaving the two girls to fight amongst one another. this hurt. this showed that you barely had real friends to care about you, that your ex boyfriend didn’t care enough to leave other girls alone and that everything was going downhill. you wanted everything to be better. you wanted to go and hug miles and have him tell you everything will be okay and it was all just a really really bad dream.

“y/n!” you hear an unfamiliar voice call your name from down the street. you turn around to see..jess? hm. “hi.” you say, waiting on her to catch up to you. “i heard about miles..” jess tells you, making her way beside you. how many people know? how does she know especially? “oh. who told you?” you ask a blank look on your face. “just..jaya.. she told me about how you didn’t listen to her, how she knew it was gonna happen blah blah blah..” she replies, rolling her eyes and using her hands for dramatic effect. “what else did she say?” you question, turning the corner trying to find the liquor store. “just some other stuff.” “what does ‘other stuff’ mean?” you ask, walking into the liquor store. “i’m not supposed to tell you.”

“what do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me?” you same through the aisles to find something to snack on. “she said not to tell you.” jess tells you, avoiding eye contact. “tell me or there was no point in you talking to me.” you open up the door withholding the drinks and scan through them. “she said miles called her phone a few times but she never did nun with him..” jess admits, her head hanging low.

“aight.”

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

TAGLIST ; — @sanrioglocks @neteyamsz @prettydumbslut @gobblethiskitty @brwnbbydoll @venusluvslove @mrs0hara @cu7ie @diorsbrando @kg003 @lulabon @cleosradio @yourrfavzxri @yu-rylee @noraloralei @love15things @sp1derm4nluver @perfectcreatorharmony @coconutxraikage

[hornedandwingedangel]

Raphael thoughts

I’ve been analyzing him a lot recently so here are some thoughts I have about my favorite cambion.

SFW

- tbh, I don’t think he’d be that bad in a relationship. He canonically says he cant resist helping you, he likes you. Maybe he almost respects you? In a way. Sure, he’d be toxic sometimes. But he even said he’d “make time for his favorite client”. He cares about you, I think he’d be pretty nice.

- For example, I think he’d buy you nice things. He has expensive taste and he’d want you to look good next to him. And ofc he’d love handing you a beautiful dress or necklace to see a smile on your face.

- he’s actually your biggest supporter. He genuinely wants you to succeed in the things you do. You can see from a conversation with Korilla.

- He reminds me so much of Ursula lol. Flamboyant, manipulative, condescending

- It’d take a while of being in a relationship with him for him to open up, but eventually he’d vent to you about his father and issues between them. I think in general, he’s not super open, but he is quite honest.

- an example of that honesty is that he tells you that the Orphic hammer is a good trade and he writes in his journal that he really believes it is. I think he genuine likes you and wants to help you (but not quite enough to let you get in the way of his plans)

- I don’t think you can “fix” him or calm his ambition down as much as you can with Astarion or Gale. But I think you can calm him down just enough for him to let himself express his human side around you more often.

- hugs! He would be suave and very nonchalant about letting you hug him, but he secretly LOVES holding you in his arms. Feeling you in his grasp. His own little mouse all to himself.

- LOTS of banter. Well, he likes your praise and attention all to himself. But he also likes some arguing. He finds you being opinionated and having stimulating intelectual conversations attractive.

NSFW

- This guy has serious anger issues. It’s not hard to piss him off. I think it’d be a lot of fun to rile him up sometimes. He’s cute when he’s angry. Ofc, this can lead to… “punishment” and such… “activities”

- now about him being a bottom and whatever. Here’s what I think based on other headcannons I’ve heard. 1) he wouldn’t rly bottom for you. he wouldn’t submit to anyone who wasn’t him (or on his level like Haarlep who is in Raphael’s form anyway). 2) he’s “bad” in bed bc he doesn’t have to do any work to be satisfied. Haarlep does all the work and they don’t have a romantic relationship aside from sex so there’s no real reason for him to put in any effort. But you can’t tell me after idk, hundreds of years? of having sex he doesn’t know how to fuck?

- he would never make you do anything you didn’t wanna do. When it comes to how you guys do the devils tango, I think these headcannons are totally up to you. But imo, he’s a dom on the aggressive side with teasing, humiliation, and condescending praise.

If you have any bc questions (ex: would he like ___?) pls comment :) I hope you like these hcs 🫶🏼

[bugeater77]

Nandermo things u probably forgot about

not in any order(i wrote them whenever i remembered them)

(scroll down for images, the ones pictured are highlighted) - Nandor holding guillermo up to make him feel like he is flying multiple times (quite possibly nandermo hug)

During the simon the devious episode where nandor once again takes him flying, they hold hands (last image)

Nandor telling guillermo to stay by his side until he falls asleep in the curse episode, then going to grab his hand but stopping (5th Image)

"you'll probably have to take it in the waist and out the shoulders" - guillermo knowing Nandor's exact measurements

Nandor getting so frustrated while talking about the other vampires wanting to kill Guillermo that he kicks and destroys a box

"take a picture of me having fun and then send it to guillermo so he knows how much I do not miss him" - nandor

Guillermo DROPPING EVERYTHING ON THE GROUND when he hears about nandor's engagement

"it's not gonna last." -Guillermo SHIT EATING GRIN after realizing that gale and nandor are not gonna be together

Guillermo PUTTING HIS ARM AROUND NANDOR AFTER THE GAIL EPISODE he thought he had a chance :( (4th image)

Sean calling Guillermo Nandor's boyfriend and lazlo not questioning it not one bit

pulling guillermo back way before he was supposed to after trying to use him as bait for the sire

this was also while he was shaking his money maker if i might add

like the second he did it...

entire scene where Nandor tries to convince guillermo to come back from celeste

ENTIRE HOMOEROTIC FIGHT SCENE

might i mention that nandor obviously thinks guillermo fighting him is hot??!

Guillermo gripping nandor plushie after he leaves (3rd image)

Guillermo has silver lined seatbelts in his car, meaning he was planning to rescue nandor for a while

"traveling the whole world with my nand- master" - guillermo

ermmmmmm glitter portrait ?!!

Nandor wishing to be human the SAME AMOUNT that guillermo wishes to be a vampire, seeing him as an equal

"my furry little friend" - nandor

Marwa, who likes EVERYTHING nandor likes, kissing guillermo all over his face

The wwdits cast interview about nandermo, which to me feels like a deep extreme very canonization

Nandor's pure jealousy after finding out about guillermo becoming a vampire

Him waiting for SO LONG outside of panera bread

Going to guillermos house to look at his baby pictures

talking about his goth phase with his mom...

"if i'm lying, kill me now" - nandor

Nandor being so upset and holding guillermos body after thinking he was dead

Nandor grasping guillermos sweater

speaking out against the baron to keep guillermo safe, which if you watch season 1 again you'll see that he is TERRIFIED of the baron

so excited to talk about guillermo killing vampires.... wtf is wrong with u nandor but we're not gonna get into that

"I will fix"

PUTS ON GUILLERMOS CAPE

he is so excited to kill derek, not to turn guillermo human, but literally just to kill derek out of jealousy

Nandor's face while guillermo is talking about his love life(second image)

Guillermos face after Nandor turns Gail into a vampire (first image)

guillermo hammering the door as hard as possible to wake nandor for his super slumber.

duh nandor knowing every part of Guillermos thank you card

The entire last episode actually?

theres absolutely more but this is all i remember just from my brain

(new additions) In another cast interview, Kayvan Novak says “I think he’s coming to the realization that his type is Harvey Guillén flavored.” about nandors type

Nandor makes guillermo spin around in his wedding cape

Nandor says he got the idea of having a wedding ever since him and guillermo "watched the wedding planner on that rainy sunday together"

ok listen closely, the wedding planner is about a woman planning a wedding falling in love with the groom causing him to leave the bride

he did NOT CARE WHO HE WAS MARRYING. BUT HE KNEW HE WANTED GUILLERMO TO PLAN IT FROM DAY 1

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between both and totk

Chapter Six: This is Home

Read chapter five here

My masterlist

Song: Run To You by Leah Michele

Summary: Link is brought on to investigate a new strange monster plaguing the farmers in Hateno. He is faced with a new type of post-traumatic experience he doesn’t expect to have.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, suspense and horror, PTSD, squint and theres very base-line sexual content, GRAPHIC descriptions of animal mutilations!

Word Count: 3.5k words

Authors Note: I didn’t update for two and a half months and said “lemme give you guys the best chapter yet” (imo). Thank you for being patient with me. I restarted school, closed one musical, opened and closed a 30 performance long run of another musical and literally fell in love with a man 16-years-older than me in that time lol. Also I wrote this in one sitting and I’m starting chapter 7 now 🫡. Its unedited be nice.

Also please do not make fun of me for using a Leah Michele song for this chapter its so good and it works really good so just shut up. Kloveyoubye

The summer starts to get hotter. A week passes and nothing changes, neither of them ever address the hand holding, Link is fixing the hole in the roof and Zelda is reteaching herself how to fix a clock, an activity she originally learned at the age of seven. Everything is so normal, the sun starts to set a little later, and the fireflies have started hatching.

Link never really thought he would end up in a position to do housework. He tried to get Bolson to fix the hole before Link bought it, but it would take a certain number of wood piles and when Link went out to get them he got a little distracted. And by distracted he means ending the sandstorm in the desert caused by the Divine Beast. It just got put on the back burner, and now here he is, using basic tools to hammer in new shingles. He wipes his brow, his shirt off again. He takes a look at the hammer in his hand, thinking about the savage Lynel sword that same hand has swung.

The passage of time is weird.

Maybe he does want to go back to work. Going from Demon slayer to roof repairman in two and a half weeks is a little jarring.

He hears a groan of frustration from inside the house, and makes his way inside, where it's much cooler.

“Everything alright?” He asks, looking at the girl who’s hunched over the kitchen table.

“No, this is absurd.” She slams the machine on the kitchen table. “I can’t remember how to do the most basic thing in engineering ever.” She frowns.

Link chuckles and places a dirty hand on her shoulder as he walks past her. He moves to the water basin and wets a cloth that he wraps around his neck. “I don’t know the first thing about that stuff, so you have me beat.” He shrugs. “Man, what I would give for an hour at Lurelin right now. Or better yet a weekend at Tabantha. I bet the weather there is a comfortable 60 degrees.” He sighs. Trying to slyly put the worm in Zelda’s ear about a possible trip.

Zelda groans, “I agree. I don’t remember it getting this hot.”

“This is just the beginning, wait until it’s the midsummer festival.”

“A festival?” Zelda’s face lights up.

Link nods, “It’s something they started about thirty years ago. It’s right here in Hateno. People from all parts of the kingdom will travel for it.” Link drinks some water, leading against the counter at the hip. Zelda makes special effort not to admire how his obliques curved. “There’s music and dancing, it’s quite fun. I was invited last year as a special guest. The “chosen hero” or something like that.” Link shrugs.

At that moment they hear a sharp knock on their door. It startles both of them. Link moves to answer it, setting the rag and cup down.

“Dantz, what is it?” Link says as he opens the door to a distressed farmer.

“Master Link, so good to see you,” His voice is shaky, “I didn’t know who else to go to.” Link listens more intently, Zelda even stands. “Two more of my cattle have been killed. When I heard you were back in town I knew you could help me. I don’t know who—or what—is killing them, but it's not a moblin. It’s something darker.” He’s speaking a mile a minute.

“Slow down,” Link stops him, “When did this happen?”

“In the night, I came here as soon as I could. They were covered in something… unnatural. Please, Link.”

Link turns back to look at Zelda. “Stay here.”

“What? No. I’ll come with you!” She moves to him and Link stops her. If this is anything like what Cado saw at the castle, he didn’t want her to be anywhere near it.

Link completely turns around and puts his hands on her shoulders, “Zelda, you cannot.” He stays sternly.

“Why? You don’t have to baby me. I can help you.”

“Zel-“

“I’m better! Please don’t leave me-“ Before she finishes the sentence she’s falling back down, like she was going to faint again. She had gotten herself worked up and now her heart was weary again. Link catches her before she falls, her knees knocking together.

“Oh, Goddess.” Dantz says. “Should I help?” He asks and Link snaps, telling him ‘no’ a little too forcefully.

“Zel, come on, let's get you to bed.” He wraps her arm around his shoulder. “Dantz, I’ll be there within the hour. I’m sorry.” Link says in a calmer tone.

“I understand, Link.” He nods and turns to leave.

Zelda can’t get up the stairs and Link picks her up, carrying her up to her room. He places her in bed as she starts to cry.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” He brushes her hair out of her face. She takes his hand.

“No. It’s not.” She replies. “Stop telling me it’s okay.” She groans. “It’s ridiculous that I can’t do anything without this happening.” It was the second time this week.

“I have to go help them.” His hand is held back by her, but she eventually lets it go.

He turns to leave her, pulling his green tunic over his messy hair, and getting ready for combat. He isn’t even anticipating a fight, but he wants to be ready. He puts his gloves on, and straps both his sword and shield to his back. He even gets his bow ready because he has no idea what it might be. It sounds serious.

It’s the first time he’s been entirely suited-up since the castle. He forgot how natural it feels. He forgot how much he felt like himself.

Zelda has gotten up and stands at the railing of the loft. “Be careful.” She says in a weak voice.

Link looks up at her, he wants to stay here with her and hold her and let her know that it's going to be okay. “Please rest.”

He walks out the door.

The cattle are lying dead in the corner of the pasture. Flies buzz around them. Dantz and Link examine the scene, a pit in both their stomachs.

“What could it be?” Dantz asks.

Link crouches down, getting a closer look. The gunk is a deep maroon color, almost like malice but thinner, almost like a glossy serum as opposed to a thick slime. Link takes a risk and touches a bit of it that was strewn across the grass, rubbing it between his fingers. It didn’t seem to hurt him the way malice did. He sniffs it, it’s rotten and foul. He gags almost immediately. Link wipes his hand off in the grass.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” He admits. “And I’ve seen a lot.” This was only confirming his worst fears.

“The other ones that were killed were left like this too.” Dantz explains, “There isn’t even any meat taken out of them, only their eyes are gouged out.” He points out.

“Whatever is killing them is doing it for sport.” Link stands back up and folds his arms. “This is bizarre, I must say.” It was starting to be late afternoon, he still had a few hours of sunlight. “What did you do with the other ones that were killed?” Link asks.

“We tried to clean them up and butcher them for food. But the meat inside was rotten, like it was poisoned under the skin.”

Link hears a giggle from behind them and turns around to see the two daughters of the rancher watching them from behind a post. When he catches them staring they both hide.

“How old are your girls?” He asks.

“Siva is eighteen and Catli is sixteen.” Dantz replies. “They are my pride and joy, I can’t let anything bad happen to them.”

Link advances towards them, “Girls.” He smiles, charming as ever. They both sneak out from behind the post, sheepish and giddy. The older steps forward.

“You’re the hero.” She puts her hands behind her back. Link nods.

“Can you girls show me the edge of your property?” He asks, wanting to test a theory. They both happily nod and start to lead him, he notices especially how Siva looks at him as she walks by. She was very agreeable: long, dark and curly hair and alluring eyes. He follows them. They take him past the fence and through the forest, the younger chatting and asking questions about his quests and whatnot. He just smiles and nods, answering with basic “yes’” or “no’s”.

Link’s theory starts to prove right, he sees a set of two acorns on the ground, then a pair of two foot tracks, and eventually, at the end of the property, where two songbirds lay dead at the bottom of a tree, both covered in the same strange goop. Whatever this is, it’s looking for things in pairs. Like two sisters.

Link would never imagine putting these girls in danger, and would send them home in about an hour or two when it started to get dark, he just wanted to lure out whatever was killing with a pair.

He sat down at the base of a tree, and listened as the girls talked themselves up, clearly competing with one another for who can be the most impressive to the hero. Link decides to let them have their fun, it’s not like he was getting this attention from Zelda.

Zelda.

She’s all he could think about. He listens to the girls for a full hour, but doesn’t comprehend a word they’re saying because all he can do is think about the woman he left at home. He wishes he hadn’t left her home, she’s probably sad and lonely. Or maybe she isn’t, perhaps she’s enjoying some alone time. He doubted it, though. He was sure she was fuming at him for just leaving her, for going in such a rush. Proximity can cause problems, maybe this was good for them.

Link must have zoned out because all of a sudden the younger sister was gone, and he was left alone with Siva. This was dangerous territory.

“Where did your sister go?” He asks, clearly uncomfortable.

“Oh! I told her to go get her tapestry to show you! Of course.” Siva says in a tone that was a little too flirty for Link’s liking. She sits next to him, facing him. Link knew the look on her face, and he knew he should stand up and put an end to whatever was about to happen. “Because you know… now we’re alone.” She sighs and leans in.

Stop. Stop. Stop. He tells himself but doesn’t move, he lets her place her lips on his.

Link is not an experienced kisser. He’s had a few drunken nights in the last three years where he ended up in a Gerudo’s bedchamber or a stable-workers hideout, and while those were all agreeable experiences, he’s never actively sought them out. It was always nice to get the tension from his journey off, though.

Link makes the mistake of kissing her back, and she’s sighing into his touch and he’s pulling her in. Being alone with a woman he’s been in love with for three years and not being able to touch her or talk to her the way he wants to has left him with a lot of pent up energy, it felt good to get it out.

Link puts his fingers through her hair, and starts to kiss down her jawline and neck and she’s letting out the prettiest little sounds.

And then he starts to think about Zelda. The sounds Zelda would make, the feeling of her hair intertwined in his fingers, how her lips would feel against his…

Zelda.

Zelda.

“Zelda.” He sighs, and then Savi is pulling away.

“Hm?” She asks, and Link is dazed and confused, thinking with anything other than his brain. He doesn’t know how long they were kissing because suddenly it's much darker outside, and if Dantz caught them like this, Link would be the one hunted down and killed, not whatever monster is out there.

Link immediately feels stupid, this was a rookie mistake. He shouldn’t have let it happen.

“What?” He responds to her, and then out of the corner of his eye, he sees something run behind the tree. “Shit.” He jumps up. “You need to go. Right now.” He pushes her back towards the house. It wasn’t far, she’d be okay. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.”

She nods, also remembering their reason for being out here. She runs back home and Link shakes his head, trying to refocus. He sees it again, it’s fast, moving from tree to tree, but further away. Link grunts and starts to slowly follow it. He isn’t sure if it saw him. It’s tall, and it’s dark. He would guess it’s a Moblin by its size but it's much too fast to be a moblin. Perhaps a wizzrobe? But he could hear its feet on the grass. Link starts the stalk, prowling towards it like a predator.

He doesn’t think it knows he’s following, because he’s able to follow it halfway up Madorna Mountain before he accidentally steps on a branch that snaps loudly. Again, a rookie mistake. Link was out of practice, rusty. He silently curses himself for that. The beast turns around to look at Link, but he’s able to hide behind an oak tree. It was still a little light out, and the lights from down were getting smaller and smaller as they worked their way up the mountain.

Link stayed vigilant. It’s been a long time since he’s had to fight a new enemy, and he wasn’t sure how powerful this was going to be. It gets quiet, he doesn’t hear it move. Even with Link’s impaired hearing, he had a knack for the details, but not today, not now. A cricket chirps but it’s silenced halfway through its sound. The wind goes still. A cloud covers the moon.

He girds up, and moves from behind the tree to keep following it, but he’s met with a horrific sight.

The creature is standing there, about six feet away from Link.

It startles him. He’s met with a feeling of dread.

It’s tall, probably seven feet. It’s hunched down, a humanoid-sort of beast that looks like a shadow covered in the same maroon gloop as the animals.

Link freezes up, he is paralyzed with fear because he knows exactly what it is.

He knows who it is.

It opens its eyes, those awful, yellow, glowing eyes. He chuckles at Link and it fills his skull. It wasn’t quite human, like it was a pile of goo that was regaining its strength and slowly rebuilding itself into a human. Into a phantom.

They stare at one another, his laughter taunts Link. Link can hear his heartbeat in his ears. His palms start to sweat. He is met with the images of three weeks ago. The battle, the castle, the evil.

Ganon.

Or at least some form of him.

He doesn’t move, he just laughs at Link. The boy swallows, and he wants to run, but he rolls his shoulders back.

“Courage and Bravery are two different things.” Zelda’s words ring in his memory.

He grabs his sword.

The Master Sword unsheathes with a light ring, and it glows in the darkness.

In an instant, the monster is screeching and howling like a Lynel and melting away from the light of the sword. The pure power of the holy blade made the beast slowly melt into the ground, like an ice cube in the desert. It covered its eyes, and screlted into the forest, echoing no doubt into town.

Link walked closer to it, waving the blade, spinning it in his hand until the creature was completely put away.

Whatever that was, it isn’t very strong. It will surely get stronger, though. Link had a feeling this was not the end of it. It left behind a puddle of goop. Link’s stomach dropped when he realized why it was killing for sport and in pairs of two. It was probably seeking Him and Zelda. Unable to differentiate what living things were hylian and what was cattle or animals. The stealing of the eyes surely had something to do with it regaining its strength, but what?

How did it know to come look in Hateno already?

After sheathing the sword and thanking the Goddess, Link took a moment to bury the secretment. He still felt sick to his stomach. Why did he freeze up like that?

Maybe that final battle had more of an effect on him than he thought.

He heads home, explaining to Dantz what had happened and what he saw, sugar-coating it a little and just saying it was a ghost. Link wasn’t sure how long it would stay away for, but hopefully long enough he could talk to Impa about it. Clearly the Master Sword was protecting him. He made a special effort to avoid Savi.

When he gets home, he drops his equipment off, pulling his gloves and boots off and leaving it all in his little corner downstairs. He pulls his shirt off. He would sleep out with Epona again tonight, he would need to to avoid the nightmares. His Mare had that effect on him. The feeling of safety and home.

Zelda was asleep, snoring lightly in her bed. He stayed quiet and went to sit at the table, grabbing a baked apple to silence his rumbling stomach. Guilt washed over him as he remembered what he did today. Savi came onto him, but he knows he shouldn’t have let that happen. He was ashamed of his conduct.

The laughter of the phantom rang in his ears. Flashes of its grin and glowing eyes projected in his mind. He felt ill.

Link disassociated. He sat at the table for three hours and it went by in minutes.

What snaps him out of it are the screams of terror he hears from upstairs.

His mind immediately jumps to the worst possible situation. He grabs the master sword and sprints upstairs. He sees nothing but a scared girl, crying from a nightmare.

“Zelda, what is it?” He asks, setting the sword town and running to her. He kneels by her bed and takes her hand. “I’m here, what’s wrong.” He whispers.

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

“B-but. The guardian, it got you. It killed-”

“It was just a nightmare, it wasn’t real.” Link reassures her. “I’m here, breathing, alive as ever.”

Zelda shakes her head, she’s clearly so traumatized that she cannot differentiate dream from reality anymore, she probably thinks him saying that is the dream.

“Here, feel.” He grabs her hand and places it against his chest where his heart is. “Feel that?” He asks, “Bum-bum. Bum-bum.” He whispers. “That’s my heart. Its pumping, it's beating.” Zelda sobs and he pulls her into his chest. “It’s okay, I got you. I’m here.”

He holds her for a moment and then stands up, “I’ll get the stool if it will help you sleep.” He turns to go.

“Stay with me.” She asks, tears wetting his collarbone.

“I’ll be right here, I’ll grab the stool.” He says.

“No, stay with me.” She says, and gestures to the bed.

“What?”

“Please. I cannot sleep without you by my side. I’m too afraid I’m going to lose you again.” She sniffles.

“Zelda I can’t-“

“Why?” She asks. “Because of decorum? Because I’m royal? Because you don't want to get caught?” She picks up her hands ‘None of that matters anymore’ she signs.

Link nods, “Are you sure?”

“Please.” She pleads.

Link moves back to her, trying to control his racing heart. Zelda scoots over to she’s closer to the wall, and Link carefully crawls into the covers of the bed. There wasn’t a ton of room, there would be no way for them to lay in the bed without being in full contact. “Is this okay?” He asks as he pulls the covers up.

She nods.

“Hold me?” She asks.

Link looks at her and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to kiss her. He nods and lays his head down, his chest facing up. He pulls her into his chest, wrapping his left arm around her shoulders and his right arm over his stomach to her waist. She tries to control her breathing, and it gets easier as their hearts begin to sync up.

Link wants to cry too, because this is the safest he has felt in a hundred and three years. This is the most at home he has ever been. He mentally-pinches himself because he’s sure he’s dreaming. But he doesn’t wake up, in fact, he starts to fall into the deepest sleep he’s ever had.

Every muscle in his body starts to relax, his eyes get heavy, and the scent of the girl on his chest fills his dreams with images of fairy forests and gentle ocean waves and the time of day when the sun moves into twilight.

This is home.

[ghost-proofbaby]

i want Steve - Haunted more than i could possibly say

i refuse to think more than 5 seconds about it critically

just know

i am on my hands and knees

haunted (steve's version)

warnings: technically canon compliant (aka the upside down is happening), severe angst, pretty much hurt no comfort.

wc: 1.6k+

an: hi. i love you. i'd say i'm sorry, but i don't think i really am. this probably isn't what you meant by any means but when i hear this song and think of steve all i can think about is that moment in s4 between him and eddie waah. (also, reminder: i will repeat songs if the requests are for different characters!)

He wouldn’t look at you. 

He was the one who started this terrible mess, who had initiated that first kiss, and now he won’t even look at you. Steve Harrington was doing the one thing he had promised to never do – he was walking away from you. 

All the years are spiraling down the drain, years spent by his side even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he was an asshole, even when he wore the crown of king Steve so proudly. Even when he didn’t deserve your allegiance, he had had it. And now, he won’t look you in the eyes. He’d rather stare down the barrel of death than face you right now, and that very fact was unraveling you at your core. 

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

His words are salt in the wound and haven’t stopped echoing in your spiraling mind since he’d said them. 

What, exactly, was the mistake? What part of this did he not only take responsibility for, but regret? 

Was it the lingering glances of the past? Was it all the nights you’d listened to him rant and whine after his breakup with Nancy? Or was it all the times he’d convinced you that he had put you first, not only in your daily lives but in all of this? Did he regret the day he’d thrown himself between you and that Demodog, bat swinging wildly as he didn’t show a sign of fear? Or when he’d left you with radio silence as he’d been tortured underground by Russians and you faced the monsters above, never knowing if he was alive or dead? 

Or was it the kiss? The kiss he’d impulsively thrown himself into, hardly giving either of you a chance to think last night before he’d pressed his lips to yours as you tended to his wounds left behind by the Demobats. One moment, you were taking alcohol-soaked cotton swabs gingerly to his throat that was sure to scar once all was said and done, and the next, his tongue had been in your mouth while his hands gripped your hips and pulled you impossibly close. 

“Staring him down isn’t going to fix whatever… weirdness is happening between you two,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, making you look up to where he sits in the grass, red in the face and holding a makeshift shield. 

Dustin is still out of breath from their roughhousing and focusing on hammering nails into his trash can lid. 

“Weirdness?” you retort, crinkling your nose, “Nothing weird is happening between me and Steve.”

Eddie shrugs, clearly not buying your defensive tone, “Whatever you say. But I’m not blind, sweetheart. If looks could kill, we’d be arranging a funeral for our resident babysitter.” 

“A mistake? Steve, no, please-” 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

You knew fear. You’d faced the end of the world plenty of times now, you currently were again, but you’d never known trepidation like this. 

“No one’s dying,” you respond blandly, looking back to the cup of nails as you pass another one to Eddie, “We’re not heroes, Eddie. No one’s dying this time, and there won’t be any more funerals.” 

“I think it’d be a mercy kill if Vecna got his hands on Harrington first,” Eddie takes the nail, pausing his thought as his tongue peeks out between his lips and he levels the nail before bringing down his mallet smoothly, “I think when it’s all said and done, I’ll get red roses to lay at the grave he’s dug himself.” 

It only gets a ghost of a laugh to escape you, a silent breath that leaves you sharply as you shake your head. 

“Do you not want this?”

“I don’t know what I want.” 

He didn’t know what he wanted. He’d made that clear over the last few days. All the tides of his attention had turned towards Nancy, and he’d left you on the sidelines, sick to your stomach and so uncertain of the future between you two. 

You knew what you wanted. It was the same thing you’d always wanted, ever since he’d first laid his eyes on you, effectively cursing you to spend the rest of your days haunted by soft brown eyes and congregations of freckles that dotted warm, tan skin. 

“Don’t be cheap with it,” you croak, eyes looking back in his direction. You don’t even hear Eddie’s amused snort. You’re stunned, taken back by the fact that he’s already looking at you, “Make sure to get him a proper dozen.” 

As hazel eyes lock with yours, you ponder if he’d always been walking this very delicate line at your side. If maybe, you’d not been quite as alone in your unrequited as you’d always assumed.

And you wonder if even the world of the end can delay the impending break to come. 

—

The plan is set, the supplies have been gathered, the teams have been formed – you all know what you have to do. It’s now or never, and there’s no time to second-guess any of it now. 

You’re all back in the Upside Down again, hopefully for the last time, when Steve hesitates in front of the steps of the trailer on this side of the flipped world. 

You almost convince yourself as he’s turning to face you, Eddie, and Dustin that he might bring it all up again. That he might leave you with something that soothes the ache he’d planted inside of you. He’d dug his claws into you long before that kiss, long before he’d lodged all those words of uncertainty down your throat about how he doesn’t know what he wants. You all but beg for him to just leave you with something to hold onto before you both face these nightmares one last time. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he makes one last speech, sternly instructing you three, “Don’t try to be cute, or be a hero, or something.” 

At some point, Dustin and Eddie interrupt him, joking about the way you three were just decoys, not heroes. But you’re not listening – you’re sharply focused on the way Steve’s eyes are avoiding yours again. 

Please look at me. Please say something to me. Please don’t walk away from me, because something about this time feels like the last time. 

You can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t stop feeling the way he’d latched onto you in that small bathroom, the way his fingers curled against your hips and the way he’d left your lips swollen and bruised before he delivered his final blows. You know him, better than the back of your hand, and you know that he hadn’t said half the words he’d wanted to in the aftermath. You know what brand cologne he wears and how his mother was the one to first buy it for him and he never bothered to venture from it, you know that he has glasses that he needs desperately after all the head trauma he’s endured these last few years and you know that he’s too embarrassed to wear them in front of anyone except you, you know the way he still wakes up in the middle of the night screaming at past memories twisted into night terrors. You know him. You swear you know him. 

He still feels like a stranger as he turns without sparing you a glance. Eddie starts to take a step forward, opening his mouth, but you beat him to the punch. 

“Hey, Steve?” you call out into the mist of blue tint and foreign particles. 

When he looks at you, all the air leaves your lungs. 

You thought you knew him. His favorite music played over late night drives with just the two of you, the way you teased him for his hair routine but secretly loved the smell of his coconut shampoo. You had every mole on his neck memorized and knew the curvature of his lips long before you’d felt them. Every inside joke, every quiet exchange of comfort, every moment of pining swallowed down, is choking you now. 

You’ve already lost him. He was always destined to be a ghost in your closet, a cold chill to only visit you in his loneliest of moments. You’ve already lost him, and you never even had him. 

“Please be careful,” you manage to whisper. Your face must be a mirror image to his the night before, he must see all the words you hold back and bury in your chest. 

You are two sides of the same coin. Neither of you will ever learn to unlock your jaws long enough to stop biting your tongues. And it doesn’t even matter now; it’s too late to change anything. 

All his features soften as he offers a nod and nothing more. For a second, you see the boy you once believed you knew. The same eyes, mouth, and nose that had laid staring at you from the pillow beside yours, fighting sleep and fearing the dark. Only brave enough to face it when he laid at your side, hand in innocent hand, never seeing the way he was stringing you along the entire time. Only knowing he needed that comfort and he needed that warmth you would offer to him time and time again, even as it left you hollow. 

You’d already lost him once. As it happens for a second time, something in your gut churns and whispers it will be for the last time. 

He turns around wordlessly, and follows after Robin and Nancy.  You feel that thread that has bound you to him all these years pull mercilessly taut and wait for the break as Steve Harrington does the one thing he swore he’d never do to you – he walks away from you.

"it's getting dark and it's all so quiet, and i can't trust anything now. and it's coming over you like it's all a big mistake."

[internetgiraffekid1673]

My brother (J-Dog) is Mentally Unwell about Fablehaven and is making it my Problem:

Today, my brother and I had a conversation that lasted so long that my dad literally had to stop it because he needed to take 5 minutes to talk to us about important things.

What was this conversation about you may ask? Well, it was all about Fablehaven, but it kinda went all over the place. It started with my brother sharing his thoughts about his current reread, which he started to settle a years long debate about whether or not Grandpa Sorenson actually counts as a responsible adult. This is part of a larger discussion about J Fiction novels removing all responsible adults so that great adventures can happen, and thus, what counts as "responsible adults being around."

While we agree that no, Grandpa Sorenson does not count, we did not reach a consensus on how irresponsible he is and how much of it is his fault. (I think he's a trash parent/grandparent, my brother just thinks he has some issues and was in a stressful time period).

This is because we got sidetracked wondering how on Earth neither of Seth and Kendra's parents EVER found out about the magical world given their canonical upbringing and the rules of the world. I described this conversation as "taking a wrench to the machine that is canon, but instead of tightening loose screws, we're just hitting it until it actually works because the writer is holding the hammer hostage." I will not bother explaining the mess that is Fablehaven's worldbuilding, but we could not come up with an explanation that didn't fall under "probably child abuse."

Did I mention I've only read Dragonwatch and the first book of Fablehaven, while my brother has read both mutliple times?

So basically, I spent the longest conversation I have had in MONTHS with my brother, arguing about/trying to fix plot holes that NOBODY else cares about in a junior fiction book series that I have not read.

I should also say: this is the longest conversation I've had in months. The previous one was also with my brother about his latest dnd character, and we were basically writing their backstory (he basically reinvented puss in boots, but it was an accident).

And then I sit here and wonder why I don't feel as unfulfilled as lacking in-person friends is supposed to make you feel. It's this. This is why. I don't lack friends. I just have an awesome brother who's great at accidentally monopolizing my social battery.

[the-insouciant-scientist]

Good morning I'm thinking about train accessibility with the Great Hellbound Railway. Like yes, benches are a necessity, but also are there designated wheelchair spots with tie-downs for safety? 'Cause that's really important. And there needs to be something on hand to bridge the gap between the platform and the train for people who can't cross it on foot. Wide doors and aisles, and some sort of consideration for travel between cars. Just... Hm. Canonically, if they're that upset about an incredibly basic accessibility feature it doesn't bode well for other accessibility. But also I'm disabled and so is Harper so I will take a hammer and Fix the canon

[littlesmartart]

DRAWTOBER #29 - Setting fire to our insides by StarsAlignNomore

Lan Wangji dies after the thirty-third strike. Lan Xichen does not handle it well. *fleabag voice* This is a fix it. Tracing back his steps, all his life, every decision he’s ever made, every bruise and every cut – it leads back to his father. Jin Guangyao has regret nestled where silent calculation used to sit. He’s not surprised to still feel the cold prickle of acrimony right next to it. A kick to the chest and Jin Guangyao had promised to ascend those stairs in bright Jin Gold and rise to meet his father on equal footing. Now he’s dressed in Lan Blue and no chance to fulfill that promise. He makes a new one then, staring into the flames. He swears it on the memory of Nie Mingjue’s lips against his skin and Lan Xichen’s cold silver eyes. He’s made of regret instead of Jin Gold now and he will not cower down in fear. He will make his father pay for it.

so you know how I've recc'd some fics on here as "comfort fics"? this is, uh... I'd say this is basically the opposite of that! I am very rarely this masochistic in my reading habits because there's already so much pain in canon, but oh my god, this fic compels me, it destroys me, and it's not even finished yet! I absolutely stand by the concept that the best way to reconcile NieYao is by hitting Xichen with the Whump Hammer, and this fic takes that concept and runs a fucking marathon with it; what do NieYao do when their moral centre decides he's had enough of being nice and reasonable??? in that way, we get a fantastic "who you are in the dark" character study of each of them, and oh boy, you know something's going badly wrong when Mingjue is the most reasonable and restrained of 3zun.

there is so much more to this plot than just 3zun though - and every new plot point is an icepick right to the heart and had me getting up to PACE AWAY MY FEELINGS because there just ??? keeps being more???? this fic is not a fun or lighthearted read, but it is INCREDIBLE and will have you on the edge of your fucking seat, and if you are in the right kind of mood then I would thoroughly recommend it.

tldr; reading this fic be like -

[danwhobrowses]

Okay so we are doing a very rare third post about the events of Critical Role campaign 3 episode 91 so avoid if you still haven't watched it because there will be spoilers again

Right. So I'm not gonna talk more about the Reincarnate vs Stay Dead debate with FCG, I still prefer Reincarnate for reasons I put in my last post but now I'm gonna talk about the other route, if FCG stays dead, what becomes of his remains?

It is almost ironic that a PC death happened a few episodes after Matt created the Ruidian custom of making weapons from a loved one's remains, something Ashton and Fearne were quite intrigued by, so I wonder if the Hells would do the same - in a way carrying a little bit of FCG with them to continue the fight. Outside of his loot it's hard to tell what the Hells can use, if it were me I'd have each of the Hells have a bracelet from his hair at the least, but the rest would probably need to be left in the hands of tinkerers to create things that may enhance the Hells' combat; maybe a conductive whip for Imogen to use for her more lightning-based magic for instance, I can also see Ashton fixing FCG's head onto their outfit or hammer and Chetney and Laudna maybe making little FCG dolls for each of them too.

Loot-wise I had to look at the wiki to remind myself of all the stuff FCG had on them, as well as see what Otohan had but outside of the backpack and swords it wasn't quite descriptive at this point, and even then there's no guarantee it'll all be undamaged from the blast, but there were some notable things that could end up in the Hells' hands to use. I feel like we're all in agreement that if FCG doesn't come back that Ashton keeps the Coin of the Changebringer, perhaps even have it affixed to their hammer so to feel like FCG is still fighting with them. The full extent of its magical properties were not shown outside of the Yes/No question and 1 bout of Lucky per day, but on Ashton's hammer the daily reroll might end up being helpful, though they are not a fan of the gods a little FCG-aided divine buffing could go a long way. Other than that, Ashton probably should claim the two Potions of Possibility FCG had, my earlier post mentioned my belief that Otohan's backpack should go to them because Dunamancy (I didn't however mention how echoes can work as temporary meat shields for Ashton to better negate enemy attacks that'd otherwise be aimed at the party) and the logic is the same here, Matt would probably have to try and balance Ashton's Dunamancy and Titan buffs so to not take all four potions (or more, think Fearne and Orym have one too right? *checks* oh and Laudna so that's 7 potions!) at once but those seem to be key loot Ashton should keep a hold of.

Outside of combat FCG would be helpful in using Identify when the Hells came across new objects. While Chetney has Grim Psychometry to do something similar, the Goggles of Object Reading that FCG used could be taken by Imogen - which in turn may provide Laura and the fandom a means to canonize glasses on the character - along with the Staff of Dark Odyssey that she has used before.

Fearne is another who could hold the Staff, but I find it unlikely. She would probably take the rod used to plane-shift to the Fey Realm, in a way being a key to home if she needs it. I can see her taking the Ivory Branch as well, albeit temporarily until a new healer presents themselves, due to the +1 Spell attack and +1d4 Healing. She might keep the Ruidian mood ring but I feel like that wouldn't survive the blast, same with the recipes FCG collected, though it'd be nice if someone were able to carry on his memory that way; Fearne, Ashton or Orym would be likely candidates for that.

Laudna would perhaps be able to use most of the scrap remains of FCG for her constructs, perhaps a little buffing for Pate is in order plus she doesn't use Sashimi often. Chetney only really works in wood so he probably won't take the remains, stuff such as his saws and propeller could be used to empower Laudna's own creations, maybe even the fake legs too.

One weapon I think will not end in Laudna's hands however is the Grapple cannon, which could suit either Orym or Chetney. Orym is the better candidate to use it though, given the 20 Dexterity compared to Chetney's 14, additionally there is the +1 Mithril Half-Plate Armor, which could be an improvement for either.

If Orym were to get both I could see it being a trade for Chetney not getting anything, in turn granting Chetney both of Otohan's swords to use - since Orym may want nothing to do with her equipment given her role in killing their family. Otherwise I can see Chetney maybe grabbing the saws ahead of Laudna, maybe the goggles but he does already have the monocle, and any utensils he can repurpose for crafting. There is also the possibility of him getting the Aeoran Scrambling Devices that we know little about, maybe adding a little 'this wouldn't happen if it were wooden' catharsis for Chet if he used them on machines.

The only other thing that is left from FCG are the bolt thrower and the All-Minds-Burn drugs. The latter could go to anyone but Ashton, Fearne and Imogen are more likely (she still needs to plant that seed), the bolt thrower could go to Laudna, she never used Bor'dor's slingshot with the Draconic Rune that Prism added to it, or to Chetney to fire a chisel. His coat he designed like FRIDA's would probably be kept for her to be given too. Outside of that the only other specific loot we currently know from Otohan is the Fake Treshi Ring for Scrying (not its official name), which won't be of use to the Hells since the next time they get close to a major enemy they will be fighting, but perhaps it could be placed in the hands of Liliana Temult, either to keep track of her or to plant on Ludinus so the Hells can track his movements instead.