#this is bizarre and awful I'm so sorry this happened to you

[spenceragnewfics]

perhaps a fic where y/n does something stupid and reckless to get spencer's attention. and he's wildly concerned but also "wtf y/n you don't need to do all that, you HAVE my attention"

This took longer than usual, but I'm not going to stress myself out by trying to get something out every day and just take my time.

LIGHT BURNS | Spencer Agenew x F!Reader

TW: Jealousy, small injury

Word Count: 2.06k

Description: Spencer and Y/N are the mom and dad of the Smosh office, but what happens when a new games editor appears and takes a lot of Spencer's attention?

Love is a bizarre thing. Many people know this and have done awful, strange, and crazy things for it. That’s the current situation Y/N is in.

Y/N and Spencer have been dating for years. The two have been friends since before they started working at Smosh and dating since their college years. The two are practically married but are just waiting for the right moment.

Many of the new cast members see them as the company’s mom and dad with their relationship dynamic, at least until a new games editor came in. 

“Babe! I want you to meet someone.” Spencer says, seeing Y/N sitting at her desk in the unscripted pod. She looks up from her screen with a loving smile, “Of course, is this the new editor people have been talking about?” She asks, getting out of her chair.

“Yeah, this is Cordelia. Cordelia, this is Y/N. She’s one of our unscripted producers and editor. She’s also my girlfriend.” He says, moving to the side to reveal a woman no more than 5’2” with thick curly hair and beautiful tan skin. 

She’s never really been taken aback by a woman but there is no denying how beautiful she is. “It’s nice to meet you, Cordelia.” She puts her hands out for her to shake, and the girl hesitates before shaking it. “Nice to meet you too, Spencer don’ you think we need to continue the tour?” Y/N looks at the girl shocked then looking at Spencer.

“Uh, yeah, we can just give me a minute.” He says and she walks away without another word. “Is she…did I do something?” Y/N asks, noticing the weird behavior. “I think she’s just getting used to a new setting.  I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” He assures, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

She feels her face heat up from the sweet gesture as she smiles, “Okay, whatever you, Mr. Director.” Spencer smirks at the nickname and hums as he pulls her in, “And since when do you call me that?” She shrugs as she wraps her arms around his neck and his wrap around her waist.

“I thought it’d be a nice addition.” She teases before leaning in, he leans in as well. Their lips are just centimeters away when, “Hey, Spencer, umm, really need to continue this tour.” Cordelia says, popping her head into the pod. Y/N leans her head on his shoulder as he looks at the younger girl, “I will be right there, sorry.” He apologizes and then kisses Y/N’s temple.

“Hey, I love you, and I’ll see you later. Okay?” He asks, leaning back to look at Y/N. “Yeah, I’ll see you later. I love you too.” He pecks her lips before walking out of the pod. 

What she hoped was just a first-day standoff, turns out to be a constant thing. Cordelia is nice to everyone except Y/N. Whenever the woman is in the room or close by, she always walks away or gives her the silent treatment.

Usually, she would ask Spencer about this stuff but lately, he’s been busy helping Cordelia. It seems like no matter what, she always needs help, and since Spencer was the main editor for games for so long, he’s always helping.

She’s tried so many things to get his attention but he always assures her that they can talk later, but they never do. It’s been almost a month of this going on and she’s at her wits end with it.

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on! He’s been so distant lately and it’s killing me because he’s always with Cordelia. I don’t know why, but something about her feels off.” She says to Angela, Chanse, Courtney, and Amanda during lunch. “Really? She’s always nice to me.” Amanda says and Y/N rolls her eyes.

“That’s why it’s weird! She’s nice to everyone but me. It’s like she has something against me and all I’ve ever done was say hi.” Courtney looks at her confused, “Do you think she might not like you because you’re Spencer’s girlfriend?” They ask.

“What? Do you think she has a crush on him or something?” She looks around the table confused. “I think she absolutely does, girl. She’s always hanging around him and I know she can edit those videos herself. I’ve seen her do it but always ‘messes up’ so Spencer can come and help.” Chanse says, crossing his arms.

“You need to talk to him. I don’t think he understands what’s going on. Have you told him how you feel about all this?” Angela asks and Y/N shakes her head. “That’s where you’re messing up. You need to tell him how this whole thing is making you feel. Spencer is one of the few guys who understands how to talk about feelings.” Angela says, looking at the woman with sincere eyes.

“Okay, I will after this upcoming shoot. That’ll finish the shoot week and he’ll be a bit less stressed.” Y/N declares before moving topics of conversation.

About an hour later, Alex Tran comes running up to Y/N in her pod. “Y/N, we need someone to take over for Chanse. He got sick and we don’t have anyone else available.” He’s breathless and a small amount of sweat is on his forehead. “Alex, did you seriously run over here from the games stage?” She asks amused while giving him a tissue to wipe the sweat off.

“Yeah, I did. Spencer said it’s an emergency so I went with our emergency backup for games videos, you.” She had agreed to be an emergency backup for gaming videos when Specner became the director of programming. She thought with how much she and him played video games then she could do well when needed.

“I’ll be right there Alex. Grab a water from my mini-fridge before you go to cool off.” He nods, leaning down to grab water before walking away and Y/N is walking behind him. He holds the door open for her and it catches the attention of everyone on the stage.

“What’s up, every pony!” Her voice announces happily, excited to be filming with her friends. “Y/N!” Shayne cheers, making her laugh. She looks over to see Spencer is over with Coredelia, talking about something and not even looking up. Her face turns into a sad expression, not used to being ignored by him. Usually, he’s the first one to notice her but it’s like she’s not even there.

She sits between Arasha and Trevor, looking at her hands and not saying anything. Trevor wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side when he sees how sad she is. “We’re playing one of your favorites, All Rise.” The game makes her smile as memories of the last time everyone played was when so many inside jokes were made. While she didn’t play herself, she was seated not too far away watching.

She hugs Trevor before sitting up, “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Trev.” He shrugs like it’s nothing as Spencer looks up from Coredelia’s screen. “Oh, hey babe, I didn’t even hear you come in.” He walks over, kissing the top of her head before going over to the camera.

During the kiss, she looked over to Coredelia glaring at her. ‘She does have a crush on Spence!’ Y/N thinks to herself before turning to the camera. The group of Shayne. Courtney, Arasha, Trevor, and Y/N play the game full of laughs, inside jokes, new jokes made, and sweet times throughout the whole time. It helped distract Y/N from the whole thing going on with the new editor having a major crush on her boyfriend until the game was over at least.

It took no more than a minute for Spencer to call wrap and Cordelia walked over to him, “Hey, Spencie.” She says, making everyone shocked at the nickname. “Yes, Cordelia?” He asks, his voice neutral. “Can you show me how to-”

Y/N tunes out what she asks her boyfriend as she continues to sit at the table. Her fingers mess with the promise ring Spencer gave her last year on their anniversary as her mind races. “Hey, Y/N/N. We’re gonna go get some coffee. Do you wanna come with?” Arasha asks, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“No thanks, Rasha. I’ll be okay. Y’all have fun though.” The girl nods before hugging her and walking over to the group leaving the set. She continues to sit there, not noticing everyone leaving except Cordelia and Spencer. “I feel like such an idiot. I’ve been here two months and I still don’t understand this whole format.” Cordelia says, not noticing Y/N still on set.

“It’s okay. It takes time. Now that you got it taken care of, I think it’s best if you go back to the pod and finish up.” Spencer tries to get her to leave but she refuses. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.” She says, putting her laptop down as she stands up.

Y/N looks over confused until she sees the look on Cordelia’s face. It’s a flirty look, “Look, I know you and Y/N have been together a long time-” She starts and Y/N doesn’t hesitate to look around for something. Standing on her chair she reaches up to grab a stage light but burns her hand.

“Fuck, oh my god!” She yells, holding her hand as she starts to wobble on the chair. Cordelia and Spencer look over, and while she looks upset his face fills with worry. “Love, what did you do?!” He asks while running over to her.

Y/N doesn’t get to answer as the chair moves out from under her and she starts to fall, “Spencer!” She screams and braces for impact with the table but it doesn’t happen.

Opening her eyes, she sees her boyfriend looking like he almost saw her die. “Baby, baby, are you okay? What the hell did you do that for?!” His voice is full of concern but definitely louder than normal. Y/N doesn’t say anything, looking away from him.

“Spencer-” Cordelia starts to say before he looks at her, pissed beyond doubt. “Cordelia, you need to leave the stage right now or so help me God you will be out of here in two fucking minutes!” He yells. She doesn’t waste a second, running off the stage and leaving the couple alone. 

“Now, Y/N, tell me why you did this.” He says, looking at her hand to see how bad the burn is. “It’s nothing, I was being stupid is all.” She mutters, not wanting to admit she was jealous and trying to get his attention.

Gently grabbing her face, he makes her look at him. His blue and hazel eyes locked onto hers, “I know you're lying. Tell me, please.��

“You’ve been spending so much time with Cordelia and I got jealous. I wanted your attention so I…I did something stupid.” He looks at her amused, “Why are you jealous? She’s just some girl. You’re my girlfriend, my soulmate, the love of my life.”

“You didn’t even notice me when I walked in. You’ve barely been acknowledging my existence.” She stresses, sitting up and moving away from him a bit. “I’ve felt like I’m on a lonely island for a month and it sucks, Spence. I like being a small island with you, not alone.”

“What do you mean I’ve barely acknowledged you? It may not be as obvious but I’m always looking at you or for you. You are my every thought when I need comfort or just to feel better. Babe, you are my everything and I need you to know that.” He assures her, moving closer and moving hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes, feeling like an asshole. “It’s okay, now let's get your hand taken care of then we can figure out this whole Cordelia thing.” He helps her stand up and wrap an arm around her waist.

“You know, you’re really sexy when you yell.” She says as they walk off the stage and his response is a simple smirk.

[flowerandblood]

The Loved One (2/2)

[ modern • Aemond x Alys!sister • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, swearing, toxic behaviour and relations, manipulation, therapy ]

[ description: After the events of that night, Alys' sister tries to move on from what happened, proud that she didn't cause a tragedy. However, when it turns out that Alys' boyfriend has broken up with her the next day, her older sister becomes hysterical, and she wonders despairingly whether she was the reason of his decision. Lost, obsessive, distant, desperate Aemond. Anon request. ]

This is Part 2 of The Second One

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Even though weeks had passed since that bizarre night, she couldn't forget what had happened. It didn't help that the next day her older sister called their mother crying, saying that this shithead had dared to leave her, to walk away after all she had endured for him.

She stared with big eyes at the pancakes lying on the plate in front of her, feeling the cold sweat on her neck and the rapid pounding of her heart, listening to her mother's puzzled questions trying to calm her down, saying in a trembling voice that maybe it would be better this way, that after all they were still fighting.

Alys seemed to have forgotten everything that happened between them and what he had said to her the day before – she felt tears under her eyelids hearing her sobbing, her helpless confession that she loved him and didn't want to live without him.

She felt his hand between her thighs, his tongue deep inside her throat.

She was ashamed that she had barely held back, that she had refused him with difficulty, that some part of her wanted him to stay.

To fuck her.

She swallowed loudly, feeling herself shudder at the memory of the piece of paper he had slipped under her door and what was written on it.

I wish I had met you before her.

She felt a kind of discomfort at the thought of being possessed by some kind of terror and satisfaction, because she was bonded with him by a secret that no one knew about but them.

A moment later, however, she recalled how awful things he had said about Alys, how objectively he had treated her, and that he would have done exactly the same with her if she had not regained her sobriety of mind in time.

She has big tits and a big ass.

She sucks cock well.

She shook her head, feeling that it made her sick to her stomach at the thought, and got up from the table, unable and unwilling to listen to it, recognising that her sister was right.

They were made for each other.

To her despair, Alys came to their house again later that day. She paid no attention to her, directing her despair and pain towards their mother, telling her that he wasn't taking her calls, that he had blocked her number, that he had simply texted her briefly and that was it.

"How could he do this, after so many years. We've been through so much together and he breaks up with me over a fucking text message? Like a fucking kid, no conversation, no explanation?" She heard her mumbling coming from the living room and their mother's voice trying to reassure her – she stood in the dark hallway of their house, eavesdropping involuntarily, thinking with some kind of amusement that it was obvious he had ended it that way.

She shuddered when she heard her name and the fact that her sister had stood up: she ran quickly upstairs, fearing that the subject of their argument and what she had accused him of would now cause her to lash out at her.

True to her intuition, Alys knocked on the door to her room after a while – her mother tried to calm her down but she interrupted her saying that she just wanted to talk, that it was possible she knew of something more.

They stepped inside: her older sister grunted as she tried to quiet herself down, wiping her smudged make-up with her fingers, her face red from tears.

"I'm sorry for his inappropriate behaviour yesterday. He kept staring at you, too sure to get me off balance. Did he bother you after I left?" She asked, putting her hands in front of her, as if this question was a formality for her.

Something in the way she said it, in her conviction that it all revolved around her, that she was asking it not because she was worried about her but because she wanted to prove something to herself made any sympathy and remorse she had felt a moment before disappear.

She told me about you. What an ugly duckling you are. That you don’t know how to dress well, don’t know how to accentuate your figure and your assets. That you hide yourself in big sweatshirts and sit with your nose in books instead of really living and that there’s nothing to talk to you about because you can’t converse about anything interesting.

She recognised that she had acted appropriately – she had cut whatever was going on in time and told him to leave, so she didn't feel the need to admit anything.

"He wanted to talk to me about Gombrowicz, presumably so that I would repeat it to you later and to arouse your jealousy. I told him to leave and that's what he did." She replied softly so that her words were not a complete lie – her sister pressed her lips together, clearly displeased by her statement, her nostrils quivering in uncertainty and rage.

She had no such intention.

"Is that all? He didn't want anything else?" She asked coolly.

She raised her eyebrows and laughed dryly, recognising that for some reason all this amused her – the thought that her little sister about whom she had said such things might have taken away something that belonged to her.

Take him, she thought.

You're both sick.

"Me? Please. I told him clearly not to involve me in your affairs and use me against you." She said indifferently. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that her sister had turned purple – she swallowed loudly as if she was afraid of what she was about to hear.

"What did he say to you?" She asked in a trembling voice forcing herself to be calm, from which she felt a thrill of satisfaction.

"A lot of things. For example, what you say about me. What a caring, good sister you are. How much you worry about me, with what tenderness you think of me." She replied while playing with the pencil lying on her desk, not even looking at her, feeling the awkward silence that had fallen around them.

"I…after all, you know that I would never say anything in bad faith. I get upset with you sometimes, like any sister, I don't understand you, it's true, but I love you, you know that. God, that fucking liar and manipulator!" She growled helplessly, fiddling with her necklace between her fingers in a nervous gesture, looking pleadingly at their mother as if hoping for her support in the matter.

"If he's a liar and a manipulator, why do you want to be with him?" She asked tiredly and impatiently, no longer feeling anything but grief and disapproval.

"That's how we are, both of us…like fire, we argue and come back, it's always been that way." She muttered, and she swallowed hard, thinking with relief that the fact that she had refused him was the wisest decision of her life.

"Do what you want, don't get me involved. Leave." She said dryly, taking a book from her shelf, Trans-Atlantyk by Witold Gombrowicz.

Alys left her room, clearly furious that the conversation hadn't gone according to her plan, that she couldn't go on playing the victim, the one innocent and perpetually abused.

She thought she wanted nothing to do with them.

A few weeks passed and she slowly began to forget about the situation even though Alys couldn't get over it – she knew she was now on some sleeping pills, immersed in utter despair.

She figured that sooner or later she would find someone else – she just prayed that he wouldn't change his mind and come back to her, because she didn't know how she would bear the sight of him in her house.

However, something happened that she had not expected at all.

One evening she received a message from an unknown number.

She opened it and frowned after she read its contents.

Block it and delete it? Threaten him with telling Alys and her mother everything?

She felt her heart start pounding like crazy, a cold sweat on the back of her neck – she covered her mouth with her hand, terrified, wondering where he had got her number, what was she supposed to do now.

She was afraid of what he was capable of, that he might start talking about the fact that she had let him stay with her after all, that something more than a kiss had happened.

She swallowed loudly as she looked at her screen and slowly typed out a reply on her phone's keypad.

She shuddered when, a moment later, her display lit up again and she opened the message from him with her heart beating fast.

She sent it, clenching her eyes, thinking with despair that her answer was too aggressive, that it would surely enrage him, that she would regret all that had happened, her stupid moment of weakness.

She looked at what he'd written without knowing for herself what she felt, her throat squeezed so tightly that she had trouble breathing. She jumped when the messages began to appear one after another.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, angry at herself for letting him do this to her, telling her what she wanted to hear, putting himself in the role of a disappointed and disillusioned man who needed comforting.

She read everything he wrote with an expression of disbelief, completely shocked by this sudden externalisation. She felt her heart squeeze, her body trembling in horror at the fact that he was trying to play with her again, unwittingly giving her what she wanted.

He knew she longed to be appreciated, to be important to someone, to be the only one, to do something her sister had failed to do.

To fix him.

He was giving her himself on a plate, distraught, seeking comfort and refuge, an opportunity for her to prove herself, to show to herself that she was better, more tender, smarter than her sister.

She felt tears of helplessness and humiliation gathering at the corners of her eyes, and swallowed loudly, typing out a message on her phone.

She sent the message and breathed out loud, covering her face with her hands, wondering in pain why he was doing this to her, why he was being so cruel.

Did he want to prove something to himself, to stab her sister in the back with her help?

She shuddered when she heard her phone vibrate and unlocked it quickly, her lips dry with stress.

She didn't know why she burst into sobs after reading his message, why she felt so sad, embittered and humiliated.

I wish I had met you before her.

Why was he doing this to her?

Why was he messing with her head?

For some reason, because of everything she had read, she felt even worse, the pain that ripped through her heart seemed unbearable.

Some part of her wanted to believe him.

She had trouble sleeping, going back to what he had written again and again, once wanting to block him, then immediately deciding that there was no need, that he had clearly given her peace.

She knew she should forget about him, but she couldn't.

Therefore, she tried to concentrate on her studies. Her classes filling her entire days – she even took extra lessons, wanting to be away from home in the evenings as well.

Walking through the large, neo-Gothic hall, she came across a poster hanging on the notice board, announcing open lectures taking place every week on Thursday at 7pm, on the works of Orwell, Kafka, Dostoyevsky and Gombrowicz, entitled 'The Fall of the World'.

She thought the whole thing sounded extremely tempting, and as she loved all these writers, she decided to attend at least once.

The lecture was held in a library that anyone could enter to make things easier for outside listeners – when she went inside most of the seats at the tables were already taken.

She stopped in mid-step, wanting to back away, but it was too late; the tall, well-built figure of a blond-haired man sitting in one of the chairs turned towards her involuntarily, his gaze expressing shock.

"Miss Rivers, welcome! Please, take a seat." Professor Moore, the same one who had lectured to her year on twentieth-century world literature, spoke to her.

She nodded, horrified that it would be at least odd if she left now, so she sat down in one of the empty seats trying not to look at the sinister, inscrutable man sitting a few seats away.

She felt ashamed that some part of her was glad to see him, as if she hoped to meet him again.

"Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four is an extremely heavy read, filled with metaphors, and yet, the author foretold something in it, perfectly describing what communism led to, the fear of surveillance and propaganda, the feeling that everyone is an informer, that no one can be trusted, can be observed in a large part of contemporary Russian citizens. Cut off from non-state information sources, from certain parts of the internet, they live in the conviction that their country cares about them, that the security services are following them and spying on them for their own good. Some even firmly believe that this is for the best. Don't you think it's frightening that something Orwell predicted actually happened, on top of it earlier than he thought?" Asked her professor – she raised her hand, recognising that if she allowed herself to be drawn into the discussion, she would stop thinking about the man who sat a few chairs away.

He let her speak with a nod.

"Orwell wrote this book in 1945, already knowing what Nazism and Communism were. He did not understand how Western Europe could have agreed to recognise Stalin as one of the victors and lead, as a result, to the so-called Iron Curtain in later years. This book was his warning, his sense that we had crossed some line of dehumanisation after Auschwitz that had never happened before in the world." She said on one exhale, a second person, an older man also raised his hand.

"He may have known, but he also felt under his skin that it would not end with communism and Nazism. And he was right. The place of these groupings is being taken by others, just as threatening, also talking about the rights of the nation or the equality of all. We forget that Hitler and Lenin also originally floated on fine words." Said the man, several people nodded their heads in agreement. She shuddered when she heard another voice, familiar to her, speak up without permission, impatient.

"Orwell was not an idiot. If he had wanted to deal with the problem of the rise of political sects, he would have started with that, but he places the plot in the course of events when the state is completely subordinated to the apparatus of power. We hope for a happy ending, a complete victory, but Orwell recognises that there was no such thing after the Second World War. Nuremberg held Germany to account, but not Russia or Japan. Nowadays we don't even talk about their crimes – we delight in their culture and history forgetting whose side they were on, often committing far worse crimes than Hitler."

He glanced at her, as if to see how she would react to his words, to his voice, and momentarily dropped his gaze, as if embarrassed, caught off guard.

He said coldly.

She was surprised by how accurate this observation was.

She looked at him involuntarily – he was sitting with his profile to her, his jaw clenched, the fingers of his hand stretched out on the tabletop moving restlessly, playing with the pen that lay before him.

"Each of these three comments is exceptionally apt. The anxiety that Orwell arouses accompanies us in our daily lives right up to the present day, and somehow he has managed to create a vision of a universal totalitarian system that suits every one that has been mentioned. Let us now turn to the specific chapters…"

They passed the rest of the lecture discussing whether there really was any resistance movement at all, or whether it was just a contrived idea used to catch would-be rebels and break their will even before they could really stand up to anyone.

Somehow the conversation about the book had put her in a depressed, gloomy state; when the professor thanked them and said they were seeing each other next week she wasn't sure she'd come a second time.

Even more so if she was to see him during them.

They were open lectures and he had a right to be there, but she was already tired.

She heard his footsteps behind her and knew it was him when she felt his large hand grab her gently by her arm.

"Wait. I'm sorry. I really didn't know you were coming −"

"− I know. You have nothing to apologise for." She said softly, wanting to pull away from him, but he didn't let her go – even though she wasn't looking at him she could feel his burning gaze, his heat, his raspy breath on her cheek.

"− I don't know yet −" She replied in a shaky, tired voice, feeling that her heart was pounding like crazy. For some reason she felt tears burning under her eyelids – at the same time she wanted him to give her peace and not to do it, something in his darkness, in his unpredictability attracted her.

"− promise you'll come next week − that you won't give up because of me −" He said in a low voice.

She felt embarrassment and a squeeze in her throat at the thought that she wasn't sure if he meant that he didn't want her to give up her interests because of him, or that he was hoping to see her again.

She thought with despair that perhaps it was the same thing that kept Alys from forgetting him.

He grunted and let her go, clearly sensing that he had held her for too long, an awkward silence full of tension fell between them.

"I'm not going to lie. I was hoping to see you here." He murmured lowly, lowering his gaze, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers, the black turtleneck he wore perfectly framing his well-built, broad chest.

She pressed her lips together at his words, adjusting the straps of her backpack hanging over her shoulders in an involuntary, nervous gesture, unsure what she was supposed to respond to such a confession, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at the thought that for some reason he didn't want to forget her.

"Why are you doing this? What else do you want from me?" She asked embittered, looking up at him at last – he lifted his gaze to her, fear, desperation and shame in his eyes.

He swallowed loudly, as if he didn't know what he should answer, looking at her in silence.

"I missed you." He muttered quietly, embarrassed like a small child. She shook her head, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief.

"What?"

"I missed you. The way I felt back then."

"For God's sake, we only spoke once, what do you miss? The adrenaline that was bubbling inside you at the thought that maybe I'd be naive enough to let you fuck me? I let you into my room, into my life only for you to humiliate me. You are a cruel man."

She mumbled out while bursting into a loud, uncontrollable sob, covering her face with her hand. She heard in disbelief that his reaction to her words was identical – he embraced her and pulled her close, hugging her to his chest and although she wanted to push him away, she couldn't.

"− I didn't mean to hurt you − I swear, I really just wanted to talk, I couldn't sleep, I was angry − what happened next −" He mumbled out, his voice stuck in his throat – he drew in a sudden, shaky breath of air, swallowing loudly.

"− I just − I don't know, I have no idea what came over me, I never cheated on her, I swear − I swear −" He babbled, both of them crying loudly, her hands rose higher and tightened on his back – she felt both pain and relief at the thought that he was as embarrassed and heartbroken as she was.

"− can we start again? − as if we had never met? −" He asked pleadingly and she, not knowing why, nodded, thinking she wanted to leave it all far, far behind.

Although they both calmed down after a moment, they still lingered in each other's embrace – a pleasant shiver ran down her spine as she felt his large hand stroke her hair and back with a calm gesture full of care, her face snuggled into his warm chest, her nostrils filled with his masculine scent.

She shuddered and swallowed loudly as his lips placed a drawn-out, hot kiss on the top of her head, her breath caught in her throat when she felt something pulsate hard in his trousers.

They pulled away from each other, wiping their faces, both pretending nothing had happened – he breathed out loud, combing his hair in a light, careless gesture, his cheeks red with emotion.

"− see you −" He muttered, and although she knew she shouldn't, she showed up for the next lecture.

And then the next and the next.

Each time he sat down next to her, close, too close, his legs splayed comfortably making his knee pressed against hers, but she didn't move away, herself getting something out of the situation that she couldn't name.

Her sister had told her mother on the phone that she had moved on, that she wasn't going to trouble herself with this bastard, told her about their endless arguments, about how he would raise his voice and throw things, leave in the middle of a conversation slamming the door, about how he always acted like a spoilt little child when he didn't get what he wanted.

She knew that she was leaving out of these arguments what she herself had said and done in an obvious attempt to create a narrative of his one-sided aggression, however, despite being malicious and ironic, she was struck by how completely different his view of the whole thing was.

Sometimes the two of them would buy warm tea from the vending machine and spend spring evenings in the university park sitting on the grass on his leather jacket, just talking – since they had both cried and cuddled he had not tried to touch her or otherwise invade her personal space.

"My family has always been involved in the modeling industry. Big money, big banquets, fashion shows in Paris and Venice. I always despised it, but what could be done? My father expected me and my siblings to take over his inheritance, on top of which his daughter from his first marriage was fighting for a bigger share than she was originally entitled to. It was some kind of nightmare." He muttered, taking a sip of the hot liquid from a small cardboard cup, looking somewhere ahead with a blank stare, the sun was setting behind the beautiful neo-Gothic red brick buildings.

"To be honest, it never interested me. I was into art, but not this half-world. When I met your sister I liked the fact that she was going after what she wanted. Of course, she wasn't the first chick to want to go to bed with me for the obvious benefits, but her impudence was downright endearing in a way. Only later did I realise that it was impudence mixed with calculating. But we were both too proud to let go, to be the weak link."

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, finally looking at her with the same tired, resigned eyes she had seen for weeks – she couldn't tell if what he was saying and showing her was the truth or just his game.

But who would want to pretend for so long?

He lowered his gaze, scratching his cheek with his thumb, seeing in her eyes that she remained wary of him, that she did not trust him.

She herself didn't know why she had allowed him to spend time together, only to find with sadness that some part of her wanted to understand him.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to undo what's happened inside your head without the help of a professional." She said softly, looking down at the cup she held between her hands on her thighs. She heard him swallow hard – she knew this topic was not comfortable for him.

"If you really do it, I'll go with you." She said quietly, feeling a sense of discomfort, knowing she shouldn't do it, on the other hand realising that her mother had made sure Alys visited the psychiatrist at least a few times, and he needed it just as badly.

"Will you come with me? If I make an appointment." He muttered in a low, hoarse voice. She looked at him in disbelief, feeling a tightness in her throat, once again surprised by his behaviour and his words.

She did not believe that he would do so, recognising that this was part of his plan to soften her up.

Nevertheless, after a few days she received a message from him with the address of the doctor's office and the time of the appointment.

She turned up at the place indicated, lying to her mother that she had gone to the University Library – the office of the man he had mentioned was in fact in the suburbs, and next to the door to the building was a nameplate with his profession.

A few minutes before the time he pulled up in a big, shiny black SUV, dressed in a black tight T-shirt tucked into black trousers, a watch on his wrist – when he got out he looked stressed and unhappy, she knew he really didn't want to do that.

He lit a quick cigarette even though he only had a few minutes left before his visit and she thought he would cowardly tell her that he didn't feel like it after all, that he didn't have to do it, that he was already feeling better.

"Is it really necessary? Externalising myself to some fucking asshole for my money?" He asked coldly, taking a drag on his cigarette with a quiet hiss. She looked at him feeling a squeeze in her chest, tears of regret under her eyelids at the thought that she had spent so much of her time and effort on him only to realise that he was exactly as she had imagined him to be.

"− I'm sorry − thank you, little one − if it wasn't for you I wouldn't have come here at all −" He muttered low, taking a quick drag a few times, extinguishing the remnants of his cigarette on a bin standing nearby, letting the smoke out loudly through his nose.

Seeing the look on her face he swallowed loudly and lowered his gaze to his feet, wiping his forehead with the back of the hand in which he held the cigarette in a nervous gesture.

She had the impression that his body was quivering.

He startled her when he stepped inside, so she moved behind him, both of them heading up the steps past the signs straight into the cabinet. She watched as he sighed heavily and knocked, a middle-aged man who could have been their father opened the door for him after a moment.

"This is my friend I mentioned. I want her to be there when we talk." He said lowly, and she froze, looking at his back in disbelief as he stepped inside, convinced that he just wanted her to wait for him outside.

She lowered her gaze, horrified at the thought that he would be telling him his problems, his most intimate secrets in front of her, but she wasn't sure she could refuse when he had already taken such a big step forward.

The doctor smiled at her and, with a gesture of his hand, encouraged her to go inside, so she did, taking a seat on the other side of the sofa, the doctor sat opposite them.

"Please tell me what brings you to me."

He began – she stared at a flower in a pot standing at the other end of the office, feeling like an intruder, as if she was eavesdropping on someone's conversation and had no idea what she should do with herself.

"I tend to be verbally aggressive. I tend to get involved in toxic relationships with other toxic people and I'm like that myself."

She heard his low voice and swallowed loudly, somehow appreciating his self-criticism, the fact that he saw the problem holistically.

"Let's start with the first sentence. What do you think verbal aggression means?"

"I know what to say to hurt someone. I know it, I do it on purpose and I get satisfaction from it."

"Please say something more about this feeling of satisfaction."

He remained silent for a moment – she heard him shrug his shoulders, impatient.

"The feeling of power."

"What do you feel after that, when the satisfaction passes?"

"Emptiness."

She looked at him uncertainly, fiddling nervously with the fabric of the dress covering her thighs, feeling that her whole body was tense, a cold sweat on her back.

"A lot of people get addicted to adrenaline. Also from arguments, aggression or violent sex. The lack of affection and security is filled with temporary emotions, and their absence causes similar symptoms to alcohol rehab. When you regain control you see yourself and the world as it is."

He remained silent.

Said the doctor. She saw him just nod at his words, swallowing hard, looking at his hands, seeing with horror that he was picking at the cuticles around his nails creating tiny wounds.

"You mentioned that you consider yourself a toxic person and get into a relationship with such people."

"Yes."

"Why do you judge yourself that way?"

The man asked, and he licked his lips in a quick impatient gesture.

"Because I am cruel to other people. Harsh and vicious."

"Please elaborate on that thought."

For the next half hour he talked about examples of his behaviour, how he despised models making a career out of bed, how deep down he loathed her sister and himself, the business he was forced to be stuck in, full of injustice and discrimination.

She listened to it feeling resentful towards him for deceiving her sister for so long, on the other hand hearing for the first time how Alys addressed him, what the beginning of their relationship was like.

"When I gave her what she wanted she was the sweetest, most submissive woman I knew. But if I didn't, she would turn into a screaming, spiteful creature telling me I was a cunt and a little child, so I didn't leave her hanging. What did she expect, that she would call me that and I wouldn't answer anything? That I didn't know she had nothing more to offer me than her body? What pissed me off about her wasn't that she lacked knowledge, it was that there was no curiosity about the world in her, that she didn't want to expand it, to understand more. Just fucking, partying and posing."

"But you still lasted in that relationship because, from what I understand, you were so comfortable. What changed?" The doctor asked, and she flinched as he glanced at her quickly, immediately looking away, swallowing loudly, terrified of what was about to leave his mouth.

"I think that I'm in love with someone."

She drew in air loudly, feeling tears under her eyelids, her whole body breathless – she felt the heat in her lower abdomen, that embarrassing, sticky wetness between her thighs.

She knew she shouldn't, but when he suggested after the visit that she go to his place, she agreed.

There was a kind of despair in the way he pressed her against the wall with a sudden motion as soon as the door closed behind them, the way his slick tongue forced its way between her swollen lips with his groan of relief, the way, with quick and sure movements, his hands slid the material of her underwear off her, which she threw off her legs with an impatient flick.

She knew she shouldn't, but she felt nothing but delight as he knelt in front of her looking at her with wide eyes. He lifted the material of her dress over her thighs, throwing her hip over his shoulder – she tilted her head back with a soft moan as his lips began to brush and kiss her hot, silky, weeping folds.

"− we can't −" She muttered, but she knew she'd only said it to feel a little less regret that it was so pleasurable, that her fingers clenched on his short hair as he cupped her little clit between his lips and began sucking on it, teasing her pulsing opening with the tip of his tongue again and again.

"− fuck − fuck −" She whimpered girlishly, rolling her hips involuntarily in rhythm with his strokes – a loud murmur of delight erupted from his throat at how much she was leaking, the sound of it running in vibration through her entire body.

"− I could spend all day like this − would you like it? −" He gasped between teasing motions of his tongue pushing its way between her sticky muscles, hot with arousal, a moan bordering on a cry broke from her throat as he began to tease the spongy spot hidden inside her from which his whole corridor seemed blurred to her.

"− stop −" She mumbled helplessly, panting loudly along with him, feeling his words deep inside her – her walls began to clench around nothing. He only grunted at her plea, stopping abruptly, rising from his knees: she settled again on both feet, feeling that her legs were trembling all over.

"− you can leave now, if you want − I won't stop you −" He breathed out, with a quick, sure movement of his fingers undoing the buckle from the belt of his trousers – she looked at him with her eyes wide open, feeling in her mind only that wonderful heat between her thighs.

"− be gentle − be gentle and don't mock me −" She muttered, and he grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close, their lips pressed together in an aggressive, sticky, loud kiss.

She squealed quietly as he lifted her easily, in an involuntary reflex she threw her arms around his neck, enclosing his waist between her legs, his moist mouth smelling of her wetness not pulling away for a moment as his one hand dealt with the material of his trousers and boxers.

The tips of his fingers ran over her cheek, his forehead pressed against hers as she felt the fat head of his cock push in between her weeping folds – they both moaned low, surprised, as his fingers dug into the soft skin of her thigh, forcing her to fit his long, thick erection deeper inside her.

"− fuck −" She whimpered, spreading her thighs wider – he looked down at her with eyes black with desire, his lips parted in a pathetic groan as her leaking walls let him all the way in.

"− god, little one − oh fuck −" He mumbled out with involuntary stabs of his hips thrusting into her as deeply as possible – they both moaned into each other's mouths as his lips pressed against hers again, her hands ran over his hair and down the nape of his neck, answered by his loud murmur of pleasure.

"− I've waited so long for this − you were already wet for me then, weren't you? − you wanted it inside you −" He breathed out, speeding up his pace, each push of his swollen cock teasing again and again the same spot he had squeezed with his tongue earlier, only a helpless moan of pleasure escaping from her chest, their bodies slapping against each other with a loud clicks of her moisture.

"− please − please, please, please −" She babbled between licks of their tongues and lips, his large hands clamped down on her ass, accelerating, the stabs of his hips opening her wide on his length again and again, her walls pulsing against him, sucking him inside.

"− oh, yes, that's it − gonna cum, baby? − gonna cum for me? −" He cooed slammed into her with his cock pulsing with lust. She nodded her head clenching her fingers in his hair, panting hard, and leaned back with a sweet moan as her body shook with convulsions, her walls began to throb and clench against him in pleasure.

"− god, yes − little one − where −" He muttered, and she only managed to whimper for him to come inside her, thanking God for the existence of the pills. She heard his low groan of relief and pleasure, a few messy, greedy thrusts of his hips were enough to make him spill inside her, their bodies twitching and quivering, shocked at how intense this close-up was.

For a long moment they both merely panted and kissed lazily, his hands running over the bare, hot skin of her buttocks, her fingers stroking his hair with his quiet murmur of pleasure.

"− so good − so kind − so pretty −" He hummed between their kisses, stroking the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb, shame overwhelmed her at the thought that she felt butterflies in her stomach at his words.

She knew she shouldn't do this, but she let him take her once more on his bed, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again with each desperate thrust of his hips, their naked bodies entwined together in a tight embrace, sweaty and hot.

"− fuck − fuck −" He panted into her mouth between greedy, messy, loud kisses, his wonderful scent filling her entire lungs, her naked breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers digging into the bare skin of his back.

"− mghm − m close −" She mumbled out, her walls oversensitive after her earlier fulfilment, the tip of his swollen cock rubbing again and again the spot inside her from which she felt shivers and tickling, the heat in her lower abdomen unbearable.

"− come on, little one − give me one more − that's it, fuck! −" He gasped loudly and bit his lower lip, trying to stifle the low groan of pleasure that ripped from his throat as her fleshy muscles began to throb in orgasm, sucking him inside.

She tried to push him away, delicate and sore, quivering and writhing beneath him, but he accelerated, slamming into her for a moment more with sure, deep thrusts.

"− I know, baby, just a moment longer − shhh −" He mumbled out before he reached his peak inside her for the second time, a soft, loud sigh of relief and delight escaping his lips.

He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her hair, panting heavily along with her, their skin sticky from sweat and exertion, their hands trailing blindly over their naked bodies, wanting to remember and take everything possible from this moment.

"− stay with me, little one − please, stay with me −" He whispered softly, his voice trembling with emotion, with the feeling that she was going to try again to escape him, what he wanted and what it all meant.

She swallowed quietly and combed her fingers through his hair, looking up at the ceiling with slightly parted lips, breathing loudly, her body at once relaxed from another fulfilment and tense, filled with uncertainty and fear.

He could feel her hesitation – when he heard no response from her he lifted himself slowly on his arms, wanting to look at her face.

"− do you know what the real tragedy of this situation is? − that some part of me reciprocates your feelings − but I don't know how I could ever really trust you −" She whispered in a calm, low tone, feeling a lone tear of regret flow from the corner of her eye onto the pillow under her head smelling of his perfume, the adrenaline and endorphin stopped bubbling through her body, leaving only an emptiness inside her.

"− what I told that doctor is true − I want to change − want to be a person worth loving − I know I screwed up then −" He whispered, stroking her cheek with his large hand – she looked away, feeling her own body tremble, his thumb ran over her soft skin.

She felt him looking at her, completely unsure of what to say, his soft manhood still deep inside her.

He slipped out of her gently after a moment, standing up without a word, grabbing his trousers which were lying on the floor, standing with his back to her, putting them on, not even giving her a single glance.

She stood up too, clenching her lips so tightly that she felt like they were purple, her throat twitching all over in a sob that she didn't let escape, but she couldn't hold back the tears of horror, shame and disappointment that flooded her face.

She didn't look at him when she left, when she ran down the stairs and simply left the building, moving in front of her, trying to think soberly where she was and what bus stop she should go to in order to get home.

She heard a vibration in her backpack after a while, her phone ringing and ringing, but she didn't even take it out, not knowing what else they were going to say to each other.

It was obvious that he had never respected or taken her sister seriously, and while it was obvious that she wanted him, she couldn't believe that the depth of his feelings were actually that great.

She felt that he had talked himself into this feeling, mythologised it and also her character, creating in his mind a tragic story of two lovers who had always been destined for each other, to further distance himself in his mind and mock her sister's personality.

She arrived home pale but refrained from crying in front of her parents – she explained that she felt sick and would go to bed early.

However, not half an hour passed and she heard the screech of tyres on her driveway – she got up to the window and took a few steps backwards, startled to recognise his car, her throat squeezed so tight with fear that she felt like she was going to vomit.

She ran quickly downstairs hearing raised voices, his, her father's and her mother's, her mother clearly outraged at the sight of him and his insolence.

Will he tell them everything?

Will he humiliate her in front of her parents, entertain himself at her expense now?

Will he take revenge?

"How dare you show up here after all this? Have you no shame?"

"Did your younger daughter get home safely?"

"It is none of your business, young man, you are to leave our house immediately!"

Said her mother, enraged and heartbroken, her father threatened to call the police on him, but he lifted his gaze hearing her footsteps and spotted her on the half-floor standing on the stairs.

Something changed in his gaze – she saw that he swallowed hard, in his eyes pain, fatigue, regret and something else from which she ran out of breath.

"Thank you. I've already found out what I wanted." He said lowly, turning and simply walking away, closing the door behind him – her parents looked at her in disbelief, they heard the sound of the engine firing up.

"What did he mean? Why was he asking about you?" Asked her father, and she looked at them with her eyes wide open not knowing what to say.

Did he come just to check that she got home safely?

"After all, this man is unpredictable, look what he did to Alys. He's made her dependent on him, like a parasite he's put the idea in her mind that she won't be able to live without him."

"He goes to therapy. He asked me to go with him. He didn't want to be there alone." She told only part of the truth with shame, having no strength to pretend any longer. Her mother froze, looking quickly at her father and then back at her, her eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"And she did the same thing to him."

"What?"

"Alys was doing the same thing to him. He was showing me messages from her, mum. Sent from her number. That's why I went with him." She mumbled out and burst into sobs again, covering her face with her hand, her pain and regret finding an escape at last.

Her mother seeing her condition moved towards her and hugged her, in her embrace some kind of understanding – her father looked up at her from below with his hands placed on his hips and sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"Alys can't know."

For the next few days neither he nor she made contact. Some part of her was grateful to him for not pressuring her, for letting her put it all together in her head.

She herself did not know what she felt.

On the one hand, caution prevailed in her in his presence – she had the feeling that she was still waiting for some blow from him, an unexpected hit that would break her and prove to herself that he had been playing with her all this time for his own entertainment.

But then she remembered their conversation in the university courtyard, what he had said at the psychiatrist's.

I think that I'm in love with someone.

She read their long exchanges about poets, writers, but also about their thoughts and their lives, trying to find any trace of a lie or manipulation in them, but was pained to find that, although it may have been due to a lack of distance, she did not find it.

She no longer knew what was truth and what was a lie.

The last extra classes of the semester were open lectures she was attending with him – she knew they would be discussing Trans-Atlantyk and she thought maybe that was a sign.

She reasoned that if he didn't turn up it would mean that he had given up, that he had been disappointed with her and got bored and that she could move on at last.

She had arrived earlier than usual, wanting to borrow some books from the library for the holidays. Standing at one of the bookcases she spotted him from a distance sitting alone at a table, bent over a thick volume – even though it was still half an hour to class he was sitting in the same seat as always.

She felt the heat fill her body, her heart began to pound like crazy due to some incomprehensible joy at the sight of him.

She moved towards him with several tomes in her hands and sat down next to him – they did not greet each other, however, she felt his gaze on her, his warm breath on her skin.

She turned her face towards him and noticed that his healthy eye was all red, his lower lip trembling, as if he didn't believe she would come, that he would ever see her again.

Something in that sight, in the tear that ran down his cheek made her lay her head on his shoulder, snuggling her nose into his neck – she heard him draw in air greedily, his hand rose quickly and touched her cheek, his fingers twitching, stroking her soft skin with a gentle, tender motion.

She put her hands around his arm and stayed like that, feeling strangely calm and safe – she felt him place his cheek on the top of her head, she could hear his broken, heavy breath, his lips placing a tender kiss on her hair once in a while.

She turned her face towards him, heard only his quiet, low sigh as their fleshy lips found each other in a sticky, hot, wet kisses, his large hand holding her face in place, not allowing her to move away.

She pulled away from him at last, stroking his well-defined jaw with her thumb, his gaze dark and hot, his lips swollen and red from their caress.

She returned to her earlier position without a word, sinking her face into the hollow of his neck, embracing his arm with her hands – he breathed quietly, sliding it out of her grasp, enveloping her waist with it, pulling her close so that she could hug his chest.

The tips of his fingers traveled down her back as he took the book that lay in front of him from the table top and placed it on his thighs, clearly wanting to simultaneously read on and cover up whatever was going on in his trousers.

They stayed like this until the class began when they finally pulled away from each other – his hand quickly found hers under the table, stroking the top of it with his thumb.

Though doubts still filled her heart, for the first time in years she felt hope.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla

[ddgraywrites]

WIP: Fictional Flame

You've Got Mail meets Beauty Shop when Paige Dela Cruz, a hairstylist aspiring to open the first Filipino-owned hair salon in the heart of little Winnipeg, falls head over heels for Christian Sato, or so she thought.

Paige Dela Cruz is a hairstylist who falls head over heels for the charming and sexy Christian Sato, or so she thought. She's actually talking to Eddy Silva, Christian's cousin.

While Paige and Eddy's messages become more intimate with each passing text, Eddy finds himself wanting to let go of his facade and show Paige the person he truly is.

As if her love life wasn't complicated enough, Paige faces another threat to her well-being. Her boss, Michael Coward. He takes everything from her - her clients, her tips, and her time. As Paige endures the constant nonsensical wrath of her boss, she begins to doubt if she'll ever be able to open the salon of her dreams.

_______________

I've contemplated whether or not I should post this because the more I think about my WIP, the more embarrassed I get which is so bizarre cause I'm over here trying to make it as a romance author. The self-sabotage and imposter syndrome are really sinking in right now which is exactly why I decided to finally share the details of my WIP.

Why did I write this book?

I was a hairstylist for 5 years and met the most amazing (and awful) people in the industry and I wanted to tell a more dramatized version of what happens in this cut-throat world that is hairstyling.

As a Filipino-Canadian living in little Winnipeg, I also wanted to share glimpses of what it's like being raised by immigrants, the food, and the covert racism I've encountered throughout the years.

Lastly, I just wanted to write my own romance because I love love. I love reading and watching love stories. I've always been a hopeless romantic. After my dad died in 2021, I needed some sort of outlet. I started writing a fantasy about a young girl who also lost her dad but then I reached a point where I couldn’t move on cause fantasy was too big for my brain to fathom lol. So I decided to stick to a genre I knew I could do well, and that was romance.

_______________

I feel incredibly vulnerable right now while I type this because I'm BRACING for the criticism and the eye rolls. Not that anyone has ever done that, it's just the aNxIeTy talking. But again, thank you for following me on this journey to become a traditionally published author (crossing my fingers SO hard) and if you're also a romance author and need a critique partner/beta reader, please DM me so we can do a little swap-aroo (I just lost you there, didn't I?)

Here's the sign-up form if you're interested in beta-reading Fictional Flame: https://docs.google.com/

I'm not sure how to end this so in true Canadian fashion, thank you again and sorry for saying thank you so many times. ❤️

[recreationalfanfics]

I'm rewatching Night At The Museum but like a LARRY DALEY/DALEY! READER IN TWISTED WONDERLAND!? Like, they're related to Larry Daley and shit and they were training to be a Night Gaurd for the museum but now, they have to deal with overblots and stuff and they're armed with nothing but a trusty flash light?

- Like, you've dealt with a gigantic skeleton T-Rex, so you're not SUPER phased when you meet Grim. He's like a little tiny version of Rexy, you know?

- You're fighting with magical students and you casually blind them with your flashlight before hitting them with it just like you're dad taught you and stuff. Like, whenever Jade or Floyd sneak on you, your reflexes are faster and you're all: "SORRY! SORRY, REFLEX. I got kidnapped by a lot of museum artifacts back in my world so I developed, like, you know, a 6th sense."

- No because I can imagine that you're so unphased by paintings that come to life and you have such avid conversations with them.

- Not to mention you have to get used to the fact that the VILLAINS in your Disney stories are their gods and you give them due respect but its still so bizarre.

- BUT NOW CONSIDER THIS IDEA: UNCLE JEDEDIAH AND UNCLE OCTAVIUS END UP TRAVELING WITH YOU TO TWISTED WONDERLAND.

- The magic of this world keeps them alive without the tablet and since you're all by yourself, they're super protective of you despite their small size and stature. Also, they have a shaky relationship with Grim because he tried to eat them but now, all three of them are just trouble.

- Like they ride around on his back from class to class with you as you adjust to your new responsibilities to this world.

- ALSO, ACE WHEN HE FIRST PICKS ON YOU. Like, he grabs Jed and he's all: "Aw, how stupid, you've got a little cowboy toy?" and then Jedediah is all: "BOY, HAVE YOU DONE LOST YOUR MIND!? DON'T MAN HANDLE ME-" and Ace drops him and you catch Jed.

- NO BECAUSE JEDEDIAH AND OCTAVIUS GETTING ATTATCHED TO YOUR NEW FRIENDS, DUECE AND ACE AS WELL. Like, they can somewhat keep you safe in this new world and plus, when Deuce gets a bit hot headed, Octavius keeping him calm and saying some wise words. Or if Ace is complaining, Jedediah is standing on his shoulder and scolding him before Ace is all: "OKAY! OKAY, FINE, YOU MIGHT HAVE A POINT."

- AND THEN WHAT IF THE MUSEUM BACK IN THE WORLD WHERE YOUR DAD IS AT HAS A SPECIAL MIRROR FROM TWISTED WONDERLAND, like, he finds it and you're able to talk to everyone else from it.

- "(Y/n)!? ARE YOU OKAY!?"

- "YEAH, I'M FINE DAD!"/ "DON'T WORRY, GIGANTOR, WE'RE KEEPING THEM SAFE!"/ "Hi, Mr. (Y/n)'s dad!"/ "DEUCE, FOCUS!"/ "THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED IF WE JUST GOT TUNA!"

[violetasteracademic]

So, while I am a passionate Elriel and my experience is only further cemented with each new detail on every re-read, I have still stated since day one that I still love Lucien and Gwyn! My first ever Tumblr post was a dissertation on Lucien for goodness sake!

And this is where I struggle. I don't personally lurk in anti posts, but they make their way to my eyeballs anyways. And my problem is that myself, and many Elriel's I know, still love all the characters and honor and fully believe they will have their own stories, potentially their own POVs in future books or at the very least play a large role in ACOTAR or the multiverse.

But the a/ti Elriel's, from what I've seen, are almost ALWAYS a/ti Elain. I won't bother going over the comments I get on tiktok from E/ucien shippers that claim they like Elain. They erase her. They misunderstand her. They minimize her. They sideline her. They invent villain storylines. And still ship her with their favorite male character? Just because they want *him* to have his mate. And Azriel is apparently bio hazard waste in all areas of life EXCEPT if he decides to go after Gwyn. Whereas I like Azriel as he is, and I like who he currently wants to be with.

The author, I am certain, also likes these characters. She wrote them. It's difficult to believe her intention was for the fans to turn on Azriel just because a reveal many of us saw coming (that he is down bad for Elain) happened.

I don't have to erase Gwyn from the narrative, or distort her interactions with Azriel, minimize Gwyn's importance, create a shitty personality for her or invent a new storyline to make Elriel make sense.

I don't have to erase Lucien from the narrative, distort his interactions with Elain, call him toxic, minimize his importance, or invent a new storyline for Elriel to make sense.

I personally can't wait to see what Lucien and Gwyn are going to bring to the story. But by and large, I mostly see Gwyn as being a sidekick to Azriel and Nesta instead of the lead of her own story or Elain as a sidekick to the Band of Exiles instead of the lead of her own story for G/ynriel and E/ucien theories to come together. Beyond that, I'd love to look into their stories more, but I'm tired of assaulting my eyeballs with all the toxic sludge about pelvises and pure hatred from Elain festering in those spaces.

So I'll say it again and I'll say it a million times, just because Azriel and Elain want each other and not Lucien and Gwyn does NOT mean I think Lucien and Gwyn are trash. I just want the characters who want each other to be together. If it were written differently, I would feel differently. And if antis would at least address that Azriel and Elain WANT each other instead of trying to explain away their behavior and invent false intentions and narratives, I'd have a lot more fun reading and exploring their theories.

I'm an Elain girl first and foremost. And I want her to have what she wants. As of right now, today, waking up in Prythian, that is Azriel. That is the only thing on page. Anything else is speculation or theorizing. Azriel and Elain wanting each other is not a theory. It's real. Erasing it is not only bizarre, but makes any statement coming after it really not credible.

I ship a ton of non canon couples in other fandoms. Many of them never came to pass. It's just for fun. But because the hatred for Elain is so visceral, and the desire to erase her character from existence is so real, these ships are not fun. And I genuinely wish they were.

The awful bullying and atrocious behavior and weird hatred for the books and characters in this fandom gets me down some days. Sorry for the wallowing. Love you all 😘

[babybluebex]

my latest dom “fantasy,” whatever you wanna call it, has been ur the actor who plays niece elise in the holdovers and you two like each other when filming but since your part is small you don’t see each other till a streaming of the movie when you reconnect. 🤗

oh my god stop the presses this is CUTE

you're kinda joking together and laughing inbetween takes, but you're both nervous because you have to kiss and neither of you have ever done that before (kissed other people, yes, but on screen, for the whole world to see, never) but dom's a sweetheart and you do the scene and it goes off without a hitch, and you're maybe a little disappointed when alexander payne says they got the shot they needed and that you don't need to do it again

and like yeah, you're only on set for like 1 day, and you managed to follow dom on instagram but like sorta forgot about him inbetween filming and release time?? like you both got busy and just, whatever, but then the movie comes out and at first seems like it's just gonna be any other movie, you still post pictures from set on your instagram and celebrate it, and, for the first time since meeting him, dom comments on your post "so much fun, if you're ever around my way, text me" and you're like ⁉️

and you shoot off a dm at him, sorta like "hey i was finally able to watch the whole movie and you did really good" and he texts back like "aw thanks, that's really sweet" and you ask "back then, you lived in massachusetts, where are you now?" and he says "i'm in philly right now for school, but i'm taking spring semester off, so i'll probably go back to jersey with my mom"

and you start talking like every day then, now that the door is open you can't stop, he's always sending you memes and telling stories, and you send him memes about HIM as you watch him become the new it boy (and maybe you're a little jealous bc he was YOUR boy first, he was YOUR little secret, but not so much anymore), and THEN the movie starts to get acclaim?? and it looks like it might be something more than some movie you made a few years ago for a single day?? it's turning into something bigger than that?? all your friends at uni knew that you were in the movie and had gone and seen it and teased you about the kiss, but now you're getting stopped by strangers on the way to lecture and asked about the movie?? like wtf!!

and you and dom are steady texting every day like "DUDE" "DUDE I KNOW", and it starts getting awards buzz, all the best actor and best supporting actress and breakthrough actor and everything is WILD, and you're always texting him to congratulate him winning this award or that award, and you slowly start to realize. oh shit i have a crush on him. oh fuck i'm whipped for this guy.

and the day the oscars nominees are announced, you're in lecture, and your phone starts ringing and yelling at you, and your lecturer is like "do you need to take that?" and you sorta laugh "no, whatever it is, it can wait..." and you finally dig your phone out of your bag and see it's dom wanting to video call?? which doesn't happen often, for as famous of an actor as he is now, he hates seeing himself on camera and even if you do video call, his camera is off most the time, so for HIM to initiate a video call is VERY bizarre "... actually, sir, i do need to take this, i'm sorry"

and you go in the hall and answer the call, and dom is yknow DOM, messy frizzy hair and his shirt on backwards and he's frantic, and you're like "did you just wake up, what's going on??" and he says "have you seen yet?!" "seen what??" "jesus christ, i can't fucking believe this—" "dominic, what's going on?" "holdovers has been nominated for best picture at the oscars"

and you black out for a second and snap back in and you're like "we're WHAT"

and dom says "what're you doing on march 10th?? can you come to the oscars?? do you even want to??" "yeah i'd love to, but i-i need to get to LA, and i need a dress, and i need a date—" "how about me? i'll take you"

and when you reunite in los angeles for the oscars, it's the first time you've seen him in the flesh in like nearly 2 years, but you run to him and hug him, and he hugs you back, and it's such a happy moment and you can't believe that this is your life

and all night, people are complimenting your dress and your hair and makeup, and dom won't stop trying to get people to pay attention to you, he's in a little interview on the carpet and he's asked who his date is, and he grabs you by the hips "my wonderful costar, she played elise in the movie" and everybody has the same reaction, they hear your character's name and then stare at you for a second until it clicks "oh! you did so good in the movie!!"

and dom is so nervous and anxious all night, he sorta joked "i know we won't win, there's no shot in hell, oppenheimer's gonna win, so why am i nervous??" and you hold his shaking hands in yours and try to calm him as much as possible, but cameras catch you holding hands and the way he whispers in your ear to talk to you, and like HALFWAY through the show, your friends sends you a link to a variety article that mentions the best dressed at the awards, and dom is on there, and the little text blurb under his picture says "sessa is attending the show with his girlfriend and costar" and your friend is like "GIRLFRIEND??" and you're like "wait" and apparently everybody online has mistaken your physical closeness for a relationship, and you show dom during a commercial break just to be like "oh haha look at this, they think we're dating"

and he hits you with the "are we not?" "what do you mean 'are we not'?" "i mean, i thought... i thought we've been dating for a while. i've been telling people all night that you're my girl" and you shiver with delight at how casually he says his girl, but like "you thought... well, when would we have started dating?" "you remember a few months ago, the conversation we had about how, like, i'm bad at relationships and you don't like commitment, and i said i'd try to be better and you said you'd try to commit to someone? i thought that was us agreeing to start dating"

and like shit yeah you DO remember that conversation, it was like 3am and you were on facetime for HOURS that night and you're like "oh! well... yeah, that can be it." and dom's like "sooo.... does that mean i can kiss you?" and it's a gentle, soft kiss, just like your first one so long ago

and that night, you reunite with paul and da'vine (who you had met in passing on set), and towards the end of the night, da'vine sends you a photo she took on her phone of you and dom, holding each other, foreheads touching, giggling together, and you hard launch your shit on instagram with that picture "we may not have won best picture, but i won best boyfriend <3"

[alevicke]

Hi there! Can you do the continuation on The Pregnancy from TADC? I'm curious what Jax would be during the process and to his kids, you can do one by one! I don't mind,just don't pressure and get creative! Stay hydrated and happy!

Jax x pregnant!reader

I’m just going to do the pregnancy in general for now because I’m hella exhausted lately I’m so sorry ;^; I’ll write soon about them with their kids though! Don’t worry ^^ I’m just super slow as well, sorry D: Also only Jax, because this took so long

First part of this:

NSFW headcanons would make this way too long so I didn’t include them D: They aren’t too different from normal NSFW HCs if I’m honest

TW: No beta-read! Sorry! Some slight NSFW HCs, petnames 

Jax

After the great news, Jax needed a few days to adjust to everything. He didn’t think this could be possible so he was… Panicking a bit whenever the conversation was raised.

As said, at the very beginning when you started having morning sickness, two things happen. Jax laughs at you and then throws up after seeing you do it. 

It takes him days to finally get used to the situation AND more to be useful for you because he would still feel nauseous seeing you in that situation and would often gag while trying to hold your hair

But hey, he’s… He’s trying his best…

You also feel a lot more tired than usual in this first period so Jax stays by your side a lot. He isn’t really the most useful but he’s around I guess. You don’t really do that much in the circus anyways

Also expect him to throw a tantrum if Caine dares to make any single adventure that is slightly physical. He won’t say he’s protecting you but he will complain in all ways possible that he can imagine to make Caine change the adventure or cancel it if there is even the minimum chance of hurting you in any way or shape.

For everyone it is pretty obvious that the reason he’s doing this is to protect you but no one dares to say a thing because if they do, he gets pissed off and makes everyone's life a living nightmare. You being pregnant ain’t stopping him from being the asshole everyone knows. 

Your mood was already starting to become a roller coaster so Jax started being a bit more careful after the first few times he upsetted you. He continues teasing you and joking but not as much as before because to be honest, he doesn’t want to deal with you mad at him at this important time of your relationship, Don’t blame him too much because he still upsets you a lot of times, he’s kinda awful controlling himself when it comes to jokes and teasing.

He doesn’t want to pressure you but he is worried when you start rejecting the food. Sure, you didn’t really need it. But deep down he was scared the baby could need it

But turns out you just started disliking a lot of the normal food there and started having some weird craves. That was definitely the thing he liked to annoy you with the most. You eating the most bizarre foods you could think of was amusing to him. 

You realized since the first week that Jax started sleeping and cuddling with you letting his hand rest on top of your tummy. He kinda does this unconsciously but likes to do it to feel closer to the baby.

For the first months you both decided to stay quiet about the news. Pregnancy has higher risk to go bad in the very first months and you kinda don’t want everyone talking about your relationship and pregnancy, but rather keep it private for both of you

This basically causes everyone to be confused by the sudden change in Jax’s behavior. No one understood why he was being so overprotective of you suddenly when he used to be the first one making you pranks.

By the third month you both already feel good enough to tell everyone the news and suddenly everything clicks. You were successful hiding it from everyone.

As the second trimester comes, your sickness starts to fade away which is a relief to both of you. Waking up a lot of mornings to throw up was kinda annoying for both. Worse to you of course. But Jax wasn’t a huge fan of standing half asleep next to you in the bathroom holding your hair while you puked the awful 3D looking peas from last night. 

Something Jax realizes way too fcking fast is that your breast grows and believe me, this motherfcker is going to celebrate it. He’s just testing if they are good enough for the baby he’ll say. He’s just sacrificing himself for the baby by burying his face against both of your boobs.. Yep, sweet nice protective dad and nothing else. 

By the fourth month your belly finally starts to grow. And so do some of your insecurities. 

And hear me out

Jax ain’t the best when it comes to talking about feelings. But he’s being 100% honest when he says he sees you as beautiful and hot as the first day. He ain’t joking. You won’t see his libido going down so you can trust his word. He’s as horny as the first day and won’t doubt a second to get between your legs if you’re up to it. 

But Jax also notices that you’re out of breath quicker and sometimes you feel dizzy so he’s always next to you to hold you and teasy you how he’s so handsome he makes you lose contact with reality and makes you dizzy. He won’t let you fall but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to annoy you, as always. 

You also start to feel the very first movements of the baby and Jax gets pissed off that you get to feel them but the baby NEVER moves when he’s touching your belly. 

“Hey, pipsqueaks? Daddy’s here, come on”. He’ll gently poke your belly but nah. Not working. But it’s still amusing to see him get jealous of something like that. 

By month 6, sometimes you have cramps which is your body preparing everything for the baby’s arrival. These are completely normal. But here is the thing. None of you have a medic to tell you this. And Caine has no information about pregnancies so both of you are on your own

And Jax is scared

Whenever he sees you complaining about the cramps he is internally panicking about you having the baby so soon or something going wrong. 

This fear continues for quite some time until the conversation appears with Ragatha. While she isn't a mother, she did know a bit about pregnancy and childbirth because she liked knowing that information in case she became a mother one day. She’s the one who tells you this is completely normal and unless something else comes with those cramps and they are painless, you’re both fine.

That doesn’t really calm Jax completely. He spends some nights looking at the ceiling in complete horror scared that something might happen to you and the baby. He often spends nights without sleeping worried about bringing a life to that world. But when he sees you next to him, those fears fade away. As long as you both are together, he is sure everything will be ok

As the third trimester arrives, things get more serious.Your belly is growing a lot and you both need to prepare for what’s coming. Jax seems to be a lot more nervous. He hides it pretty well for everyone else but you can notice he’s in constant panic worried something might happen and always checking on you by being by your side or around. Not that he’s controlling you, he’s checking that everything is going ok without actually saying it out loud. 

At this point, you have catched Jax several times during the night caressing your belly or softly murmuring to the baby. You know he can be an asshole when you point something out to him so you let him do it faking you’re asleep. This is probably the cutest thing you have ever seen Jax doing. You can feel in his voice how happy he is to be able to have a baby with you despite the initial panic. 

Caine helped you both to set a room for the baby, but Jax insisted for the baby to sleep in the same room as you both for at least the first days. He doesn’t like the idea of letting the baby alone even if your rooms are connected by one door. He barely sleeps so he likes the idea of being able to see the baby while being in bed and resting. 

The room is decorated in a kind of neutral theme because, being honest, neither of you know the sex of the baby and neither of you actually cares too much. As long as they are healthy it’ll be fine. You don’t even know if you’re having a baby, a bunny or whatever can come out in this digital world. 

Fun fact. You once had a bad cramp during dinner. Jax panicked and threw everything to the ground to prepare the table for you to have the fcking baby there. Everyone was in tears laughing but after Jax basically tied Gangle to a ball and threw her around the circus, no one really dared to make fun of him anymore  about that situation but you. Still, everyone considers it peak comedy to see Jax in panic throwing everything to the ground while Caine screamt about Bubble’s food being thrown. 

The last months Jax spends a lot of time cuddling with you with his head glued to your tummy. He smiles like an idiot whenever he feels the baby moving and talks to them even more often. 

“Hey Peepsqueak, time is running out, is time to get out of the bed”, “Tiny pea, excited to see your amazing daddy?”

You thought the pet names he used to use on you were silly and sometimes stupid, but damn, now hearing the ones he was using for the baby you consider yourself lucky to be honest. It was still adorable though! And funny. 

As the time for the birth was arriving, Jax became even more annoying to the rest. He was stressed and anxious and everyone could realize that. But he was also more demanding to Caine. Caine kept doing whatever Jax asked because it kept him distracted without annoying the rest of the circus and what he was asking for were not bad things.

He asked to decorate with you the baby’s room so he asked for a lot of plushies and stuff bunny related. I mean, you had no problem with it and it was suitable for a kid, all super adorable. So why not. And Caine thought the same and seeing you smile for the baby’s clothes was enough for him to be convinced so he spent a lot of days with you two creating clothes for the new member about to join the circus. Caine of course was so excited for something like that happening in his circus!

As your first cramps for childbirth started, you saw Jax look at you with eyes wide open.

This became too long and I’m kinda exhausted to do the childbirth here sorry !

Lil fic:

You laid down in the bed, tirelessly while softly yawning under Jax’s eyes. He was next to you with his head resting in his hand while looking at you. He knew you had one of those awful nights again. 

After 8 months of pregnancy, reaching the due date, your belly was already big enough to cause you problems sleeping. Your little one was also moving a lot of times so that didn’t help either. But it was fun for Jax to see the little kicks every now and then. His laugh didn’t make it worth it but it helped (a bit). He always had a dork smile, looking all silly and dreamy whenever you two were alone in the room hanging out till the time came. 

You already had everything prepared for the moment to come so you both just had to… Wait

Another sleepless night? - Jax questioned with his eyes locked on you. You knew he was worried, but his cheeky grin would fake anyone but you.

I’m afraid so. Our little one ain’t that small anymore. And he’s becoming really active lately

Yeah, no doubt he just wants to see his daddy already - he softly chuckled while putting his hand on your tummy. - Peepsqueak, when you coming out? 

You smiled as Jax talked to the belly, but his smile grew wider as he could feel the baby moving. 

I think they already have a favorite parent! - He looked at you with a mischievous smile, you knew he was teasing, but it worked every single time

Hey, no. Shut up. I’m the one carrying them. They just move because they want to kick you - you smiled proudly while he chuckled

He leaned closer to you and put the side of his head against your tummy. He closed his eyes peacefully in the embrace as you hugged him. He just wanted to cuddle with you.

So, are we going to name them Jack? 

Your expression was the only answer he needed while he chuckled.

[kropotkindersurprise]

Look up Nikki kuhnhausen. That was a friend of mine. I dont care if someone uses the term gay panic in a different way, when I hear it all I think about is my dead friend

I'm terribly sorry that happened to your friend, and I'm very sorry for your loss. I can definitely imagine how you feel about people using that term. For me, just having only heard "gay panic" used in the awful older meaning it was already very bizarre seeing it used to sell a product like that. I'm straight though so I'm gonna leave this discussion to the people it concerns.

[flamebringer0]

About the Ending of Darkness of Dragons

Everyone has a take about this, right? Well, here's mine. I'm kind of late to the party since I was forcibly inducted into the Wings of Fire fandom just last Thursday, but that's fine. This will probably be kind of long and rambling and maybe not even that interesting to anyone but me. Sorry about that, but I'm really writing it more to work through my thoughts than anything else.

I find Darkstalker to be a very compelling character. I'm not going to bother trying to explain why I find him interesting, because it's irrelevant and would also be longer than this entire post. I feel like I have to clarify, though, that it's not because I think he's a good guy. He's obviously a pretty awful guy. I mean, I thought it was obvious, but I guess there's actually a significant contingent of people who say Darkstalker did nothing wrong. Apparently many people see him as some kind of misunderstood heroic figure, or at least a morally gray one. I find that to be a fully silly and indefensible position. You can talk all day about how abusive Arctic was, but you can't pile a tower of mitigating circumstances high enough to explain away genocide.

Anyway, he's my favorite character in Wings of Fire. He's one of my favorite characters period. And I really would have liked it if my favorite character had had a satisfying narrative arc, with a climax that appropriately, uh... that is to say, a climax that was appropriate in any way. For example, it would have been pretty good if Kinkajou had killed him.

But in fact she did not kill him; she forcibly polymorphed him into a baby. As noted by everyone who has ever read the books, this is a stunningly odd thing to have your hero do at the end of a quintet of novels whose most consistent theme is that it's wrong to force someone to be something they aren't. I'm sure this is well-trodden ground at this point, but I just-- I can't figure it out. The narrative is very clear up until this point that this is a very bad thing to do. In fact, I think mind controlling someone is all-but-explicitly presented by the books as a worse thing to do than killing them. That's probably a questionable position in and of itself, but I swear it is the position taken by the text.

In Moon Rising, Moonwatcher finds out that Darkstalker killed Arctic, and she's still willing to hear him out about how that might have been justified and maybe it would be fine to let him out of the ground. But in Escaping Peril she finds out he also mind controlled Arctic, and her reaction is much more severe. She's in tears, she declares it "the cruelest thing I’ve ever read", and she decides she can never let him out. Nothing else has changed about Moon's knowledge of Darkstalker and Arctic's relationship; the only new information she has is that Darkstalker used mind control. The narrative never seems to treat this like a contradiction or a weird quirk of Moon's personality, so I think it's a belief the author also holds coming through in her writing. Mind control is worse than killing. And then suddenly it isn't, and erasing Darkstalker's mind and turning him into an entirely different dragon is presented as a happy ending for everyone, including Darkstalker.

The only explanation I can come up with for this is that she wrote herself into a corner by making her villain omnipotent and invincible, and therefore impossible to stop without comprehensively incapacitating him. I surmise that the only way she could come up with to do that was to turn him into someone else, and so that's what she had to have happen, even though it clashed violently with the theme. But I have a better idea: just kill him. He's terrible! He deserves it!! It would have been satisfying to see him die after everything he did, and it wouldn't have dropped this bizarre dissonant note at the end of five books of consistent messaging.

It turns out the difficult part there is actually the "he deserves it" bit. Because, astonishingly, it seems the author of Wings of Fire is also in the category of people who think Darkstalker wasn't so bad after all. Apparently, Tui T Sutherland said at a release event for The Lost Continent, "I didn’t want to kill Darkstalker, because he didn’t deserve it [...]". This is a very interesting way to put it. She didn't say that nobody deserves to be killed. Apparently there's some bar he could have cleared to deserve death, and he didn't. But what can one actually do to merit death if genocide isn't enough? Well... I just don't know. I wasn't hatched in the light of a full moon, so I can't read her mind and tell you the answer. I'm just going to have to move on. Here's the full quote I excerpted above, along with the question that prompted it:

There is a theme across Arc 2 of Wings of Fire that seems to suggest forcing dragons to become something else via magic is wrong (Peril, Hailstorm/Pyrite, Anemone forcing Kinkajou to love Turtle, etc). However, the second arc ended with Kinkajou forcing Darkstalker to become Peacemaker against his will. How did you feel about writing that, since it seems to clash with your theme? I didn’t want to kill Darkstalker, because he didn’t deserve it and that felt like a cop out (plus, it was supposed to be impossible). I wanted a surprising and authentic end for these characters. One of the main themes I wanted to emphasize was that most dragons, like Peril, deserve a second chance at becoming a better dragon. Darkstalker needed to have everything erased in order to get that second chance. I did think a lot about how the theme was subverted by this ending though, and it’s very valid to be concerned about that. But, there was no other way to ‘save’ him.

(source)

There's something else that's weird to me about this quote, which is... do we really think that what happened to Darkstalker was not death? His mind was completely and permanently wiped by magic. He had "everything erased", word of god. Peacemaker apparently doesn't share any of Darkstalker's memories, personality, feelings or opinions. In what sense is Darkstalker not dead, then? Is it his soul? Whenever the word soul comes up in Wings of Fire it seems to be metaphorical. It's not clear that Darkstalker had a soul in a literal sense, let alone that Kinkajou didn't erase that too. Animus magic is apparently of infinite power, there's no reason to think it can't rewrite someone's soul. I guess his body still exists, sort of, but if that's enough to say that Darkstalker is still around, I think you could make a pretty strong argument that anyone who has ever eaten a steak is in fact a cow.

I think this gets at the heart of what bothers me so much about the ending. Darkstalker... actually did die, just like I wanted him to. Which is fine, actually. Contrary to what the author thinks, he completely deserved it. But what makes it ridiculous and unsatisfying is that it happens via this weird magical get out of jail free card where they kill him without "killing" him. Aren't there moral complexities to killing someone, no matter how much they deserve it or how much better it makes everything? Shouldn't we... talk about that? Well, apparently we don't need to talk about it, or think about it. We can just use magic to change the name of what we're doing away from "killing", without substantially changing its nature.

And it drives me even crazier that the more I think about it, even this nonsensical juke of an ending feels so ripe with interesting questions of its own, which are just glossed over. Isn't it interesting that Moon killed her first friend, that Hope killed her own son, and that neither of them ever have to face the fact that that's what they did? Do they even know? Do they suspect it? Isn't it interesting that Peacemaker came into the world as some kind of magical quasi-dragon whose only reason to exist is to make sure someone else can't? Did anyone stop to think what it would be like for him to grow up like that? How will he deal with the fact that he's surrounded by dragons who half think that one day he might pull off his face and let Darkstalker out again? Does Darkstalker still have loyalists who want that to happen? Wouldn't it be interesting to hear Hailstorm's thoughts on this? What about Ruby's? Fierceteeth's? Isn't it interesting that Darkstalker sat under the mountain trying to convince Qibli that it was better to use magic to change a dragon against their will than to kill them, and Qibli said "no, no, no" and then turned around and did just that? How would Winter feel about the fact that after he bared his heart to Qibli and Moon about how awful it was to ever do something like that, they did it without a second thought? How can they call themselves Winter's friends while they're keeping something like that from him??

Maybe I'm the only one who thinks those are interesting questions. Tui T Sutherland certainly doesn't seem to. It would seem that she wants us to believe that Darkstalker is now going to have a wonderful life in the rainforest as Peacemaker, magically shorn of everything that makes him himself. And that's good, because Darkstalker can be forgiven for committing genocide, and so he didn't actually deserve to die. He just deserved to have his entire self obliterated by infinite magic, which is different from dying. Different in a way that was all-but-explicitly stated to be worse, until it was better. And this will never cause any problems for anyone.

I don't know what else to say. It almost makes me dizzy to think about it. I wish I knew how to write this story.

[houseofbrat]

So, what’s your honest opinion of the full #picturegate drama?

I’ve seen many people believing that KP used The PoW as scapegoat and she doesn’t did the photoshop. But what are your thoughts? In case some are correct, why do you think they are blaming Kate? Why not blame the ‘real’ responsible (some suggested it’s her staff)

As we have discussed, their PR team is awful, but this new nonsense takes the cake

The situation leading up to the "photo kill" I've already described here:

That basically summarizes the situation leading up to the photo and its very public dismissal.

2. One of the other problems is the staff they have working for them. Clearly the KP communications department is not up to par. It should have been the communications head/chief taking the blame for this instead of Kate. Instead, he thought that a statement from Kate would quell the drama, when all it did was pour more gasoline on the fire.

So Kate can take the blame for the photo but couldn't make any comments about any messages she received from well wishers in the previous weeks? WTF?!

But then there's KP spokesperson giving statements to People magazine today!

A palace insider downplayed the PR crisis, telling PEOPLE exclusively that although the situation is a "bump in the road, it's not an earthquake." "[Kate] has apologized and graciously so," the insider says. "She has done something that 99% of us do — and we don’t have the scrutiny that they do." "Think of the level of scrutiny of pictures of her, as people pore over them," the insider continues. "You’re always on display and always got to be perfect." The insider adds, "She might be a member of the royal family, but she’s also a human being. If you've just had an operation, you want to look your best with the first photograph that’s published for the outside world."

I'm sorry but why is this person still in the employ of Kensington Palace and why are they speaking to People magazine? "We don't have the scrutiny that they do." FUCKING DUH!! That's why all sorts of people who don't pay attention to the BRF are like, "What the actual fuck is going on over there right now???"

So the KP comms people are continuing to dig the hole they are in. They haven't stopped digging and are unlikely to do so as long as they are calling up People magazine to give them exclusives on their professional fuckups!

3. Guess who hired and continues to employ the professional fuckup?

William!

William is an emotionally damaged, thin skinned, control freak with a privacy fetish. And William found his perfect YES MAN to accede to his control freak nature and his unhealthy demand for privacy with Lee Thompson.

YES MAN + Control Freak - connection to reality = the mess we have today

And the mess we have today continues to roll on. And will continue to roll on. Just as it has since he was hired in 2022...

There was the fuckup at Boston in 2022 when William issued a statement throwing his godmother under the bus when all he had to say was "This is an issue for Buckingham Palace." Except he didn't.

There was the bizarre photo op of Andrew being driven to church by William last August (2023), when everyone with a working, long-term memory knows that William has never kowtowed to his father.

Kate's stretch of wearing thirteen pantsuits in a row, 'cause she was all about "the work." Somehow, she didn't go on a crusade about wearing pantsuits when she was only The Duchess of Cambridge.

Announcing Kate had "planned abdominal surgery" the day after said planned abdominal surgery. If it was "planned," then wouldn't they have said something at least the day of rather than the day after?

Then there's the timeline of fuckery that's happened from Christmas until 09 March 2024 that I collated before The 2024 Mother's Day Photo Disaster.

And it's going to keep going on and on because the root of the problem is William!

4. Then there's The Princess of Wales, aka Kate or Catherine. She is the woman with likely more sense than either Lee or William put together. Do those two fuckups listen to her? Doubtful. Did they listen to any concerns or feedback she gave these two last summer? Or fall/autumn? Also doubtful.

So there's a woman who is a globally known public figure that does not have an easy way out of the mess the two men created, and also she may share some of the blame for decisions made last summer and fall?

And it's a very depressing situation being trapped with a husband who won't listen to you and takes you for granted, yet your husband will listen to the YES MAN at his employ. Because the husband is a emotionally damaged, thin skinned, control freak with a privacy fetish.

A very depressing situation when she knows that her reputation of twenty plus years in the public eye is about to go down the drain as a result of the choices these two men have made. (And no, I'm not talking about the Mother's Day photo.) Gee, what kind of situation could that lead to over the holidays?

5. Then you have Charles, Camilla, and the officials working at Buckingham Palace.

They know about all the communications problems taking place at KP since last summer. Oh, they know. BELIEVE ME. They know.

Charles is someone who believes people should learn from their mistakes and isn't going to interfere in his sons' lives and mistakes. Charles resented his parents interfering in his dating life long before he ever dated or married Diana. (Sabrina Guinness, anyone?) He also resented them interfering in his marriage to Diana.

Basically, Charles won't do what one of my friends from college did: write about her college roommate's pregnancy and due date in a Christmas letter. Yup. Charles isn't that man.

So, yes, BP's communication and pr about Charles's BPH treatment and cancer treatment veers toward being over the top. They have been very transparent with the press for a reason. They know there is a metaphorical nuclear bomb about to go off due to KP's lack of transparency and accountability to the UK public. The monarchy cannot be seen as complicit in it. It is KP's problem. Always has been a KP problem.

This is why Queen Camilla made so many visits to the front entrance of The London Clinic. Transparency. Proper communication with the UK public. The public can trust that The Crown is being honest with them. Kensington Palace clearly not so much.

It's why King Charles has been photographed doing mundane things such as greeting cards and going to church.

And yes, BP communications team is undoubtedly shading the KP comms team when King Charles got photographed in a car at Windsor last week, four days after Kate's pap shot with her mother.

So yeah, we're about to get the biggest scandal since the 90s when Diana died or the War of the Waleses. Pick your throwback reference. Get your popcorn. Because it is going to be that bad.

And the reputations of Will & Kate will never be the same.

Ever.

[bonefall]

I read dotc in like. Fourth grade I think? And the Only scene I can remember now is one in the book with the snow on the cover, where clear sky is heavily injured by a bagder or whatever and thunder looks at him like. God that pathitic guy is my dad. That's so sad. I Have to help him, but because he's a senile old man and Not because hes My Dad.

And kid me was like omg he's just like me fr

And anyway I guess I just was that scene to be included in the BB rewrite. Idk if it even actually exists but it would he cool

I know the exact scene you're talking about and I'm sorry; no, you read it wrong. That's A Forest Divided and Thunder was massively guilt-tripped and abused by Clear Sky before they get attacked by a badger and forced to go back to the moor.

The full context is that Clear Sky has conveniently misinterpreted the words of his dead sister, Fluttering Bird, in a bizarrely specific way that would put him in power over everyone again. Everyone points out that he can't be trusted, and dismisses his shitty idea.

Clear Sky then throws a tantrum about how everyone is so mean to him and doesn't like him after all he's ever done for them (absolutely nothing). Thunder feels awful that he was "too harsh" to his dad, the violent dictator who shoved his face in a drippy, infected wound.

I went over the scene here, but only mention the badger at the end because it's really just a quicktime event they fail so they can get sent back to the moor.

If you ever read DOTC in a way where Thunder was feeling pity for a fellow man and not guilt from his abusive father creating a new tactic to control him with, you need to look again. It's guilt they're writing. Guilt guilt guilt.

It will probably not exist in BB because the story is very different. ThunderClan exists by Book 3, so Thunderstar isn't going to be going back to SkyClan out of guilt. It could happen to Tiger Sky, though.

[hollybell51]

ok i know you said requests are backlogged but i also read your sam winchester fic (oh my god???? so good!!!!!) and i noticed that you put dean on your tag list form and i am literally in love with him so if you get time could you do like a hurt/confort fic for him where the reader gets like seriously injured and tells him she loves him because she thinks she's dying and doesn't wanna die without saying it?

Anon you are in luck, the supernatural brainrot is still going strong. Also if you wanna be tagged in stuff make sure you submit responses to that form otherwise I don't know what usernames to put xx

The other thing

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Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 5.8K

Summary: hunting a ghost that only seems to attack young women, you volunteer yourself as bait. The plan doesn't exactly go to plan, leading to some confessions being made.

Content: ANGST. Angst, besties. Hurt/comfort, mainly hurt but there is some comfort there, whump (sorta), mostly Dean's perspective but still second person narrative voice (loml), probably bad characterisation but I think it's passable???? Sam is like the no. 1 Dean/you shipper, A+ wingman. Badly written emotional vulnerability but I tried I promise. Kissing, first kisses, "I love you"s, bit of blood but not too explicit, hospitals, etc. etc. Dean is a warning on his own but yknow what I love him. I may have missed some stuff so please don't hesitate to catch me on it!

Notes: ft. my freaking awful titles lmaoooo. This isn't really set during any actual episode, but I'm sorta working off only having watched the first two seasons so just assume it takes place somewhere around then. Also the more I watch this the more I just wanna grab him and put him in my pocket or something, it's so bizarre. He's so pretty. I love his cockiness, I love the little eyebrow thing he does, I love the little jaw thing he does. Sorry if I messed up any lore or anything, writing this was a fever dream but tbh I had fun, it's nice to just sorta write you know? Thanks for the suggestion Anon

“Guys, can you hurry up?” 

Dean glanced over his shoulder, frantically sprinkling fuel over the exposed corpse below. He couldn’t see all that much in the darkness, but it didn’t exactly look like you had the upper hand. None of them had realised how big the ghost was until now, and with the machete it was currently slashing at you…

“Almost there!” Sam shouted, striking a match and casting it into the grave. The remains went up with a “whoomp!”, the ghost howled and stumbled back. It was difficult to really know what happened in those few moments as the light from the burning remains glinted off the metal of the machete and the ghost shimmered and began to disappear, but what was clear was that something had happened to you. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping your own weapon with a dull thud. You staggered, catching yourself on a headstone before your knees gave out and you sank to the ground. You were hunched over awkwardly, your shoulders heaving, hands clutched tight to your stomach. 

“(Y/N)?” Dean asked, frowning. Were you hurt? Just out of breath? 

“I’m alright,” you called. “Just… give me a second.” 

“Shit,” Sam muttered, dropping the salt and packet of matches and running towards you. “Dean!” he yelled as he knelt down, stripping off his jacket and balling it up, pressing it to your stomach. 

No, Dean thought. No, no, no, no. He was frozen, the can of fuel dangling limply from his fingers. He’d known using you as bait for a psychotic ghost murderer was a bad idea, even when you’d insisted that you’d be fine. It wasn't that he didn’t think you could handle it – he’d seen you in action enough times to know you were a force to be reckoned with – but he’d had a horrible feeling something was going to go wrong from the moment you’d laid out your plan. 

“He goes after girls, right?” You’d had an uncomfortable light in your eyes, all steely determination that Dean simultaneously loved and hated. Loved because, well, it was so you and it meant you were getting shit done, hated because more often than not you were putting yourself in danger. And yes, he was aware of the hypocrisy. 

He’d tried to talk you out of it, Sam had too. But once your mind was set – and set it was – no amount of convincing on anyone’s part could do anything about it. The second the idea had begun to form in your brain, the path was laid and there was no point trying to change that. 

“You better get over here man, quick!” Sam’s voice dropped, but wasn’t quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear his next words, addressed to you. “Just hold on, Dean’s coming. Keep breathing, ok?” 

Fuck, that didn’t sound good. Dean’s limbs jerked back to life. He didn’t waste another second, sprinting the few metres through the forest of tombstones to where his brother was bent over you. 

“Don’t just stand there!” Sam yelled, one hand pressing his jacket to your stomach. “Help me!” 

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, kneeling beside you and taking over from Sam without any input from Dean himself. Dully, he noticed that there was already a warm, damp patch on the jacket, as well as a dark spot glistening darkly over your side. Shit. 

“I’ll be fine,” you’d insisted when he'd raised his doubts. “I’ve got you guys. You just burn the bones fast, I reckon I can hold him off for a few minutes.” Then you’d shrugged, grinning. “And if it all goes to hell, I know you’ve got my back.”

Yeah, fat lot of help they’d been. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“He got me on his way out,” you laughed bitterly. “Can you believe that? Halfway gone and he just–” You broke off, making a vague slashing gesture with your free hand. “God, I’m an idiot.” 

“No, no you did fine. We shoulda been quicker.” Dean assured you, pressing harder. “Sorry,” he muttered as you let out a pained whimper.

“‘Salright,” you grimaced. “My fault. Dean, I gotta–” 

“Shh, no, it’s fine. It’s ok, you’ll be ok.” 

You shook your head, tears mixing with the sweat on your face. He watched one trace a path through the dirt caked on your skin. “It’s important, please.” 

He shook his head. “The only thing that’s important right now is keeping your eyes open, yeah? Just… just do that.” 

“I’m calling 911,” Sam said. “Just stay there, don’t move.” 

“I’m not planning on taking off, don’t worry.” You smiled tightly, then your face twisted in what Dean thought was fear, panic even. It was like a punch to his stomach, he hadn’t seen you look that scared since… Well, ever. Your hand fumbled over his, trying to find something to grab. 

“It’s alright,” he told you, pressing on the jacked one-handed as the fingers of the other one twined with your own. “It’s alright, (Y/N).” 

“No, no Dean, you have to burn me. Make sure you salt me, uh… Sage, use sage too.” 

He felt the blood drain from his face, cold rushing through him. “What?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone. You have to get rid of me, ok?” 

Oh God. Oh God. Dean looked up, searching frantically for Sam. He was watching you while he talked to the emergency operator, his fist pressed against his mouth and his hand shaking where he held the phone. He met Dean’s eyes, shaking his head. 

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone because you’re not going anywhere.” Dean’s voice was blessedly steady, despite the uncomfortable lump in his throat. 

“Promise me,” you whispered, then shouted when he didn’t respond. “Promise me, Dean!” 

He gripped your hand tighter, your own fingers digging harshly into his flesh. “I promise you will be ok,” he said. 

You sobbed, your body heaving under the rapidly dampening jacket. That was way too much blood for Dean’s liking, and judging by the increasing urgency of Sam’s quiet conversation on the phone, he felt the same. 

Your panicked gaze locked on Dean’s face, tears coursing down your cheeks. “I don’t wanna go,” you choked. “I didn’t tell you. I can’t go.” 

Didn’t tell him what? It didn’t matter. He squeezed your hand in what he hoped was a more reassuring than painful way. “It’s ok, you’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re staying right here, I’ve got you.” 

“You’ve gotta listen to me, Dean–” 

“No, tell me later. Just hold on, save your energy.” 

“Dean–” 

“(Y/N) hold on!” 

“Dean!” 

“Dean, listen to her.” Sam had finished on the phone, the screen shining eerily on his face. At Dean’s raised eyebrow he gave a tiny nod. Yeah, there was an ambulance on the way. 

“Sam, she is not gonna die.” He shook his head, turning back to you. “We’ve got all the time in the world, ok sweetheart?” He searched frantically for something to say, anything to keep your attention. He was no doctor, but he knew it would be bad if you passed out. Very bad. 

“Uh… fuck.” He broke off, floundering. What would keep you awake? What could he possibly say after you’d just made him promise to get rid of your spirit once you were dead, which was not going to happen.

“It’s actually not a bad night,” he started, already kicking himself mentally. “Bit of a breeze. I guess it’s sheltered down there, you’ve got a nice, uh, headstone blocking it. Ground’s not too bad either, not too hard. Glad it’s not gravel, my knees’re killing me.” 

A watery laugh clawed its way from you before another sob wracked your body. “Dean, I gotta tell you…” 

“Can you see the stars from down there?” he asked, cutting you off. “I bet they’re bright out here. No light pollution.” He grabbed your hand as your fingers loosened their grip, dread settling like a stone in his stomach. 

Your eyes wandered away from his face, sweeping over the space behind him. You nodded, but the haziness that had slid over your face didn’t do anything to help Dean’s panic, especially now that you weren’t holding his hand nearly as tightly as you had been. 

“Wait,” he said, squeezing your fingers. “Just focus on me, keep looking at me.” 

Your eyes swung back to his. “Please,” you whispered. “Please Dean, listen to me” 

Sam’s hand settled on his shoulder, large and heavy. He nodded to your face when Dean glanced at him, and to his horror he realised there were specks of blood on your lips. 

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t realised, but this was probably one of the worst moments of his life. He’d entirely ignored even the possibility of you being injured, let alone dying – just thinking the word felt wrong – since you’d joined him and Sam, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the near physical ache the idea of your absence caused. Now it was happening, right in front of him. Heat prickled behind his eyes. 

He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. “Yeah, alright sweetheart. You tell me, I’m listening.” 

Relief washed over your face. “I wanted to say it,” you whispered, “before. I didn’t want it like this.” 

“It’s ok. Sh, it’s ok.” 

Your body convulsed under his hand with another sob, more blood leaking from the corners of your mouth. “I love you,” you choked. “I love you so much. I don’t wanna get stuck because I never told you.” 

Oh. Oh. Dean’s mind went blank, then crashed right back into his skull. It was like swinging on a swing, at the peak of the arc where you floated a little before you started going down again. Yeah, that was his brain in that moment. Of course you’d have the guts to say it when he didn’t, even if it was out of fear of becoming an angry ghost. He cursed the universe and its cruel sense of humour. He faced horrors beyond most people’s imaginations almost every day, but still couldn’t say three simple words when he wanted to more than anything, and now you’d taken the first step for him and it was because you thought you were about to die. Someone up there must have hated his guts.  

“I know,” he said finally, nodding. “I know you do. Hold on, ok? There’s an ambulance, it’s gonna get here any minute” It wasn’t what he wanted to tell you, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. 

You smiled, your grip on his hand all but nonexistent now. Your breathing was getting shallower by the second, your eyes unfocussed and no longer trained on his face. It was like now that you’d said your piece, you weren’t even trying to stay awake. He didn’t like to be too dramatic, but he was almost convinced that he was the one who’d been stabbed, not you. 

“No,” he whispered. “No, (Y/N), not you. Please, not you.” 

A wailing siren sounded in the distance, blue and red lights flashing rapidly brighter as the ambulance drew closer. 

“Just a few more minutes,” Sam said, pacing. His eyes never left your face. “Come on, (Y/N), any second now.” 

You were perfectly still, too still. Dean leant over, careful to keep applying pressure to your stomach as he listened for breath. The faintest hint of it brushed his cheek, not enough. He blinked hard, holding you against his chest, his face pressed into your hair. It still smelled like the cheap shampoo from the most recent motel, mixed with blood and dirt and sweat. It should have been disgusting, but to Dean it smelled so right. He wondered what that said about his lifestyle choices. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice choked. “(Y/N)...” 

Your hand slipped from his, and it was like a damn breaking. He felt his shoulders jerk, something between a sob and a grunt torn from him. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to you he was half scared he was going to hurt you. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, (Y/N), I love you.” 

The siren was deafening as the ambulance skidded to a stop, Sam waving frantically to the paramedics swarming the graveyard. Someone pulled Dean back despite his protests. Cold stung his cheeks, the breeze from earlier having turned into a wind. It vaguely occurred to him that the reason it was so cold on his face was because he was crying. 

Everything was a blur as you were engulfed by uniformed paramedics, your limp form lifted onto a stretcher and born away into the vehicle. Someone tried to talk to him before Sam, uncannily put together and coherent, spoke to them and explained. There was a lot of nodding and “thankyou”s, then Dean was being loaded into the Impala like a little kid and Sam was driving like you were in the back seat instead of in the ambulance.  

All he was aware of at the hospital was Sam’s hand gripping his arm, muttering that he needed to pull it together “for her, man.” The harsh, clinical lights and the rush that everyone seemed to be in wasn’t helping Dean’s panic, every prone body he glimpsed taking on your face until he blinked and it was a complete stranger. What if the unthinkable really happened? What if you died, and he hadn’t been able to save you, keep you safe like you’d been so sure he would? What if you really did linger as a tormented spirit, what if he and Sam had to hunt you, get rid of you like you’d said? He didn’t know if he’d be able to do that. 

Finally, a serious looking man with a clipboard and a badge approached them. “Are you with the young woman–” he glanced at the clipboard, “(Y/N), who just came in?” 

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. “Yeah, how is she? Is she alright?” 

“She’s damn lucky someone put as much pressure as they did on that cut,” he sighed. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable.” 

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. 

“Thankyou,” Sam smiled. “Thank you, doctor. When can we see her?” 

He frowned at the clipboard again, tapping his fingers on the plastic. “Well she’s unconscious, I daresay she will be for a while yet.” 

“Please,” Dean interrupted. “I– we just need to see her.” 

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You boys family?” 

“Brothers,” Sam lied at the same time as Dean said “husband.” 

“I’m her husband,” he went on, ignoring the little flip his stomach did. Somehow, the familiar lie felt different now that he’d told you how he felt, even if you hadn’t heard. “He’s my brother in law.” 

“Ok,” he shrugged, “but she won’t… Well, she was stabbed. There’s a lot of tubes, bandages, and she’s out cold. It might be…” He stopped, sighing. “Some people find it confronting, seeing their loved ones like this.” 

Dean felt Sam glance at him, but he ignored it. “Trust me,” he said with a tight smile, “I’ve seen worse.” 

He had not, as it turned out, seen worse. You were completely still apart from the gentle rise and fall of your chest, a thin cotton blanket pulled up and tucked in with clinical precision around your ribs. You had a little cut on your forehead that Dean hadn’t noticed at the graveyard. A drip trailed from the back of your hand to a cluster of bags suspended above you, a thin plastic tube wrapped around your head just under your nose. Oxygen, he assumed. If he ignored all that, you could have been sleeping. 

Sam pushed the door open softly, as if he was afraid he’d wake you up. Dean hesitated a moment, then followed him inside. Up close, he could see the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the pallor of your lips and cheeks. He reached out to touch you, maybe lay his hand on your forehead or smooth your hair away from your face, but drew his hand back at the last moment. He didn’t want to somehow unbalance you from whatever tightrope you were walking right now, even though he knew that was illogical. Still, even breathing the same air felt somehow dangerous for you. 

“Did she tell you?” he asked Sam eventually. 

“That she loves you?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to explain that he hadn’t meant that, that he’d been talking about your fear of not-quite-death. “She never said it outright, but I sort of worked it out, y’know? You guys weren’t really that subtle.” 

Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just…” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely between your prone form and Dean. “You’re always looking at her, when you think she can’t see you. She does the same. Always just sorta… doing little things for each other. And you’re always touching her, I don’t know if you realised.” 

“Huh. I didn’t.” It was true, although it didn’t really surprise him. He liked the little smile you gave him whenever he picked something up from a store for you – a favourite candy, something you’d mentioned you felt like – and he’d just assumed when you did similar things for him it was because you were, well, you. But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t name half as many times when you’d taken the same care and effort for Sam. Not that you’d neglected his brother, it was just… slightly less personal, less specially catered. He felt a surge of warmth for you, then a pang as his eyes landed again on your too-pale face. 

As for touching you, well, he wanted to. All the time. He wanted to put his hand on your shoulder, wrap his arms around your waist, hold you close and feel your heartbeat against his. Every brief half-hug or brush of your skin against his was something precious to him, so of course he’d want more. His mind flashed back to the tightness of your hand in his at the graveyard, the warm slick of your blood as you’d clung to him. Even that had been almost euphoric, past the raw terror and sickening dread. He was going to hold you like that again – under better circumstances – if it killed him. 

“Yeah,” Sam went on. “She’s the same, actually.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I remember this one time, Illinois, I think. We got a motel room with the longest couch you've ever seen. You sat down in the corner, and she comes and sits right next to you! When she’s got, like, another two metres of space to choose from.” 

Dean did remember that, actually. He remembered the rush he’d gotten as you’d squished up against his side, complaining that you were cold even though your skin had been warm to the touch. He still thought about it, sometimes. “Huh,” he said again. 

“Yeah.” It was silent apart from the beeping of your monitor and the normal hospital sounds outside the room, then Sam turned and faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Dean shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let her put herself out there like that in the first place.” 

“No, I was supposed to have her back. I shouldn’t have taken so long with the salt.” 

He wasn’t wrong, Dean knew that, but it had been him who’d agreed to your plan. You’d put your faith in him just as much as you had in Sam, and he’d let you down. He hadn’t liked the whole thing from the start, but still he’d gone ahead with it. And now here you were, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and Sam was beating himself up about it. It was all so wrong, and Dean could have stopped it so easily. But as he looked at you, he swore he could hear you snorting derisively at him, crossing your arms with a firm “bullshit!” 

“It’s my choice,” you’d say. “You’re really gonna try to steal my credit?”

“She’d call bullshit on you, you know,” he said. 

His brother shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, you too probably. She’d poke you, right here.” He reached around and stuck his finger firmly in the middle of Dean’s chest, right where you’d done countless times. 

Despite himself, Dean smiled. Then your drip beeped and he was jerked painfully back to the present, and the problem at hand. 

“Did you know she was so scared?” he asked. “Of, y’know…” Dying. Haunting someone. Getting stuck here, not being able to move on. 

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, still looking at you. ��She mentioned it.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Why didn’t she tell me? 

“She didn’t want me to. She thought you’d think… I don’t know, that she wouldn’t be able to do the job. She really didn’t want you to know she was scared, she was so worried about what you thought of her. She said you were…” He swallowed, cleared his throat, continued. “She said you were never scared, and she didn’t want you to think she was. Even when I told her we were all terrified.” 

“Damn right,” Dean muttered. You’d done a great job at putting on such a brave front, he’d sometimes wondered if there was actually something wrong with you. Or maybe not wrong, but different. He’d never known anyone who could handle the things they did so well, not even his dad. It was something of a relief to know that there was more to it. 

“She was convinced she’d be the type of person to get stuck,” he continued. “Kept saying she wouldn’t be able to move on, that she had too much that she was holding onto and she didn’t know how to let go.” He finally raised his head, looking at Dean with what he thought was pity. Any other time, that would have annoyed him. 

“That’s why she said it,” he muttered, the uncomfortable lump back in his throat. When you woke up, he was going to give you a serious talk about timing. 

Sam nodded. 

“And she didn’t–” His voice broke, and he turned away. He wanted to punch something, put his fist through the wall or slam his hand down on the table, but he was too scared it would somehow disturb you. “I didn’t say it back.”

“Woah, hey.” Sam’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steadying him. “You did, man. You did.” 

“I was too late! She was out!” 

“Yeah, and you can tell her again when she wakes up.” 

“What if–” 

“No.” Sam shook his head firmly, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. “She’s waking up, and when she does you’re gonna ask her out on a proper date, she’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna sort yourselves out like adults. Ok?” 

Dean looked away. The prospect of asking you out suddenly felt enormous. Of course he’d taken girls on dates before, he knew what he was doing, but that had been more along the lines of “I think you’re cute and you’re clearly into me, let’s get dinner and then we can hook up.” He’d never faced “I’ve been pining over you for months and I was too scared to do anything about it but you almost died and told me you loved me – love, not like – and I have no idea where this is gonna go but Sam’s right and asking you out is probably the best next step even if it’s absolutely terrifying”. He was a total mess, and he knew it. 

“Ok?” Sam asked again, insistent. 

“Ok,” he agreed. “Ok.” 

“Good.” 

You didn’t wake up until a day later. Well, that was according to the time and date displayed on the clock opposite your bed. Dean didn’t really have any recollection of time actually passing. 

He was slumped in the chair beside your bed, your hand held gently in his own as he dozed. He hadn’t let himself fully sleep since you’d been brought in, too afraid that something would happen while he was out, despite all Sam’s urging. Eventually he’d just sent his brother back to the motel, assuring him that he’d be fine on his own and that he wanted to be there for you when you came around. 

He jerked out of his half-nap when your fingers twitched, cursing when his pain stabbed through his neck. Snoozing in hospital chairs was never a good idea. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, frowning at the ceiling. 

Dean cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “(Y/N)?” 

You turned, your face clearing when you saw him. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “Dean,” you whispered. “What’re you doing here?” 

He shrugged, making to withdraw his hand, but your grip tightened. “I’m the ‘welcome back’ committee.” 

“Oh.” You nodded, smiling softly. You ran your free hand over the bandage circling your waist, studying the IV embedded in your skin. “We got him, didn’t we?” you asked. 

Right, the ghost. “Uh, yeah, he’s gone. Your plan worked,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

“It was a pretty good plan,” you grinned. 

He shook his head. “It almost got you killed.” 

“But it worked,” you insisted, your eyes shining. “He’s gone, Dean. Who knows how many people we saved?” 

“And what about you, huh?” 

You shrugged. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He took a deep breath, bending his head so you wouldn’t see the moisture he was sure he could feel gathering in his eyes. How were you so casual about it? It had been your life on the line, you who’d gotten stabbed, who’d been bleeding out, terrified of not dying properly and becoming a ghost yourself. 

“Hey,” you said gently, your hand slipping from his, sliding up over his arm to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“You almost died, (Y/N). Sam told me, what you said about getting stuck, being unable to move on.” 

You were silent for a moment, then you sighed. “Well it’s just awkward now that I’m still here.” 

Despite himself, Dean laughed. He raised his head, placing his hand over yours, rubbing his thumb in a circle over it. Your skin was warm as ever, dry to the touch. It was such a contrast from the graveyard, one he was glad of. You smiled, some of the colour already returning to your face. 

“I’ve always got your back,” he said, “no matter what. Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I just… I don’t know, I just couldn’t. Every time I tried it was like this brick wall went up in my brain.” You shrugged, drawing your hand back as you shifted to sit more upright. Dean missed its warmth instantly. “You’re always so… unfazed, you know? It felt kinda stupid.” 

He snorted. Sure, Sam had already told him what you’d said, but it was different coming from you. 

You folded your arms, as if you’d just won an argument. “See?” 

“Shit, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not – what’d you say? – unfazed. This shit gets to me too, I just…” He thought, unsure how to phrase it. “I didn’t wanna scare you,” he finally settled for. “Didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Oh.” You picked at a loose thread in the blanket, biting your lip. “And the other thing?” 

“Yeah, the other thing.” He’d known this was coming, he’d tried to find the words as he’d sat beside you, waiting for you to wake up. He’d almost had it, he told himself. How hard could it be, after all? 

“I didn’t wanna die with, like, unfinished business. That’s the main reason people stick around. It felt like if I didn’t get it out there, I wouldn’t ever be able to… keep going. Move on.” You swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “It’s ok,” you went on, “if you don’t, y’know, feel the same. I’d understand.” 

So you hadn’t heard him. Dean wasn’t surprised, but some part of him had been clinging to the hope that somehow his words had gotten through to you even as you were bundled into the back of the ambulance. 

He shook his head. “I just wish you’d said something before.” 

You looked up, hope chasing confusion across your face. “What?” 

“I wish you’d said something before,” he repeated. “It would’ve saved us both a lotta trouble.” 

“I don’t…” You frowned. “What’re you…?” 

He shrugged, his heart beating a million mph. “I love you too,” he said simply.

You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, closing it again. Slowly, a smile crept across your features. “Alright,” you grinned, way too smug for Dean’s liking. “Alright then.” 

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but the threat was empty and you both knew it. 

You shifted again, leaning towards him. “Come here,” you said softly. 

He stood, ignoring the ache in his back from the bloody uncomfortable chair. 

Impatiently, you beckoned him closer. 

He raised an eyebrow, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Do I get to kiss you?” 

“That’s the goal, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your face against his hand. Dean wasn’t fond of the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing, but he had no idea how else to describe the feeling that tiny gesture conjured. It really was like someone had released a swarm of the things inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. 

You were watching him expectantly, almost like you were challenging him. “Go on,” your eyes seemed to be saying, “try it.” 

He did. Your lips were softer than he’d expected, and just as warm as your hands. You made a sound somewhere in the realm of a sigh as his hand slid down to rest on your shoulder, pushing gently towards him, your own fingers running over his jaw to brush along the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d waited this long to kiss you, and now that he’d finally taken the plunge, he never wanted to stop. 

But he had to breathe, unfortunately, and so did you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. You were still close enough that he could feel the words against his skin. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he replied. 

You laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and closed the tiny gap once more. “I love you,” you murmured between kisses, “and I’m sorry it took me almost dying to say it.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too.”

The door handle clicked, the hinges squealing. “Ok, so I ran into the doctor on the way in— woah.” 

Dean stood up so fast he almost overbalanced. 

Sam was standing in the doorway with a disposable coffee cup in each hand, his mouth hanging open as he stared from you to Dean and back again. 

You cleared your throat. “Hi, Sam.” 

He shut his mouth, shoving the cups into Dean’s hands as he crossed the room and bent to hug you with a muttered “thank God.” 

“Watch it,” you warned, “I’m injured.” But your arms snaked around his back anyway, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into his neck. 

“You’re never allowed to scare us like that again,” Sam said firmly. 

Your eyes found Dean’s over Sam’s shoulder, and you smiled. “I’m not really planning on it, don’t worry.” 

Sam just laughed. “How’re you feeling?” he asked when he finally let you go. 

“Ok,” you nodded, then frowned. “Hungry.” 

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. He’d gotten bored some time in the morning, and the packet of pudding that had been left on your bedside table along with a bottle of water had been practically begging to be tasted. He’d wondered if you’d wake up before they brought a replacement, he’d even felt a little bad eating your food, but he was hungry, dammit, and when Sam had left he’d said he would come back “later” which meant “tonight”. And that was too long for Dean to wait. He also didn’t have any money on him, and wouldn’t have left your side for the cafeteria when the pudding was right there. 

“What?” you asked. 

“He ate the pudding they left you,” Sam said. Dean never should have mentioned it, but he’d been desperate to get Sam to bring him something and it had felt convincing over the phone.

Dean glared at his brother and the coffees – which were very noticeably not the fast food he’d had in mind. “You try living in that chair for a day, see how long you can go without.” Then he turned to you. “You didn’t miss much, don’t worry.” 

“Well, I’m hungry!” you protested, crossing your arms and looking for all the world like a petulant toddler. 

Sam’s words about asking you out echoed in his mind.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” he said. “At an actual restaurant, not a fast food place. As soon as they let you outta here, alright? In the meantime…” He reached for the bottle of water, handing it to you with an apologetic shrug. It was better than nothing. 

You wrinkled your nose at him. “This is a pretty shit first date.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. Then, on second thoughts, “It’s not a first date, Sam’s here.” 

“Geez,” Sam muttered, “sorry. And after I got you a coffee too.” 

“Did you get me one?” you asked hopefully. 

“No,” he said slowly. “But you can have mine if you want?” 

You sighed. “I don’t like it how you do. But thanks,” you added with a smile. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” 

“Have a little faith, Sam.” 

He smiled, glancing between you and Dean. 

“You owe me a coffee, and you owe me a dinner,” you continued before he could say anything. Dean thanked you silently. He didn’t really want a shovel talk from his own brother right now, which he could see Sam was just dying to dish out. He wondered if you’d be getting one. Probably, but he had no doubts that it would be less “shovel” more “talk”. 

“Soon as you’re fixed up,” he said. “I promise.” 

“And it’ll be a date?” 

“Sweetheart, it’ll be the best first date you’ve ever been on. Trust me.” 

You just grinned, ignoring Sam’s fake-disgusted sigh. “Ok.” 

[tubbypeddle]

Jojo's Bizarre Adventures matchup with @graveyard-dash!!

(author's note: I'm so sorry this took forever, i'm going thru an awful burnout phase right now, and almost forgot about this. but I remembered! so here I am! credits to original gif owners, as well, I did not make them.)

I'm so sorry this took so so long 😭

seriously, someone told me I looked happier today, and I told him he must be mistaken bc I've been so drained for the longest time there's no way I look happier than the last time u saw me

Anyway!

let's get into it!

You find yourself wandering around Hong Kong.

It's 1989.

It's scary all by yourself.

Of course, you find yourself in the middle of a battle you had no idea was going to happen.

And you're saved by the man who'd been on fire five minutes ago,

Jean-Pierre Polnareff

You found yourself in the middle of his battle by accident. You followed the noises of commotion, hoping for a story to tell your friends.

Instead, you find this tall Frenchman in some weird battle that you can't really fully make out with some Japanese teenager and an intimidating Muslim man.

He finds you absolutely charming. You're probably not all dressed up, but that's not what draws him in to you. It's not your piercings, or your clothes, or your makeup, or your pretty dark hair.

It's your eyes. There's something in your eyes that reminds him of a life he's always wanted to live out when he was a kid.

A 'happy wife, happy life' kinda life.

It's after the fight that he promises to find you. He has to leave to follow them on their journey to Egypt, but he promises to come back to you, wherever you are.

It's a big scene, dramatic and filled with what you thought were empty promises, however charming he was.

But he keeps to his word.

You've since returned to your home country after touring around Hong Kong, but he still managed to find you. Showed up to your door with a big bouquet of flowers and everything.

Your relationship from there is beautiful.

You're both pretty touchy people. Polnareff likes to have his hands on you whenever he can. An arm around your shoulders, a hand in your back pocket. Just holding hands. He won't ever let you do anything without him hovering behind you.

You're drawing? He probably has his chin hooked over your shoulder, just watching as you draw. (He definitely asks you to draw him)

You're baking? He's right behind you, clinging onto you like a lost puppy.

He stays away while you're cooking though. He's scared of the Gordon Ramsay in you. Absolutely terrified.

You know his saying. 'Happy wife, happy life'. I mean, you're not his wife yet, but you will be. He has no intentions of ever living a life without you, so you'll have to marry him eventually. When he inevitably pops that special question.

The two of you are absolute gossip QUEENS.

Polnareff always has the juiciest tea, since he's started working with the Speedwagon Foundation. He likes to eavesdrop on classified conversations just so he can report back to you.

He used to gossip like this with Sherry all the time, and since finding you, he's just happy he can gossip away without being hardcore judged for it (Kakyoin)

He absolutely adores the gifts you get him. They're always on display somewhere in his house back in France. (To be honest, he probably takes you back to France with him as soon as possible. Sweeps you off your feet back to the city of love)

Tough, be careful, because as soon as he gets that Speedwagon paycheck, he's spoiling you as often as he can. Any little thing that you even look at with any sort of interest, Polnareff will buy it for you. So I hope you have plenty of storage room for his dramatic gifts.

It's absolutely perfect that you find humor to be one of your favorite traits in other people, and yourself.

Because get ready for plenty of laughter in your relationship with him.

He loves telling jokes, and loves making you laugh in any way he can. And he loves that you're the same. Aside from having his hands on you at all times, another requirement for a relationship with him is the laughter.

He's a silly guy. He doesn't mind being the butt of the joke at times, if it means you'll laugh.

-=-=-=-=-=-

again, I literally cannot say it enough, I am so sorry for the ridiculously long wait

i, like, speedran this in the span of two nights bc I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer than you had to

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT

[vimbry]

woke up from a nightmare that I think a 10 year old would have. I went to a concert where the band were playing in huge, mascot-style fur-suits.

afterwards, I walked out into this grand foyer of the bizarrely ornate location this thing was being held in. there were mosaic tile floors, golden chandeliers, and a conservatory/orangery-like place at the farthest end of the room.

the foyer was hosting some kind of indoor market (I think this dream took place in like, a fancy furry con lmao), and while I was checking out a stand of greetings cards and snacks, one of the band members re-appeared right beside me. they were some kind of unidentifiable,  indigo-coloured dog-like creature. I said, "aw, hi! you're so cute :)" and they wordlessly handed me a chocolate bar from the snack stand - then another, and another, and I was like "uhh...... why-"

but then this man jogged up to us and explained oh, hey, sorry about that! he's the one who made those performers, they're not costumes after all, and this one's supposed to cheer people up if it notices they're sad -  but as I can see, it's malfunctioning, bc A. I'm not sad B. it's not meant to rectify this by just, stealing gifts for people. and he goes, don't worry tho I'm just about to fix it! does some sort of quick rewiring, and walks off. so I'm wondering oh cool what's it gonna do now :) the robot slowly takes each chocolate bar away from me and puts them back on the shelf, and I think, good start! then, it takes away a pair of handmade gloves that I was wearing and I think. what. it reaches for me again and I decide to just go elsewhere in the building.

at some hazy point in the dream, some other person explains to me "uhh hey, the inventor guy won't admit this, but he Totally screwed up - the robot can detect sadness now, but its action is to remove things from you instead of adding them, because it's looking for the cause of your feelings, and until it finds a cause, it won't stop removing things. this isn't limited to objects". and I'm like "cool 👍",  and spend the remainder of this dream sprinting and hiding from a 6ft tall dog machine who wants to rip my limbs off.

it couldn't be fooled by smiling or something, because it read your brain activity/temperature/etc, so it was near impossible to mask the fear of the threat of this thing. I don't know why I couldn't just leave the building, bc as the night went on, the convention packed up and people disappeared, but me and the other person were just running and cowering behind things whenever it noticed and made for us, while the inventor was completely adamant nothing was going to happen.

I woke up to what sounded very clearly the dad next door also waking up his groggy son, like they do most mornings, until I felt the heavy weight of someone sitting down sink onto the bed right next to my legs and realised it was all still sleep paralysis. just a lil hypnopompic hallucination to close it off.

[band--psycho]

Negan x Reader - To Stay Or To Go?

Yes it has been about a year since I last posted a Negan story - I'm sorry!

I know this story isn't the best but I hope you all enjoy this!💛

And yes I will be writing a part 2!

A sigh slipped past Y/n's lips when she heard a knock at the door; her best friend and bridesmaid, Kass, had gone out to fetch the curling tongs from her room, seen as Y/ns decided to break, today of all days.

'Could she cancel a wedding because of broken curling tongs?' she thought to herself.

“It’s open,” Y/n called out; as she stared at the dress that was hung up against the wardrobe at the back of the room.

Anxiety consuming her.

The hours were going by so quickly and yet there were still two hours before her wedding.

Her wedding…the idea still sounded bizarre.

Part of her did love the man she was marrying today; Y/f/n; he was funny, thoughtful, kind, caring and the sex between them was certainly better than sex she’d had with most people.

Most people in her position would be jumping up and down with excitement if he proposed to them; but even though Y/n pretended to be happy, she wasn’t.

Not really.

But she also didn’t want to break Y/f/ns heart or embarrass him; how could she say no without doing both of those things when he proposed to her in the middle of dinner while they were sitting in an extremely busy restaurant?

Everyone’s eyes were on her, expectantly, forcing the word yes to fall from her lips; and then it was like she just got caught up in this whirlwind and couldn’t get out.

And the one thing that held her back from loving the man she was marrying today, was something neither of them could ever change; he wasn’t Negan....

“How you feeling, sweetheart?”

The unexpected deep voice snapped Y/n out of her thoughts.

She wanted to turn around; to see if the owner of the familiar voice was really here; but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

She was frozen on the spot, trying to work out if somehow she’d become a witch and teleported the

man her heart truly desired here.

He couldn’t be here?

How did he even know she was here?

There were so many questions that just didn’t make sense that she was sure she must’ve made up the whole scenario in her head; probably a warning from her heart to stop the wedding from happening.

To run.

“You not even gonna look at me, doll?” Negan asked, humor lightly lacing his voice. But Y/n did not move. She stayed frozen in the same spot.

“You’re not real,” she breathed; her mind continuously repeating those very words, over and over again.

“Oh trust me, sweetheart, I’m fucking real,”

“You can’t be,”

She kept telling herself that he couldn’t be real; but deep down she didn’t know what she’d do if he was real.

They didn’t have a horrible break up or anything like that, quite often Y/n wished they had broken up over something awful, that way maybe she wouldn’t still love him.

No, their breakup was the cliche of the right person, wrong time.

“Turn around,” he demanded softly; so she did, if only to prove to herself that he was just a figment of her imagination.

And there he was. Standing there in his same old classic look, a white shirt covered by a leather jacket, black jeans and black boots. He looked like he hadn’t aged at all since the last time she’d seen him; though the black circles under his eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. A clear sign that he wasn’t sleeping properly.

The same look he practically always wore.

“C’mere,” he whispered, and it was like her body had a mind of its own because before she could even stop herself , she was wrapped up in his embrace.

One arm wrapped around her waist whilst the other was soothingly stroking the top of her head.

It felt like no time had passed even though five years had flown by since we last saw each other.

And still after all that time he felt like home.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that with him but it was certainly longer than she should have.

“See, told you I was real,” he chuckled lightly, as he pulled her closer.

“What are you doing here?” Y/n mumbled against his chest, taking in the moment…taking in him, like he was going to vanish at any given moment.

“Kass called me,” he replied; making Y/n look up at him with a questionable look.

“She wants me to talk you out of getting married,”

Y/n knew Kass wasn’t happy about you getting married to Y/f/n; mainly because she could see that Y/n wasn’t truly happy with him. She wasn’t truly in love with him.

Kass had been trying to talk her out of this wedding for months; but Y/n just simply brushed off her comments.

“But I’m not gonna do that, sweetheart,” Negan stated, the words practically burning in his throat. He pulled back from Y/n slightly so his hand could move from the back of her head to her face, allowing him to caress her cheek as Y/n's eyes grew in confusion.

If he wasn’t going to do that then why was he here?

“You don’t need me to tell you this is a shit show of a wedding, by the look on your face you already know that,” he continued, making sure to hold her eye contact.

Negan didn’t want Y/f/n and Y/n to get married; why would he?

He still loved Y/n. He never stopped.

But this wasn’t his decision to make, it was Y/ns, it was always Y/ns.

“But I am gonna give you this,” as he said that he pulled away from her a little bit more before pulling out a key from his back pocket with a little post it note attached to it; and placing it carefully in her hand, “It’s a key to a hotel outta town, that’s the address for it.”

Y/n felt her heart stop as she glanced down at the key before looking back up at Negan.

“It’s for if you decide to leave,” he continued, with a softness in his eyes.

“Negan-”

“I won’t be there, not unless you want me to be,” as the words left his lips a cocky smirk tugged at the side of his mouth as he squeezed Y/n's hand.

She should’ve given him back the key; and told him that she was happy.

But that was a lie. But even though it was a lie she didn’t want to let anyone down or hurt Y/f/n because he didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Before she could say or do anything he pressed a delicate kiss to the side of her head before disappearing behind the door he’d entered from.

Leaving Y/n, alone, left with some difficult decisions.

Did she stay and marry Y/f/n or become a runaway bride?

And if she did run away from this marriage, what did that mean for her and Negan?

Years ago he was the right person at the wrong time; what if now he was the right person at the right time….

Taglist :

@little-diable @xacatalepsyx @bookworm1767 @backstagewiththemadness @thaliastregona @munsinner @impala1967dwinchester @mrsnegan @jdmsgal @howlingmadlady @https-lorna @nt-multi-fandom @wheelerdixon @dilfsandtherapy @bcarolina @bestbitchsstuff

[haisayonaraa]

Jojo's Bizarre Playdate (part 2)

(it's here! sorry it took me so long to get this out, but I had to think of how this was gonna go next. sorry to any Iggy fans but I don't exactly know how to write him into the story, but congrats to all the polnareff fans, because he'll finally show up here! enjoyyyyyy. )

NOTE FOR THIS CHAPTER: we're still going off the fact Kakyoin and Dio never met, Kakyoin never went to Egypt.

[story below]

Well, since we last left off, the little group of crusaders have gotten on their plane to Egypt. Though Kakyoin didn't have any belongings with him at the moment, but not to worry Joseph assured him that buying out a whole store was no big deal (thanks to the Speedwagon foundation being loaded).  So everyone got on the plane with their own stuff. 

Kakyoin looks to Jotaro, "This is so exciting! I've never really flown before, so this is going to be a nice experience!" Jotaro rolls his eyes and looks out the window beside him, "It's just a plane ride.. no need to be so hyped." Joseph, who's seated in the row beside theirs, chimes in. "It's his first time Jotaro, let him be excited, there's no need to rain on his parade!" Jotaro just huffs in response, ending the conversation. After awhile a flight attendant comes by, taking orders for snacks and such. Jotaro asks for soda, Avdol water, and kakyoin- "oh the fruit juice looks good- no I can't ask for that, she'll think I'm silly- order something mature-" "I'll have some coffee, no cream, no sugar" The flight nods, "and you sir?" they turn to Joseph, "Oh, I'll just have some fruit juice." The flight attendant nods, "Good choice sir!" the flight attendant leaves to get their drinks.

Once the drinks arrive, Kakyoin is already feeling slightly small, but he can't regress right now, there's a bunch of random people here, that and he's got some yucky coffee to drink now. Kakyoin stares down at his cup before taking a sip. The dark bitterness of the drink causes the cherry boy to tear up a bit. "Nori, you ok?" Kakyoin looks over to Joseph, who hasn't touched his own drink. "y-ya- this is- it's a little hot is all." Joseph frowns, "you never wanted coffee did you?" Kakyoin rubs his eyes, "not really.." Joseph chuckles, "you didn't strike me as a coffee person anyway, here.." Joseph switches his and kakyoin's drinks. "I can't really drink juice anyway, the sugar doesn't do my blood pressure any good." Kakyoin starts sipping on the juice. "See that's one of the disadvantages of getting old, sure you can eat anything you want, but no one ever tells you that at this point you can't eat what you want because it's bad for your health..." Kakyoin is barely listening by now, he's just over joyed that he's got juice now. Joseph takes a sip of his coffee "bleh! stupid Japanese coffee, this stuff tastes awful!" Avdol leans back in his seat, "Mister Joestar, that's American coffee." Joseph looks at the coffee, "oh.. heh heh.."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, due to some complications, we're going to have to make a quick stop in Hong Kong to switch planes" many of the passengers groan and sigh, "wat goin' on Jojo?" Kakyoin looks to Jotaro. "Well we're going to have to change planes for some reason." Kakyoin suddenly becomes sad, "But I liked dis plane..."  Jotaro sighs, "I did too, but sometimes these things happen for a reason I guess.." Joseph looks over at the two, "Well this'll give us a great excuse to get some lunch!" Jotaro pulls the tip of his hat over his face, "just don't get too much Gigi.." Joseph grins, "Oh we'll just get something small." 

That something small being a whole entire buffet to themselves. By know Kakyoin has fully slipped into headspace, and Jotaro is following suit. While the group enjoys their food, a certain Frenchman is watching them from afar. "I wonder if that's what I do? But what if it's not? what if they're doing something else? It would be rude of me to assume.. Well, I guess it never hurts to ask.." The man approaches the table, "excuse me, what are you all doing?" Joseph is the first to look up, "eating?" The white haired man shakes his head, "no, what these two are doing.. Is it-" Avdol butts in, "It's a coping mechanism, but at times these two do it just to relax or enjoy themselves." the man seems to perk up, "Oh really?! you two regress too?!"  Jotaro almost chokes on his food from the sudden mood change, and Kakyoin smiles back at the man, "ya, wats ur name?" After grabbing a chair, the man explains to the group that his name is Jean Pierre Polnareff, and that he was just in Hong Kong to site see (the thing said about kakyoin applies to polnareff). "I never expected to find people that have do the same thing as me! Usually I've had such bad luck with people and this subject.." Avdol nods, "it is hard to find people, especially in person." Joseph takes a sip of his drink, "Hey, do you want to go to Egypt with us?" Polnareff tilts his head, "Egypt? what for?" Kakyoin giggles, "A playdate wif a vampire!" Polnareff's eyes widen, "what?!" Jotaro sighs, "A playdate wif my great great uncle." Polnareff relaxes, "oooh! sure, if I wouldn't be a bother that is." Both Avdol and Joseph start gathering up the cleaned off dishes, "You wouldn't be a problem at all, now come on, our flight for Egypt is in an hour!"

(congratulations! Polnareff has joined your party!)

(he seepy :'3)