#this is so tragic i had to eternalize it forever

[superman86to99]

Zero Hour: Crisis in Time #0 (September 1994)

At last, our eternal September comes to a close with the climax of the Zero Hour event, and it's... a whole bunch of nothing. You know, because Hal "Not Green Lantern" Jordan destroyed the universe last issue and all. But then, out of the nothingness, a new universe starts emerging as Hal explains how the destruction of Coast City and his former bosses' refusal to let him recreate it led him to decide that the universe is all wrong and should be restarted from scratch. So that's what's he's doing. Talk about being the change you want to see in the world/universe.

Of course, not all of the heroes present appreciate the fact that Hal just murdered billions of people to create his "better world" -- or "worlds," since he floats the idea of giving the Justice Society their own where they can stay forever young. Hal also promises the alternate reality characters present, like Batgirl and Alpha Centurion, that they can have their own worlds restored instead of having to fade away at the end of the crossover like it usually happens.

What Hal doesn't know is that Waverider managed to pull a select group of heroes out of the timestream right before the old universe was erased, including Superman, Kyle "Yes Green Lantern" Rayner, Damage (who doesn't know why he's there, since he's just a kid who makes stuff explode), and Green Arrow (who doesn't want to be there, since he hates "this cosmic stuff"). The heroes try to stop Hal and end up having to fight not just his lackey Extant but also Alpha Centurion and Batgirl, who only wants to live.

(Glad to see Centurion is sticking by his "100" theme even in this time of great stress.)

Unsurprisingly, the side with the guy powerful enough to destroy an entire universe is winning the fight. Hal's practically a god! But not the God, which means that there's still one DCU character capable of kicking his ass: The Spectre, who also survived the destruction of the universe because he's The Spectre. While the royally pissed-off Speccy keeps Hal occupied, Waverider instructs the heroes to absorb the energy of the nascent universe and then channel it into Damage. Hal figures out what Waverider is planning to do and tries to kill Damage, but Batgirl switches sides again to save the kid, at the cost of her own life....

...which is particularly tragic because it looked like Hal was gonna miss.

Green Arrow, who had bonded with Batgirl even when they were on different sides, shoots an arrow straight into Hal's chest as Kyle holds him down, so I guess that's why Waverider brought those two along. The Spectre says "only one task remains" and pumps even more energy into Damage, who generates the mother of all explosions -- as in, the actual Big Bang. And that's why Waverider brought him along.

Without Hal manipulating events, the universe is recreated as it had been before, more or less. The heroes (plus Extant, but he bails pretty soon) watch from outside the timestream as history unfolds until the nanosecond right before Hal destroyed the universe, at which point Waverider slips all of them back into their present... with some slight differences, like Guy Gardner suddenly sporting some funky body paint instead of his Warrior armor.

Everyone who died from holes in reality and such is alive again, but we're told that others are still dead, like Wally West (spoilers: no he isn't), Hal and Kyle (spoilers: no they aren't), or the JSA's Hourman and the Atom (spoilers: okay, yes they are... improbably, to this day). The alternate reality characters, like Alpha Centurion, have faded away as customary. On the other hand, amid all that death, Power Girl finally gave birth to a little boy, who I'm sure will grow up to be hugely relevant to the DC Universe and not end up being forgotten within two years!

The crossover ends with Green Arrow shaking his fist at the heavens about what happened to his best friend, the Linear Men exploring the mysteries of this new/old universe, and an intriguing shot of a female Time Trapper... which apparently never paid off. (All I can find is that a female Trapper was teased in the new continuity but never actually appeared, and now The Time Trapper is Doomsday?!)

This re-read hasn't diminished my impression that this series kicks ass. My one big complaint is that they kinda fumbled Extant, a tragic figure reduced to a pretty one-dimensional villain. He's a hero who was driven mad by watching his own future self killing his beloved partner, Dove. It would have been cool if this last issue had revealed that his motivation was bringing Dove back to life and untangling that whole time loop mess, even if it meant killing billions (as opposed to "he wanted a world to rule"). Then again, this is a pretty packed series, so it's possible Dan Jurgens wanted to do something like that and simply didn't have space. Or time.

But we always have time for more commentary from Don Sparrow, so keep on reading!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We open with the cover, and it’s important to remember this issue in context.  While blank covers are commonplace nowadays (a great way to get original art from a creator at a convention) they were completely unheard of at the time of publication, so this was a very nervy, risky thing to drop on a newsstand, and really stood out.

Inside the book, we start from the blank slate we already saw in the last few pages of the crossover issues. As the story gets started in earnest, the splash is a tad confusing, as Parallax appears gigantic in that first splash, but then is normal sized only a few panels later.  The image of Hal’s face lit by the creation he’s trying to build, while he scolds Batgirl, completely in control freak mode, is a good one, showing his placid expression.

The only thing scarier than a villain with this level of power is a villain with this level of power who can’t wipe an empty smile off his face—there’s a lot of that in this issue.

Speaking of facial expressions, Guy Gardner runs the gamut here, remaining so consistent since the last issue, showing both anger and shock in remarkably believable ways. When Guy Gardner is the voice or reason, you know something has gone terribly wrong.

Once the battle begins, the image of Parallax attacking Ray, Captain Atom, Superman AND Donna Troy with his back turned is pretty boss.

The emergence of the screaming Spectre on page 13 is a stunner, and I love the fun this art team has with his cape. There’s something fitting about Waverider literally thanking God, since Spectre was established to be the Judeo-Christian God’s angel of wrath at this time.  It’s pretty nuts that Parallax lasts as long as he does against Spectre, even seemingly damaging him on page 16.  But unlike Spectre, the power Hal absorbed from the Central Power Battery when he went nuts is finite, so he’s burning fuel this whole fight.

There are a couple instances in this story where the level of damage from an attack seems unclear to the reader.  The first is when Batgirl sacrifices her life to save Damage (as Max pointed out, it looked like Damage had cleared left of his blast).  As her stomach is blasted, we see—and hear—her Batgirl uniform being torn away, but still see her belly-button, making me think this wound isn’t that dangerous, but it’s apparently lethal.  Ditto a page later when Hal takes Ollie’s arrow to the chest—all we are shown is the very tip puncturing Parallax’s armour, but we aren’t shown how deeply the arrow went in, so it doesn’t seem like that’s what would have killed him, at least the first time I read it.

 The history of the new Earth as the heroes try to come to grips with what just happened is super interesting—I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dinosaur drawn more realistically than the apatosaurus on page 23.

 Lastly, I absolutely adore that pull-out timeline poster, something I would look back on again and again.  I loved the conceit of time not being fixed by dates, but by terms like “ten years ago”, etc. Jurgens and Ordway are excellent enough artists to make all these corny mid-90s designs look cool, even truly awful characters like Manhunter and Fate. 

Reviewing this series has been a fun reappraisal.  I’ll admit, I love the art so much that I was willing to overlook some of the criticisms (the mistreatment of the JSA, Hal as mass murderer) that are actually fairly valid.  But overall, I appreciated it as an effort to clean up Crisis-related continuity, and provide a jumping on point for new readers.

SPEEDING BULLETS:

I was pretty unfamiliar with Green Arrow at this point in my reading, so his jaded, world-weary sarcasm in this issue greatly informed my understanding of the character.  It would be years later when I’d read the original (relatively brief) famous run by Dennis O’Neil and Neal Adams of Green Lantern/Green Arrow that I’d understand Hawkman’s reference to Oliver’s “optimistic liberal philosophy”. “Maybe it died with the rest of the universe” is an all-time cool line. [Max: I'm also a fan of Hal's "weren't you the one who always told me to get involved?"]

Less cool: eternal square Superman chiding Captain Atom for being counter-productive for pointing out that they failed in protecting all of reality. It’s in character, it’s a tad on the dorky side.

Alpha-Centurion having zero misgivings about siding with Parallax pretty much explains my lack of affection for this character.  It would be one thing if he’d said “I’m torn, but it seems we have no choice…” but nope, he’s all in—“I stand with him 100 percent”.

Triumph being ineffectual and indecisive on page 11 pretty much sums up this guy’s sad arc. [Max: I wonder if Triumph was there because he was meant to join Batgirl and Alpha Centurion's side, but then someone at the JLA office said "No, this guy's sticking around! He's for real! We'll be doing Triumph stories for decades!"]

Once again, Green Arrow gets a laugh-line with his muttered “Jeez, they’ve forgotten that we’re even here!” as 60 foot tall Spectre and Parallax throw down.

I know I’m commenting too much here, but “Emerald Hypocrite” is an appropriately Biblical sounding epithet from Spectre, that has always stuck in my mind.

I always find it interesting when writers come back to ideas they’ve used before.  I can think of a handful of different times when Ron Marz used the idea of destroying something, or defeating something not by removing its power, but by overloading it with power (perhaps Max, who is doing exhaustive research on the GL comics of this era can cosign on that one).  [Max: Co-signed! See here for evidence.] Two different occasions, Chuck Dixon had “password” as the ironic computer password needed to advance the story.  And here we see a scene playing out with Waverider filtering energy blasts into Damage in a way that recalls the same writer, Dan Jurgens, having the Eradicator absorbing and channeling the energy being shot at him by Cyborg Superman, saving the real Kal-El in the process in Superman #82. [Max: Co-signed on this one too. This moment always reminded me of that Eradicator scene.]

Had Parallax’s blast hit Damage, would it have been that different?  Wouldn’t he have just exploded and started the Big Bang anyway?

I do like that the Spectre, as narrative emissary of God’s will, was involved in that last stage of restarting time—makes me feel like his involvement somehow makes this reset official, feeling like it was intended to happen, and not just the handful of heroes left doing exactly what Hal had wanted, and making their own reality.

I thought of this issue, and the moment Waverider expresses that Extant will ultimately defeat himself as I read JSA #15 in the year 2000, and had to chuckle. Have a nice flight, Hank.

Love the non-answer from Waverider when Superman asks very clearly “Is Hal dead, or not?”  Which part is he saying yes to?

Read the room, Power Girl.  Also, in JLE #50, Power Girl made out with Hal once—no sorrowful reaction at his heel turn and apparent death? (Yes, I know most of Gerard Jones’ ideas were bad, but this was still present day continuity.) [Max: Hal did give her crap for becoming pregnant soon after declining to have sex with him as one of his last official JLE acts, so I can understand PG here.]

Yeah, I have no idea what to make of that female Time Trapper, either.  Just based on the wavy hair, and lack of other female time travel characters, I figured it was Liri Lee, but it was apparently Lori Morning in a possible future? [Max: Was that ever made clear? The DC wiki is kinda vague about it. I also THINK I remember an interview with Jurgens saying he intended that woman to be Batgirl, but can't find it right now, and obviously that went nowhere.]

Missed an issue? Looking for an old storyline? Check out our new chronological issue index!

[gemmaswife]

THE BOYS 4.08 Assassination Run

[laniemae]

Chances Ojima dies this chapter? /Genuine

Hate to admit it but the chances of Ojima dying this chapter are incredibly likely, I’d say around 80%.

I know I’m usually the one to scream about how Ojima is “certainly gonna die” like every chapter but this feels different as usually it starts off with me feeling safe about him and close to the bda he shows up a bit more and suddenly I freak out about death flags. But the motive hasn’t even dropped yet and he’s already got a ton of screen time, big scenes and info about his character. With the bleeding plot coming into play, his relationship with monomoko and being her favourite student, painting the balcony shutter, and us learning more about his trauma. Like legitimately we’ve gotten so much content of him so early on in the chapter I cannot believe how he won’t die this chapter because he’s been so important. I don’t think a tetro character has raised this many death flags up until now and I’m usually the type to say that we shouldn’t scream death flags at every scene, or we should wait until the motive, but like this is just so much Ojima content. Like I should be happy getting a lot more screen time with my favourite boy but I’m just in complete anxiety knowing that this most likely is his last development before he dies.

Like and even going to story themes, we’ve been getting a ton of development with monomoko and her empathising with the students and questioning the killing game. And since Ojima is her favourite student it makes so much sense for him to die this chapter which could lead monomoko into even more of a spiral as she values his life which could lead to her potentially standing up in the finale of chapter 5. And I could especially see this being the case if Ojima is a killer where she has to send him off to be executed himself, and with how much Ojima is saying how he believes he’s gonna die in the school but also saying that he knows he won’t kill anyone would be ironic.

Also with the mural he’s painting on the balcony, I can’t stop thinking of how perfectly devastating for him to die there would be if he’s a victim. Being killed in front of the painting of the outside world you’ve been yearning for, having your last chance of freedom stripped away like that. Just imagine the unique 5th bda with Ojima’s blacked out sprite in front of the colourful mural unique to that one location. It’s such a perfect setup for him to die there that I can’t possibly imagine that it could go any other way. I heard someone say that if this is the case the student reconvening at the body would be called [Sunset] and just ouch…

God just writing this is making me tear up. Even hearing any discussion or even mention of the likelyhood of Ojima dying this chapter just makes me feel sick despite how much I also say it myself. It just feels different this time as the signs are here right from the beginning of the chapter that I am so so confident he’s gonna die and can’t let myself rest as every day feels like I’m getting closer to my comfort character dying and never being able to see him in an episode again. Like I wanna give my reasons for maybe how he could not die this chapter but at this point it’s so certain I don’t wanna get my hopes up at all so I’m just gonna be sitting here until he dies this chapter and I’ll have to deal with the fallout. If anything I hope an Ojima interview is our one way of giving him some extra screen time before he’s gone forever.

[giantkillerjack]

Betty is so relatable I would do the same shit for my wife

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Now and forever." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

Summary: Your life together is paused with a fight a few hours before the dead start walking, and it forces you two to embark on a journey through that new world apart until Daryl and you reunite with the fall of Woodbury.

A/N: Hi. Obviously this story is way different from the storyline with the Governor, and I wanna clarify that nothing happens to Maggie here :( I had to include Merle. I want to believe that he could be good, although I think I'll do a second part 'cause the interaction between Daryl and you is really little, just because I wanted to write something. It's 6 in the morning and I have to get up at 8 so second part soon! I hope you like it. And we're launching a new nickname from Daryl!♥

“At some point a sorry ain’t gonna be enough.”

You always hated the comparison, but in your mind, you knew Daryl Dixon was fire behind his cold apathy—warm, passionate when he wanted, protective, yet dangerous, with the ability to burn down everything in his path—that's why, aware of his own power, Daryl always lived without emotions, without freedom, flying solo so as not to unleash his true nature and turn everything to ashes. You were always a flight risk, you felt everything too much, but you were always the light—never the shadow—of a loving military father who died fighting before the end of the world. And alone, you left home, taking his memory and his gun hidden in your waistband with you, landing in that seedy bar forgotten by God himself, where the ex–military man and owner—the person who sacrificed himself for you that night—took you in like a daughter, offering you a job that helped keep you on your feet, right in the place where you met the charming Merle, and his baby brother, the young Daryl Dixon.

Dirty, his sleeveless shirt always bearing a grease stain from the repair shop where he worked, intimidating even without saying a word, but his motorcycle was the perfect, perpetual example of the bad boy, the one who made bad decisions, with a tragic past and the physical and emotional wounds to prove it.

However, without any attempt at seduction, with that spark of fire in his serious gaze and a ray of light in yours, it became common between you two to spend the night together where everything was intense, somewhat sweaty, but less heavy, less lonely, less sad when you started talking and laughing and Daryl began to open up. And from never having anything, Daryl went to feeling full, complete, to feeling like he had everything—although always harboring that thought in the back of his head that at some point he would ruin it all—and boy, he did. Feeling that ridiculous sensation of falling deeply in love was overwhelming at first, difficult to digest and accept, until Daryl Dixon knew in his rusty heart that you would always be the only one, that there would be no one after you, ever. Now, and forever.

The idea of ​​marriage was always something distant and foreign to you, until you felt the ring on your finger and someone in your circle mentioned your new last name. Everything stayed the same for a long, long time, but it was also like living in an eternal honeymoon, without overwhelming emotions, only peace in your worlds that had once been fractured by the pain of the past.

Life was good, never ordinary and even fun.

“Hey, asshole! Dinner is ready!”

“Fuck ya!” Merle's voice echoes through the place, and you laugh quietly as you wait at the beginning of the hallway that connects to the kitchen, looking down the hall toward the place where Merle lived, his own kingdom, as he called it, the only place you hadn't managed to invade, as he used to say with a snort. “I’ll be there!”

You let out a chuckle as you turn around to go back to the small kitchen, where Daryl, standing at the counter next to the sink, looks at you with his usual serious disapproval.

“How long will ya do that?”

“Oh, come on. Please don’t take away the only fun I get from living with your precious brother.”

You return your attention to the vegetables on the cutting board as Daryl hums a response, not entirely in agreement with the twisted and strange relationship you'd formed with his brother. But as his body presses against yours from behind, with playful hands around your waist and his forehead on your exposed neck, you know that those displays of affection always came laced with love, replacing the words Daryl was still clumsy with.

"Ya two disgust me." Merle makes a monumental effort not to spit on the floor when he appears to sit in one of the dining room chairs, making you roll your eyes as Daryl pulls away from you. "At least got the decency to lemme know if yer gonna make porn in the kitchen."

Daryl lets out a low grunt without saying anything, having learned to ignore him, the only way to stop the fire before it spread.

"Make porn?" You wrinkle your nose. “The only porn in this house is the one you watch every day: one day your hand will fall off.”

Both of you knew the path opened up for the endless sexually charged jokes he could make, but Merle chuckles, letting the opportunity pass. As the midnight winds down, Daryl’s hand rests almost lazily on one of your legs on the couch, gazes focused on the TV as his brother strolls through the house on his way to a day that’s just beginning for him.

“M' leavin'. Don’ wait up for me.”

Daryl doesn’t even bother to look at him, his voice flat.

“No one does.”

You chuckle as a blank expression spreads across the elder Dixon’s face, but Merle still hadn’t learned to let things go.

“Yer so sweet ya make me wanna throw up.” Part of him meant it, though in his tin–hearted heart as you used to call it, he cared enough for his brother, and you. “But when ya got yer first kid, do sum right for once and name it after me.”

“I’d kill myself first.”

Merle’s laughter echoes in the room until he leaves. But there, that thought was settled, like a cloud heavy with rain, wondering if there would ever be kids, but it was all a matter of perspective; you either loved the rain or hated it.

“Do you want to make porn in the kitchen?”

Daryl chuckles, and happiness fills his blue eyes in a second. He was happy, completely, like he'd never been in his life. But it was the little unresolved issues that piled up, his inability to speak properly when friction arose between you two, his destructive fears, the enemy that lurked in his thoughts, your own insecurities: all of them brought fire and brimstone to a home that seemed indestructible.

"So what the fuck keeps ya here then? The fuckin’ door's right there if ya wanna leave so badly!"

You didn't even remember why you two started fighting in the first place. Maybe it was the unspoken things, the misunderstandings, the challenge in his voice for you to be the one to end it all because Daryl knew he wouldn't be able to, the intensity of his emotions, or how quickly you could walk away with a cold stare and empty, tearless eyes. The silence is deafening until your sigh fills the room, nodding before heading for the door.

"Someday, a sorry ain't gonna be enough, Daryl, if you're even capable of saying it for the first time in your life."

You leave, and he doesn't try to follow, too proud to trample his manhood with a plea, a pride that was built in him with merciless fists that collided with his body until it forged a single thought in his mind, a cursed memory of his parents burned into his head, an unbreakable rule: men don't say sorry, they don't say please, men don't cry or beg.

Sadly, the city turned into hell that night, in just a couple of hours. The chaos, the groans, the police sirens, the gunshots, the cries for help and the excruciating pain. The phone left on your nightstand burned the bridge path behind you, forcing you to continue only forward, alone again. However, the desolation of the world ended for you when a community appeared, suspiciously perfect, like a cruel illusion in the desert when you're one step away from perishing: Woodbury. They had a system, hierarchies, and even order, but one day, on your way to work as a doctor's assistant, a voice caught your attention while it froze your heart.

“Fuck. Me. Right. Now... ain't ya ma lil' brotha's bunny.” The looks on both of your faces are equally incredulous, always underestimating each other's fervent desire to survive, even if you two cared for each other. “I thought ya'd be underground by now, darlin'. Or ya'd be a walker's lunch.”

“I'd never give you that satisfaction, asshole.” A sarcastic smile appears on your lips, and your gaze rests on the memory of what had once been his hand, raising an eyebrow. “I see your hand finally fell off like I told you. I warned you, didn't I?”

Merle Dixon hated the crumbs of pity to the point of repulsion and anger, but he found none in your sincere gaze, with you relieved to see that at least he was still alive, and a genuine smile spread across his own lips.

But everything always felt unstable, like walking through a landmine, almost waiting for it all to explode—until eventually it all did after a while, when two women walked through the front door during a heavy night, but towards opposite directions. One blonde headed to the governor's room, while the green–eyed woman was forced to exist in a cell, unaware of the other's existence. No one was supposed to know about her, but the young woman became a poorly kept secret that shattered your calm when you snuck in and she asked for a shred of your sympathy, ultimately uttering a name you thought you'd never hear again, just to show you she had a family.

“We need to get out of this fucking place now, Merle.” Your voice sounds impatient and scared, almost like your racing heart that you can't stop.

He stops walking around the little room of the house.

“Not as fast as ya did when ya left ma brotha.” Merle laughs, but without a hint of fun.

“You have the intelligence and empathy of a fucking rock, stupid asshole.” You let out a sigh, almost in resignation. “I'm not going to leave a woman at the mercy of a sick person. Doesn’t matter that he helped me. Either I'll get her out of there or at least I'll die trying.”

“Hey. Thanks for mentionin' yer dyin' to see ma lil' brotha.” Merle laughs again, wistfully this time when he sees you have the same expression. “'kay. I'll help. How ya wanna do this, honey?”

You swallow, fighting the lump in your throat.

“That woman, Andrea, do you think she can be trusted?”

The darkness of the following night deepened until the dawn began to claim its place, and the colors of the fire spread across every corner of that community, disappearing into the empty sky, bullets whizzing by until everything returned to absolute silence, where the world was once again dangerous only from the monsters stalking the forest. Daryl's people, they managed to infiltrate and break the seemingly unbreakable pillars of Woodbury, and their community and yours blended together until they merged for the common good: to survive, to live in peace even in the ruins of that world.

There were so many people in the woods, free at last. Young people, adults, families, children.

“Bunny?”

Behind you, that stupid nickname in his deep voice makes you gulp, but always full of affection and this time without that fake touch of sarcasm Daryl always used to tease you, promising to never hunt rabbits again just so your pet's soul could rest in peace. Seconds or a lifetime, the relentless time would never have allowed you to be ready for that reunion, and life doesn't stop, so you turn around.

The moment your gaze met Daryl's, the ocean in his eyes reawakened in a second, bringing with it tears he held back until he reached you. His free hand clasped your waist as the relief of seeing you again mixed with his fear of never seeing you again, forcing him to drop his forehead against your shoulder for a moment before pulling you into a hug. Your hand, which wasn't holding your gun, holds the side of his head, all under the confused and even stunned glances coming from the side of his group, people searching for answers in each other's eyes.

Daryl pulls away, just enough to press his forehead against yours, hand on your face now.

"I knew ya were alive, bunny." He whispers, because Daryl feels his overwhelming feelings creating a lump in his throat, blocking all strength in him, even in his voice.

You let out a small laugh that turns into a sigh.

"Your hair has grown out."

Daryl chuckles too, finally feeling the warmth of your body slow his wild heartbeat.

Back in the arms of her own husband, the place where she belonged, Maggie nods in your direction, a weak, trembling smile on her lips that remains even after Rick, their leader, leads the way for the others, toward a real community. The road is long, but not eternal, though somewhere in the middle, you go a little further to help the lonely, weary grandfather who lost his family the night it all started, and an arm like Max did in a past war, the bar owner, the man who made a nest for you in the center of his home.

“She’s stronger than I thought.” Merle exhales, standing next to his brother, both of their gazes on you. “A pain in ma ass all this time, but (Y/N) is family, ain’t she? so I can’t talk too much shit 'bout ma favorite sister–in–law.”

Daryl inhales, but all the already polluted air in the world doesn’t seem enough to fill his body.

“She won’t forgive me for what I did. I can see it in her blank stare.”

Merle purses his lips, deliberating whether making a joke to be true to his nature and mocking the pain of others, even if it came from his own brother, is the right thing to do at that moment. But even he and his inability to empathize can see a bit of Daryl's broken gaze, and for a second, as Merle swallows painfully, his younger brother's eyes take him back to when Daryl was just a child, right to the moment when he understood that the pain he experienced for the first time was only the beginning of something much worst.

Daryl had the same sad, resigned look, just when Merle thought he'd never see it again: it was the same intensity, only with a different kind of pain. No, even more so. Much worse. That's why Merle doesn't say anything even after you all reach the prison. The sight takes your breath away, but when the gates close and seal the place, it doesn't feel like a prison at all, with the duty to lock you up, deprive you of your freedom, but rather a place where you can flourish again just when the world seemed doomed to wither.

The long day ends when the cells are occupied, almost all of them. Only a few members of Daryl's group remain standing in the cold place that once served as a visiting room for prisoners.

"I ain't sleepin' with ma baby brotha an' his annoyin' wife. No roommates this time, damn it. M' tired of that shit."

"Merle!" You chide him, like a child learning how to behave when the thought of abandoning him on another rooftop seems looming again, but the bossy tone in your voice is enough to shut him up, relieved that he doesn’t resent them too much to bring the subject up again, with him raising his only remaining hand in a gesture of harmlessness before retreating when Hershel tells him there’s one at the end of Corridor G. When he finally disappears, the discomfort is replaced by surprise that shines like the summer sun at that sweltering season on the others’ faces, even Daryl’s, a few feet away from you. “Sorry, everyone, he is still learning to pee outside like a good dog. Please don’t kick him out.”

You were even funny, and even though you didn't know it, people would soon love you.

Rick clears his throat, still shocked by the revelation that the most unsociable person in that place had feelings, even a wife, a person he called by a nickname that seemed covered in glitter when his personality was as hard as a rock.

"Uh, I guess you don't need a room of your own, do you, (Y/N)? I mean, you and Daryl..."

No one hears or senses your sigh.

"No, of course, it's fine like that."

Another throat clearing comes from the side, and the woman with short hair approaches. Carol.

"You're the only one who hasn't eaten yet." Her gaze is gentle, so soft and filled with maternal love. "Why don't we go to the dining room? I'll get you some more comfortable clothes, too."

You nod, hoping to delay the awkward moment as much as possible.

“Thank you.”

You step back to leave beside her and the hallway feels cold, walls still foreign to you.

“So you and Daryl…” Carol laughs, trying to lighten the moment, but even the sound she tries to contain is sweet.

“What can I say? I've always had a soft spot for bad boys.”

She nods.

“But he's not really bad.”

You shake your head confidently.

“No, he's not at all. In fact, he's one of the best people I've ever met.”

Carol looks at you fondly.

“And yet he hurt you.”

“Yeah, he did.” The pain you thought was forgotten somewhere in your chest awakens abruptly, and you have to swallow to dispel the lump that forms in your throat with the radical idea of ​​ending things there so you don't suffer like you did again. “Do you know anything about that?”

She nods, gently so as not to cross the line.

“It may sound strange, but Daryl is my best friend. Crazy, right?” Carol opens her eyes a little wider, needing no words to tell you that this was something crazy, even for her, and you both laugh. “I don’t know him as much as you do, but I know Daryl can be a toxic soul sometimes, hurting people, even though he doesn’t mean to or even want to. In fact, it makes sense why he kept yelling at others at first. I mean, I don’t condone it, but now I understand that he was dealing with that fear that grew in his chest as time passed: the terror of never seeing the person he loves the most again.”

Her voice remained gentle, warm, and yet, it conveys the pain of her own big loss.

“I’m so sorry, really.”

“Thank you, honey.” Carol smiles, her words short but heartfelt, though the memory of her baby still brings tears to her eyes. “Listen, Daryl Dixon can be cruel sometimes, but he’s not a cruel person, not when he wanted to move heaven and earth to find my Sophia, the same thing he tried to do to find you. The only reason why he never left us was because I begged him not to, so I’m sorry. Sometimes we act inappropriately, but that doesn’t define who we really are. I lived with a cruel person, and Daryl is definitely not that.”

Your shoulders slump, but it doesn't feel like defeat: it feels as if with that sigh, you were able to let go of a tiny bit of pain that seemed to have been lodged in your chest forever. And when only scraps of food remain on your plate, you leave the room until you find his slightly open cell, but covered with a blanket. Daryl straightens after placing his crossbow against the wall the moment you fully enter, but his shy, even scared gaze avoids looking you directly in the eye, not when the terror of losing you just as he found you feels suffocating.

A candlelight flickers and casts shadows against the walls.

"M' sorry, m' really sorry, bunny." His low voice trembles, but his body continues to move closer to yours. "I've wanted to tell ya m' sorry since that night."

You want to take a step back, but you remain in your place.

"I still remember what I told you that night."

There's no reproach in your voice, no hatred, and Daryl stands before you, nodding, trying to be brave.

“I know, ya were right, but please don’ walk away from me, don’ leave me, m' beggin' ya. Been dead all this time without ya.” His nervous hands cup your face when you don't step back, calloused fingers holding your skin gently, bringing his face closer to yours when yours leans toward his in response, your hands clutching his bare arms. “Jus’ be my bunny again, okay? Lemme prove ya this time I’ll be better.”

Your thumb glides over his skin, and Daryl can feel the electricity of that small but powerful gesture.

“Okay.”

[imaginespazzi]

I Get You Forever

Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you

(In which this current writer would like to thank her past self for having written this months ago so she can still give her beloved readers something tonight)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff

Words: 2.4K (I guess you could call it a drabble)

A/N: Happy Valentine's my lovelies <3 So the plan really was to write an actual Valentine's day fic but well life got in the way and time is not my friend. However, y'all still deserve a little Valentine's treat and so I figured I'd let this out of the vault even though it's not my favorite and it wasn't initially ever intended to leave my drafts. This can also technically be read as a part of eternity-verse if y'all would like. I hope y'all have had a wonderful love day!

Paige’s world changes on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon, on a riverside court with all her favorite people in attendance. But really, nothing changes at all. Because at the end of the day, she’s still Paige Bueckers, basketball is still her life and she’s still hopelessly and utterly in love with Azzi Fudd. 

If there weren’t cameras videoing every second of it- Paige would lie and say that she hasn’t shed a single tear today. But her eyes have been watery from the minute she’d stepped into the wedding venue, fidgeting with the sleeves of her all white suit. It’s been years in the making, the Paige and Azzi story, even if the soon-to-be wife title still feels a little too mundane for their relationship. Because Azzi has always been more than a best friend or girlfriend or fiancé; she’s Paige’s everything. 

They’d decided to both walk down the aisle at the same time, meeting at the altar set up in the middle of the basketball court. In true Paige and Azzi fashion, the journey down the aisle is decorated with arrangements of pink lilies and purple hydrangeas, contrasted against the otherwise white and blue decór -an ode to UConn- of the rest of the wedding venue. The altar arch itself is canvassed with photos of them, milestones of every second they’d spent learning and loving each other. 

It had taken a fair amount of begging to get Geno Auriemma to say yes to marrying them. Well no, that’s not quite right. Paige had begged for ten minutes and then given the phone to Azzi who had immediately gotten their former coach to agree. Nobody could accuse the old man -who’s now standing right in front of the altar, a scroll in his hands- of not playing favorites. 

The tears from the rest of the day are nothing compared to when the music starts up and Paige finally sees Azzi on the other side of the court. The girl dressed in a simple white off the shoulder dress had been the prettiest girl Paige had ever seen at fifteen, and is still the most gorgeous woman in the world now. She smiles and Paige swears the sun would be jealous of the way Azzi lights up a room. And suddenly all the nerves are gone, everybody else disappears and it’s just Paige and her future. She’s been through a lot in her life, the epic highs, the tragic lows, the boring in between, and through all of it, there’s always been Azzi’s hand firmly grasped in her own, rubbing light patterns against her skin and promising everything gonna be just alright P. And it was. It always would be. As long as Paige gets to hold Azzi’s hand forever. 

It’s a miracle that Paige doesn’t trip on her way down the aisle with the way her eyesight is completely blurry from tears cascading down her face. Thank god for waterproof makeup. Azzi fares just a little bit better, tears brimming but not falling as she continues to smile at Paige, that smile that’s just for her. They’re a little overeager to hold hands by the time they finally meet in the middle and the entire crowd, filled with people who know their ways -know how desperate they are to always be with each other- just a little t00 well and have probably rolled their eyes at their antiques one too many times, laughs. 

“You-holy shit-,” Paige manages to bumble out, “you look really fucking beautiful.”

Azzi laughs, lightly squeezing Paige’s hands, “you don’t look too bad yourself Bueckers.”

“I look fantastic,” Paige scoffs, familiar arrogance intact as always. 

“You look gorgeous,” Azzi corrects and it’s enough to make Paige’s natural blush override the artificial pink that had been put on there by her makeup artist. 

They grin goofily at each other and Paige is just about to lean in for a kiss, forgetting her whereabouts when Coach coughs loudly. 

“You wouldn’t know it from the way these fools are behaving,” he begins and another round of laughter rings out through the crowd, “but we’re here today to marry these two idiots.”

“You’re only talking about Paige right Coach?”

“HEY.”

“Well you’re the one marrying her so you’ve got to be a bit of an idiot too,” Coach says pointedly, “now shut up and let me marry you.”

“Yes sir,” both Paige and Azzi say, sharing a commiserating grin between the two of them. 

“For those of you who don’t know me a) you should and b) my name’s Geno Auriemma and I am the poor Coach who had the misfortune of watching these two fuck up play after play. That is, when they weren’t being idiots on the bench because that’s where they spent half their UConn careers- oh we can laugh about that now,” he says with a smirk when the crowd chuckles, “but it was like the world was ending back then. But somehow these two still managed to keep a smile on their faces. And a part of that is a credit to their own characters, but a lot of it is because they had each other.”

Paige uses her thumb to write I love you against the back of Azzi’s hand as the other girl finally lets a tear fall from her eyes. 

“You know when Paige first told me she was gonna help recruit Azzi, I thought ‘like hell she is’. Except I forgot that if there’s one person more stubborn and persistent than me in this world, it’s probably Paige. And as I watched her recruit Azzi, I knew it was a done deal. And no, I’m not talking about Azzi’s commitment. I knew they were a done deal and I knew that this moment was not a if but a when. And I can’t lie, it took these dumbasses some time, way too much time if we’re being honest but-” the entire crowd nods in agreement as Paige and Azzi let out identically watery laughs, “they figured it out. When it comes to each other, they always figure it out.”

And then Coach’s face morphs into something serious, the amused smile on his face turning into a more sincere one, “I have watched a lot of wonderful things happen at UConn. I have watched my players chase perfection on and off the court and I’ve always said that the thing about perfection is that it’s unattainable. Well unless you’re UConn, then a perfect season is pretty easy. That’s one exception. And the other exception,” he smiles at his former star players, “is Paige and Azzi. I have never met two people more perfect for each other and I am so incredibly honored to be the one to marry them today.”

“Damn Coach,” Paige teases, still sniffling, “you getting soft on us?”

“Shut up and say your damn vows Bueckers,” Coach snaps but there’s no denying the proud smile on his face or the slight tremble in his voice. 

Paige smiles nervously, anchored only by the way Azzi’s tracing a pattern on her palms. She’d written and deleted and then re-written them multiple times; no word, no sentence seemed to convey just how much she loved the woman in front of us. 

“Everybody knows that I don’t really shut up,” she begins, eliciting giggles from her enamored audience, “but today I really am at a loss for words. And that’s okay. Because Azzi, you’ve always known how to listen for the words I’ve never been able to say out loud- ah shit-” she curses as the avalanche of tears hits immediately, “excuse me- the first thing I noticed about Azzi was how perfect her three pointer was. And then I quickly realized that actually, there wasn’t a thing about Azzi that wasn’t perfect. Well except for her cooking but that’s okay baby, thankfully we can afford a chef,” that earns her a little nudge in the stomach- “y’all see how she bullies me?-” and another, “okay okay aight I’m sorry.”

Paige sucks in a deep breath before she starts to speak again. 

“Before I met you Az, I used to feel so fucking heavy all the time. And I didn’t even realize that not feeling that way was a possibility until our trip home from Argentina. I didn’t know that I could feel all light and floaty inside, I didn’t know that I could feel free,” Paige chokes up at the last word, “baby you have taught me so many things, but more than anything you’ve taught me the meaning of the word unconditional. You’ve taught me how to love unconditionally and you’ve taught me how to be loved unconditionally. I don’t know if there’s a word invented yet for just how secure you make me feel but I wake up every damn day knowing without a doubt that however my day goes, it’ll always be you and me at the end,” Paige takes in another shaky breath, “I am a lot of things. A basketball player, a teammate, a daughter, a sister, a friend, the ultimate rizzler,” she winks at the crowd before looking at the love of her life, “but more than anything, baby I am yours. Your best friend, your soulmate, your ride or die and soon I’ll be your wife. All yours. Only yours. I have been since the moment I met you and if you’ll deal with me for that long, then till the day I die. I’m yours Azzi. And every day, I’m glad that you choose to be mine.”

The crowd is clapping and from her peripheral vision, Paige can tell that both sets of parents are in tears. Hell, there’s barely a dry eye in the audience. But all Paige really cares about is the woman in front of her, the woman who still looks at her like she wants to memorize every little bit of her, the woman who’s mouthing i love you through her tears and Paige knows she means it, knows beyond a doubt that she’ll always mean it. 

“Did I do good?” the blonde can’t help but smirk. 

Azzi laughs waterily, “fuck off Bueckers, you know you did good.”

“You gonna beat me?”

Azzi doesn’t answer, shaking her head fondly as their family and fans begin to calm down in anticipation of the other bride’s speech. 

“When I first met Paige,” Azzi begins, a smirk playing on her lips, “my first thought was that there’s no way this white girl’s gonna be any good at playing basketball. I quickly realized I was wrong. When I first kissed Paige, I thought, there’s no way this white girl’s gonna be my forever-”

“Hey-”

“As y’all can tell, I was wrong that time too. It’s a good thing that I’m not the one making these decisions about love and life. First of all because I can’t make a decision for shit as we all know. And second of all because I think God knew. He knew there was never gonna be anyone who could protect me harder, hold me tighter or love me any more than you do,” Azzi’s voice cracks, and Paige instinctively reaches out to wipe away her tears, “unlike Paige. I don’t really like to talk that much,” the audience laughs, “but I like to talk to Paige. My favorite part of my day is when I get to talk to her. Not because I’m dying to say something but because I like the way she looks at me when I talk, like she’s memorizing every sentence I say, like every word out my mouth is the most important one she’ll ever hear. Baby,” she smiles at Paige, “you make me feel seen. I like to hide from the spotlight but I never, ever want to hide from you.”

Azzi pauses, letting out a breath as she tightens her grip on Paige’s hand. 

“I was a big disney kid but despite that, I was always a bit of a skeptic. I wasn't really the kind of person who believed in fairytales or magic or all of that. But you- you turned me into a believer and the thing I believe in the most is you. Paige Bueckers you are my magic, you are my fairytale and you are my happily ever after,” Azzi presses a kiss to Paige’s knuckles, “I’m not much of a talker but every damn day I thank fourteen year old me for getting over her nerves and talking to you on that plane even if she didn’t know that, that white girl was gonna change her life then,” she swallows back her tears, “because you did. And now there’s one thing in my life that will never change, and that’s you. You are my constant, my anchor. Paige Madison Bueckers you are my whole world. and you always will be.”

And Paige knows there are traditions, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling Azzi into a kiss that she hopes encapsulates everything she’s feeling. They’ve never been one for rules anyways. 

“If the two of you are done,” Coach says slyly as they break apart, “can we do the rings?”

Paige and Azzi nod as Drew brings them two silver wedding bands, each engraved on the inside with the other’s name. They giddily repeat the with this ring I thee wed statements, delicately placing the rings on each other’s fingers. 

“Do you, Paige Madison Bueckers take this-”

“I do,” Paige says hurriedly, earning her a bunch of chuckles. 

“This is why Azzi’s my favorite. She’ll let me finish,” Coach says with a sigh before turning to the brunette, “do you Azzi Jazlyn Fudd, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“You may now-”

They don’t wait for Coach to finish the sentences, both of them surging forward at the same time, eager to finally kiss each other as wives. And it isn’t that different from when they were best friends or girlfriends or fiancés. They’re still Paige and Azzi and they’re still completely and utterly in love with each other. From now, and until eternity.

“So who won the vows?” Paige whispers against Azzi’s lip, her wife’s lip. 

Azzi smiles, pressing their foreheads together,  “I won, because I get you forever now.”

“And I get you forever.”

[juricel]

Headcanon request for Beast Cookies x reader who gets convinced by them to join them so he won't have to suffer the pain of their life and had became an entity so they will be together with them forever?

a/n: I didn't include silent salt, for this is heavily centered around their character, and they have yet come out, I hope you don't mind but then again, I have stated it before that I do not write for them.

— mystic flour cookie x reader, burning spice cookie x reader, shadow milk cookie x reader, eternal sugar cookie x reader.

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: themes of nihilism as per usual mystic flour cookie, emotional despair, existential dread, self-harm imagery, manipulation, love bombing, coercion, and potential ooc.

pointless. MYSTIC FLOUR COOKIE could not comprehend the rationality of your persistence—your endless prattling, your stubborn resolve; it was all for naught, a futile exertion in the face of the inevitable. did you not understand? all of it would fade—irrelevant, unnoticed, as if it had never been. there would be no mark upon history, no legacy to preserve the fight. every effort, every defiance, would dissolve into nothingness. and yet, still, you fought. why? the path to salvation lay not in this endless struggle, but in surrender. take her hand, and step into the void, where all things had long since ceased, and in that stillness, grace would bestow eternal peace.

no matter how fiercely cookies flourish, how far they reach, how deeply they love, it all drifts to dust—soft and weightless, like flour borne on the wind. the cycle endures: rise, fall, forget. she cannot unmake it, cannot wipe the slate clean. but she can offer something else. not erasure, no—eternity. come with her, step beyond the world’s decay, and become untouchable. transcend, not vanish. remain, always.

oh, you poor little crumpled cherub! look at you—covered in your own crimson jam, eyes like broken glass, heart swollen with pain and heavy with sorrow. if you persist—if you drag those feet another inch along the jagged path—you shall diverge irreparably from that divine avenue, the gilded promenade of happiness! no, no, no. that would be a blasphemy—a sacrilege against delight itself! ETERNAL SUGAR COOKIE cannot—will not—permit such a tragic misfolding of fate. you were meant to glisten, not to grieve.

come, won’t you, to her garden? that clandestine eden where sorrow dares not tread, where even the ghosts hush their moans and the air shimmers with a perfume too ancient to name. you shall not be alone there—no, never alone. if a tear escapes your eye, the vines will lean in and weep with you, green tendrils coiling gently, whispering leaf-lullabies. if your soul is fractured, fret not—the garden, with its blooms and murmuring roots, will stitch it whole with the deftness of an old dream. ah, but if you hesitate, if some last flicker of will resists—fear not. she will find a way. she always finds a way. you see, she adores the broken ones, the little cookies crumbling at the edges. so tired, so terribly tired—tormented by those gnawing, spidery thoughts. let her help. let her hush them. let her do the thinking for you. why strain, sweet wafer of woe, when she can cradle you forever in petals and shadow, in silk and silence?

hope; a pitiful paper crown worn by the naïve, the desperate, the deluded. a banquet of baloney, stuffed with saccharine dreams and stale promises, paraded about as if it were virtue incarnate. rubbish—glittered, gift-wrapped, and passed down like heirloom poison from one wide-eyed generation to the next. a trick of the psyche. a sparkling hallucination meant to distract from the gnashing teeth just beyond the velvet proscenium. and the world? oh, don’t make him laugh. the world is no stage—it is a pitiless cabaret, a carnival of grotesques. the curtains are stitched from flayed dreams, the spotlights are slow-burning gas fires. every act ends in collapse, every round of applause is but a dirge. the audience has long since abandoned their seats, but the performers—poor, wretched things—still stagger through their routines. mouthing the words. hitting their marks. bleeding on cue. and you—you dear, fluttering marionette—you still believe! you still prattle! still tie ribbons around your grief and call it poetry. still sing lullabies to your pain, mistaking it for a wounded bird rather than the vulture it truly is. you cling to hope like a drunk to his last coin, spinning it in the gutter and whispering, “maybe this time.” ah, such dainty noise—like spoons chiming in a dollhouse—will perish, in time. it must. the fools, ever enamored with their toybox paradise, will cradle it like something sacred, mistaking the humdrum balm of ignorance for grace. but fret not, fret not! his sweet little dear, do not despair—applaud, even! for SHADOW MILK COOKIE has not just one, but many dazzling entrances prepared for you. each one a doorway, each one a revelation. not with force—how vulgar—but with flair, with wonder! so come, his darling—step through the curtain, shed your skin of sorrow, and be reborn in the only truth that matters: to be his.

cookies. they rose, they cracked, they rose again, and cracked. same old story. he’d seen it too many times—dough stretching like blind roots toward some fake sun, puffing up with hot little dreams, then sinking, splitting, crumbling into nothing. always the same end. always that brittle, pathetic hope. there was something sickly sweet about it all, like a smile left out too long. the cycle droned on, dull as dust and just as stubborn. life, with its sugar-coated promises, never gave him anything new—just the same tired tune, the same broken record, spinning in the dark. he’d tried to fix it, patch the cracks, hold the thing together with floury hands and good intentions. useless. it always fell apart. everything. even the trying. in the end, he searched and strained and still found nothing that fit, nothing that stayed—until you. you were the only thing that didn’t flicker out, the only one he could hold onto without bracing for the break. the one thing he could care for without fear of it crumbling. the one thing that didn’t wilt. and BURNING SPICE COOKIE intends to keep it till the end.

those pathetic cookies—faint, crumbly grotesques of valor—cracked and disintegrated at the mere suggestion of his axe. not a whisper of resistance, not a flicker of defiance. they vanished like brittle dreams at daybreak, a thwart species... you mustn’t consort with such ornamental failures; their loyalty is as shallow as the sugar crust they flake beneath. you ought, instead, to come to him—yes, you, as though drawn by some perfumed gravity stitched into the hem of dusk—for he alone knows what is deserved for you.

a/n: it's me and my dearest em dash (including my extremely complicated imagery) against the world, also isn't it obvious I struggled with shadow milk cookie's part?

[cosmicfandomvegan]

Gods, Obito and Kakashi were totally simping for each other weren't they?

These two were disgustingly down bad for each other in the most tragic, soul-crushing way possible. The secret infauation was legendary—just buried under layers of guilt, war, and emotional constipation.

Exhibit A: Obito’s Entire Existence:

- Gave Kakashi his literal eye (a Sharingan! An Uchiha’s "heart"!) as a ”congrats on your promotion” gift.

- Basically "died" screaming Kakashi’s name while getting crushed by a boulder ("Protect Rin… for me…" aka "I trust you with my heart’s last wish").

-Kept Kakashi alive at every opportunity (yes, even that time when he went on a killer rampage and had just witnessed Kakashi kill his literal crush).

- As an adult terrorist? BOY WAS STILL OBSESSED! Built a whole Kakashi’s Pain Simulator in the Kamui dimension. He recreated Kakashi’s suffering in his mind to "prove" Kakashi’s life was pain—because Obito was, in fact, obsessed.

-Obito stalked Kakashi for years (watching him mourn at the Memorial Stone.. Kinda wonder if he was comparing dicks at any point too, like Gai did in that one filler episode🍆).

-Then in a way, Kamui was like Obito’s "Kakashi Pain Cave" where he sulked for 15 years—peak infatuation!)

- "I’ll haunt you forever 🖤🤍" energy 😭

Exhibit B: Kakashi’s Eternal Guilt Kink:

- Wore Obito’s eye for 20 years, never removing it, never moving on. "This is my burden (and also my emotional support trauma eye that reminds me of how good a person Obito was as I strive to make him proud every day of my life).”

- Barely brought Rin up. I mean, she must've been closer to him than Obito, right? Lived longer, he actually got along with her... She was like his sister. But nah, his memories and thoughts are almost allllll Obito. (Bro loved both, but he loved Obito, catch my drift? He was dead-ass obsessed with a dead guy. If Obito was an Obita, way more people would ship and even say they were clearly in love.)

- When Obito finally revealed himself? Kakashi stabbed him ironically in the heart (metaphor?) and then had a mental breakdown in the middle of battle. Classic. T_T

-After Obito's "death", Kakashi didn't just adopt his ideals, he let Obito's ghost rewrite his entire personality. (He deeply admired Obito too. 🥹)

-Literally built a shrine to his memory (and visited it more than his dad’s grave).

Obito’s name wasn’t even officially on the classified mission names list, but Kakashi carved it in himself like a lovesick Victorian widow etching initials into a tree. Meanwhile, Sakumo’s grave? Pretty dusty. :/ 

Obito’s symbolic headstone he's like, "BB I VISIT YOU EVERY SINGLE DAY AND I QUOTE YOU CONTINUOUSLY 😭" aka YOU STILL MATTER. (how fucking romantic????)

And let’s not even get into how Kakashi retired to tend Obito’s grave post-war. Dude built a whole second shrine.

Peak uwu Moment:

Their final interaction in the war:

- Obito: "I’m giving you my Sharingan again. Here’s a double Mangekyō. Go be OP, my emotionally stunted king. 👑😩"

- Kakashi: "I’ll carry your will (and also your face in my soul) forever.”

- Poor Naruto watching and knowing full-well he's missed an entire gay saga of Kakashi's life: "Are they… flirting....?¿?? wtf maaan...-___-;"

Conclusion:

They were disaster soulmates—one died a martyr, the other lived as a widow, and their love language was mutual self-destruction. If that’s not obsessive infatuation, what is? They could def have been a toxic rom-com and I'd pay to watch it. 🍿😎 I mean, they were so in love. Kakashi could never let go, and neither could Obito.

(I know it's not canon but we don't talk about that.)

[galedekarios]

emmrich & regret

emmrich: rook? darling? i wanted to say... rook: yeah, about that argument... emmrich: (sighs) it's no time to apologise, is it? rook: we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise.

currently thinking about the fact that this is the last thing that emmrich and rook truly talk about before everything falls apart on tearstone island and they can't even do it in private, because the one chance they had, their moment to do so turned into an argument.

and not only did one friend die.

and not only is another friend missing, presumably also dead.

no, on top of all that tragedy -- that affects them all because the companions do care about each other. no matter who you picked, it's tragic: emmrich's picknick with harding and the long talks about their pasts, his discussions and warmth with bellara, his respect for neve and the little ways she cares so much, his friendship with davrin and the way both learn from each other in how to care for those in their care -- rook is gone, too. vanished.

and the last private moment they had ended in a heated argument.

i am willing to bet that "we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." is something that haunts emmrich during those long, long weeks that rook is trapped.

"we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." - not only is the use of 'home' very poignant and loaded and heatbreaking, but... they never do get to talk. then they never do get home. it's only he who does.

it's a promise broken.

it's a huge regret.

it's one of those little things that seem overwhelming in the face of loss and grief. the little things that you never got to do. the little things that you never get to make right. the little things that you never get so say. the way should have, could have, would have makes you spiral.

and emmrich would know, does have experience with it after losing his parents so abruptly, as well as within his professional duty's as a watcher, yet i think that would weigh heavily on him.

he's not prepared to lose rook. we see that time and time again in his human path and in his lich path as well:

emmrich: i will lose you to time, rook. what if i can’t bear that for eternity? - emmrich: i’m afraid i’ll mourn you forever.

i think it also explains very well why he insists on the visit to the necropolis, despite what's looming over the group. at first i thought it's a bit frivolous at this point in the game, until i realised why. he does it to be truly absolutely sure that all traces of whatever solas did to rook are gone:

emmrich: rook, dearest, please trust me. i must take you to the necropolis before we confront elgar'nan. - rook: did we have to risk visiting the necropolis? emmrich: i needed its subtler enchanments to detect what we must know. emmrich: there's no mark of the curse solas left on you. emmrich: darling, i thought i'd lost you forever in the fade. rook: if you and the others hadn't pulled me out...

emmrich doesn't want to repeat his (perceived) mistake. he doesn't want to lose them again, to leave things unfinished and to regret again.

and while i did wish we had an additional scene where we actually do have a chance to both address the argument rook and emmrich had in a meaningful way, addressing what happened after as well as emmrich's fears, it makes this final line in the romance scene all the sweeter:

emmrich: whatever is in store for us - together, my darling. that's how we'll face it. rook: i know.

[ditoob]

Something I find makes the life and death of Achilles far more tragic is the fact that all he is is the Trojan War. His parents’ wedding begins the conflict, and he dies before the end of the war. His entire life was spent in something he had no control over. Did he know Helen? Paris? Hektor? The Trojans became his enemies only when he reached the beaches of Troy.

Hell, if we go by the Achilleid, Achilles didn’t even know what the war was about until he was sailing to Troy. A young boy whose birth produced an unjust prophecy that dictated the rest of his life: Live long and die in obscurity, or die in war and live in the minds of the people forever. No greek man of his time could bear to die in obscurity, but it was especially impossible for Achilles to do so. His father Peleus, a legendary Argonaut whose adventures would be remembered for millenia, his mother Thetis, a towering goddess raised by the queen of the gods herself.

Their child had to be known.

At Aulis the greeks call for Achilles, a legend before he even steps into the battlefield, and he is forced to go to war. And he fights, he kills, he ravages the city of Troy. A boy who has never even seen a battle in his life, living in peaceful Pthia and later protected by mighty Chiron in Thessally, becomes a machine specifically created for one purpose: To destroy Troy.

This is the reason why Achilles refuses to fight after the taking of Briseis. Unlike Agamemnon, who lived before the Trojan War, who had a wife and family before the Trojan War, who will leave Troy. Or Odysseus who will tell his tales to his son and wife after 20 years away. Or Menelaus who after years regains his family and rules Sparta in peace. Achilles has no life, no future, he IS Troy, more than even Hektor, Paris, and Priam are. Thus, when his honor is threatened, everything he has ever lived for has been taken away from him. Realize that before the taking of Briseis, Agamemnon mentioned takingthe “bride prizes” from the other greek kings and despite this not going anywhere none of them attempted to argue. Would Odysseus attempt to kill Agamemnon if his bride prize were taken? Would Diomedes or Greater Ajax?

And yet, after Achilles lives his entire life for war. After he struggles and suffers so much at the face of adversity. At the loss of his everything, Patroklos. At the slight to his honor. He spends the rest of eternity regretting everything he had ever done. Perhaps it is a mercy to Achilles that shades forget their life on earth

[aventurineswife]

A kinda specific and maybe long but fun idea i had for a req:

Essentially, {and bare w me, i’m half asleep writing this lol} Reader x Sunday, and Reader is a childhood friend of his, who he loved, and someday when they were older, Reader was tragically killed in an incident. Sunday however, in a grief stricken state, decides to rebel against his original goal for the sweetdream paradise (penacony arc reference) and decides to shape it into a dream instead where he’s happily married to Reader, although for the sake of the dream he’s altered their memories. ending is essentially up to you!

{some additional ideas i had if you wanted to, were things like an argument between gopher and sunday, or robin and sunday, in whichever points of the story you wanted}

alternatively, a different Aventurine version would be interesting, mostly w the same set up but Sunday met Reader during Aventurine’s mission on Penacony, liked them, and Aven has to basically fight off the dream and Sunday.

but yeah, that’s pretty much it, everything else is up for creative liberties! i hope this one is at least somewhat interesting lol xx and srry if some of it doesn’t make sense 😓🤍

“Sometimes, the hardest part of letting go is realizing that the dream was never real”

Summary: In the idyllic yet hollow world of Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday crafts a perfect life with you—his lost love, altered memories and all—to escape the sorrow of reality. But as others begin to break through his illusion, and you start to remember fragments of a different fate, the dream begins to fracture. Torn between love and the harshness of truth, Sunday must finally face the choice to let you go, or remain forever in his self-made paradise.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, unrequited love, grief, loss, dreamscape, bittersweet ending, altered memories, memory manipulation, moral dilemma, angst, hurt/comfort, alternate reality, surrealism, slow unraveling, denial of reality.

Warnings: Grief, themes of manipulation, psychological trauma, implied death of Reader, reality distortion, emotional conflict, bittersweet resolution, morally ambiguous decisions.

A/N: Don't worry, anon! I appreciate all the details, the more details the more I can try to understand what you want exactly! Though I probably changed some bits of it here 😪

Sunday had always been proud of his role within Penacony, the creator of Sweetdream Paradise—a place where sorrow could be stilled, where suffering dissolved into an endless realm of serene dreams. It was a comforting reality he believed people needed, a soft oblivion to cradle them. Yet, in the depths of his mind, his peaceful philosophy hid a darker purpose, shaped by the ache of a loss he could never endure.

You had been his friend, a constant light in his youth, a companion who grounded his dreams. For as long as he remembered, you were there, with laughter that melted his worries and eyes that could see through his layered philosophies. But the day you were lost, taken too soon in a tragic incident, the world itself had hollowed out for him. The pain of your absence haunted him like a shadow, feeding a grief so deep that he was willing to defy his original purpose. In that moment of desolation, he turned Sweetdream Paradise into something far more personal—a realm where you still lived, where you loved him just as much as he had loved you.

In this new dream, Sunday made alterations. He reshaped your memories, softened the sharp edges of reality, and wove a seamless history where you had married him, where together, you built a life free of tragedy. In this dream, he could protect you eternally, shielded by his crafted illusion.

You woke to sunlight filtering through the windows, lying beside Sunday as the golden morning glow danced over his features. His eyes opened, catching you with a familiar warmth, and he reached over, brushing his fingers across your cheek.

"Good morning." he murmured, voice low and rich, as if savoring the simplicity of that greeting.

Every day was like this—a gentle, perfect rhythm that never seemed to break. You didn’t remember a world outside of this home, this life with him. And as you looked at him, you felt safe, loved, yet there was always a faint unease, like a fragment of something forgotten.

But the days went on, filled with laughter and love. Sunday seemed devoted to making sure you never doubted this world, his every word a reassurance that here, you were whole and happy.

One evening, as Sunday worked quietly at his desk, a visitor shattered the peace of his dream. It was Robin, standing just inside the doorway, her expression dark with a kind of wary sadness.

“Brother, you need to stop this,” she said, folding her arms. Her gaze fixed on him, seeing through the veneer of the dream. “This isn’t right. This… this paradise you’re keeping isn’t reality.”

Sunday straightened, his face hardening at her words. “Who are we to deny people peace, Robin? Haven’t we seen enough pain? Haven’t they?” His voice broke slightly, the facade slipping as he glanced toward where you sat by the fire, unaware of the intensity in his voice. He softened, as if trying to protect the dream from any trace of discord.

“You’re keeping people trapped. Yourself included. And for what? A fantasy? Is that really what they would have wanted?” Robin’s voice grew more urgent, her frustration showing. “They’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Sunday’s fists clenched at her words, every fiber in his body resisting the truth. “How could you understand?” he whispered. “In this place, they’re alive. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m giving them peace. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Robin stared at him, her gaze a mix of pity and sorrow. “At what cost, Brother? You’re keeping yourself from moving on, holding them hostage in a world that isn’t even real.”

In an alternate version of Penacony, Sunday’s paradise faced an even stranger twist. Aventurine, the cunning Stoneheart known for his strategic mind, was on his own mission in Sweetdream Paradise, seeking information that only Sunday could provide. But as he delved into the fabric of this dreamscape, he found himself questioning the reality around him, the shimmering dream where Sunday lived an idyllic life with you.

Aventurine confronted Sunday one night, his tone half-amused, half-concerned. “Interesting setup you have here,” he remarked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he took in the flawless surroundings. “I almost believed it myself… almost. But what happens when the dream can’t hold itself together anymore?”

Sunday’s gaze narrowed, his protective instincts flaring. “What do you mean by that?”

Aventurine shrugged, his gaze flicking to you, sitting quietly, oblivious to the tension. “Everyone in this place… it’s all too perfect, isn’t it? You’re clinging to a memory, one that doesn’t belong here.”

In a rare flash of anger, Sunday stepped forward, his eyes darkening. “This isn’t any of your concern, Aventurine. Leave.”

Aventurine met his glare, his smirk slipping. “You think you’re the only one who’s loved and lost? Reality has its flaws, Sunday. It’s messy, painful… but it’s real. This—this is just a prison you’re keeping yourself in.”

Sunday’s voice trembled, caught between anguish and fury. “Better a beautiful dream than a brutal reality.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened for a brief moment, though he couldn’t abandon his sardonic tone. “But at least in reality, they would have remembered you for who you are, not a god in a gilded cage.”

In the end, it was you—within the dream—who finally confronted him, feeling the intangible pull of memories you didn’t recognize. “Sunday… something doesn’t feel right,” you whispered one night, as he sat beside you. “I keep… remembering pieces of something different, something that feels like it wasn’t supposed to end this way.”

Sunday’s face grew pale, fear creeping into his eyes. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. You’re here. We’re together. Isn’t that enough?”

But as you searched his eyes, you could feel the truth breaking through, the dream trembling under the weight of reality. “Sunday, what are you not telling me?”

He looked away, his heart shattering as he realized he couldn’t keep you here forever. Slowly, he whispered, “I… I just wanted to keep you safe. To give us a life that didn’t end in sorrow.”

With a trembling hand, you reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek. “It’s okay to let go. You have to keep going… even if it means letting me go.”

Sunday’s shoulders shook, the dream beginning to unravel around them, pieces of the illusion fading as he looked into your eyes one last time. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

But in the final moments, he felt your hand slip away, leaving him alone in the vast silence of his own grief. And as he awoke from his dream, Sunday found himself in a world still plagued by loss, his heart hollow yet somehow freer. Though you were gone, he understood, at last, that he had to face reality, no matter how painful it was.

And in that pain, he found a fragile hope—a sliver of light breaking through the dark.

*cutely posts all my drafts that have been dying to see the light* 😇💖

[mossy-green-aka-ferrythem]

I love how tragic Bloodfiends are.

Like you see a trend of desperation among them. They really want to live a normal life. It's just that they're... diseased.

I hate how the Bloodfiend Hunters go about stuff because like. They're monsters in some way, yes, but also, deeply, deeply human monsters. It would be wholly disingenuous to dehumanize them. Look at all the Bloodfiends we've encountered. Most recently, and most importantly, the Manchegan Bloodfiends. Look at all of them. They all have stories, and they're all so tragic. I could recount them all, but it's a lot of text, and the only ones that stuck in my brain were Papa Don, Sancho, and Dulcinea. Dulcinea really is quite tragic. Trapped in an oblivious state, going forever in a circle, her own personal hell, dressed up as a heaven. Beautiful, but much like the vampire nicknamed mircalla, she can never truly make contact with anyone. As a bloodfiend, she can only hurt humans, and as a bloodfiend, the other bloodfiends she shares a parade with are given the title of family. She really is a beautiful monument that stands for nothing, nothing but Oblivion, there in that eternal parade...

You also of course have Don Quixote. He truly hoped for so much, but his dream... is one he could never realize.

However, as Bloodfiends live doomed existences, there's still hope.

Sancho has taken on the title of her father. The one Bloodfiend she had the most special bond with. Father was no superficial title. Don truly was a father to her, and she, still loving him despite it all, wishes to carry out his dream. To see the world. To be a hero. To live alongside humans. To finally be untethered by that awful yearning for Blood... she will realize it one way or another. Even though it will be hard. Ever since Sancho has fully accepted the title of Don Quixote, her persona and true self have combined, leading to interesting results.

One thing that always made me really sad is that she needs bloodpack supplements to keep going. Subsisting off of donated human blood, because the curse of being a bloodfiend is so severe, that tragically, she can't even ignore it completely. Reminds me of a piece of fanart I've seen that really stuck with me. She's alone in her room, pajamas a bit loose, surrounded by Bloodbags scattered around the room, showing her melancholy that such a thing is even necessary to begin with. A very sad state of affairs. However, we must make merry, the adventure continues, and she still gallops on! Now, our dear Jia Baoyu's chapter is next! How shall he handle it? Will he and Lin Daiyu have a heartbreaking reunion? and how would he be able to handle her death? Who's to say! All that matters is that we all have hearts full of hope, and press onwards! Jia Baoyu will survive! He will even probably become better than ever, despite it all! No matter what he says, there's a light at the end of the tunnel!

[lordprettyflackotara]

sharp fangs || sam & colby || part two

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. sam and colby are vamps hehe🧛🏼‍♀️. TW: SMUT WITH PLOT. this fic contains blood, brief gore, murder but like it’s justified tbh. mainly you just have two vampire bfs obsessed with you lol. made this shit extra long. ps: part three will not take as long i promise. enjoy my beloved readers. MWAH <3

Sam and Colby absolutely adored you. You were the apple of their eye, the air that made them feel like they could breathe again. They couldn’t get enough of you, making a conscious effort to spend every moment they could with you. When you were away they’d clean your apartment. (Or snoop through your things.) When you went to sleep at night they’d take shifts watching over you while the other went out to hunt.

You were so darling while you slept, the contentment and peace on your face the sight of a lifetime to them. In all of their long years they had didn’t think they’d allow themselves to get attached to another human. After the first two hundred years they saw all of their companions die, leaving them alone with just one another. All of their past lovers met the same inevitable demise, death becoming an old friend of theirs.

The routine was beginning to become old, the two deciding interacting with humans was pointless. Humans were so fragile, so unfortunately disposable. Whoever they chose to get attached to could get hit by a bus and die, or catch a simple cold and it’d end the same. They shared the same fears with you, which they tried to repel by watching over you so heavily. You liked it in an odd way, having your two best friends become angels watching over you. Both Sam and Colby only shared two fears. They feared the day you’d unexpectedly die from a tragic occurrence. Turning you into one of them was out of the question, your soul deserving better than eternal damnation.

The only thing they feared more, was when you truly saw them for what they were. They knew everything about them was appealing to you. Their looks, their voice, even down to their scent. They believed you truly cared for them, but they weren’t convinced you actually comprehended how terrifying they could be. How savage and ruthless they could become. They feared once you realized this, a look of genuine horror spread across your face, you’d wish them away. Forever.

Often times they tried to ignore this fear. After all, right now you were standing in between them, asking them questions about being a vampire. Your fingers were intertwined with Sam’s, Colby’s arm lazily hanging over your shoulders. “Coffins?” You asked. Colby chuckled, an ice cold winter breeze flying past the three of you. “Did we bring coffins when we moved in?” He asked. You rolled your eyes, hoping the boys didn’t notice your visible shivering. They did.

It wasn’t unusual for the three of you to go out for a snack late at night, the empty streets allowing Sam and Colby to be visible without disguises or questions. “Alright alright. How about garlic? I may be Italian, you never know,” You asked. Sam had given you his jacket a few minutes ago, your lips still turning more white by the second. How had they not thought this through better? As the blonde looked down at your eyes, the soft doe kind that made their frozen hearts flutter, he remembered. Right, that’s why.

“Human food doesn’t bother us. You can make as much garlic bread to your hearts content,” Sam replied, placing a small kiss to the side of your head. Small snowflakes had entangled themselves in your hair, Sam’s lips forming a frown. You were willing to make yourself this cold and potentially sick for a twinkie? The three of you finally approached the tiny store, Colby handing you a wad of cash. “Jesus Christ, a twinkie does not cost more than a hundred dollars Colbs,” You gasped, looking at the wad of crisp and shiny hundred dollar bills. “I read about inflation all the time. Just get a few snacks so you won’t have to nearly freeze to death for a twinkie,” He insisted.

You smiled softly, placing a kiss on Colby’s cheek. “Alright i’ll be back,” You say, before dipping into the grocery store. Sam and Colby preferred to stand outside, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention. “We didn’t have twinkies in our time right?” Colby asked. Sam let out a chuckle. “Dude we were actively there for the salem witch trials. We absolutely did not have twinkies,” He answered. Colby teasingly elbowed him, the two leaning against the brick wall outside of the store.

“Just double checking. Couldn’t recall if we were around to try those hyped up little rolls,” Colby told him. It was odd when they thought about it, how long they had roamed the earth. It was always just the two of them during life and then resurrection. They couldn’t help but feel like you were the final piece to the puzzle, the third to the trio. Yet they feared how long they’d actually have with you. Especially when you opted to eat twinkies a majority of the time instead of actual food. (Colby had agreed to learn how to cook just to get you to eat better.)

Sam’s ears twitched for a split second, the sound of footsteps flooding them. He looked around, both him and Colby as still as statues. “You hear that?” He asked the brunette. Colby nodded, equally as on alert. The weather was undoubtedly freezing. No economic crisis was occurring, there would be no reason for a regular human to be roaming the streets this late at night. “I’ll go check it out. Stay with her and i’ll meet you guys back at the apartment,” Colby huffed, dashing off into the night. The ringing of the bell attached to the store door rang, your happy face emerging into sight. You had already broken into one of your twinkies, taking a big bite. You went to hand Sam the wad of cash, before searching for Colby.

“Where’s Colby?” You asked, wiping the white cream off of your bottom lip. Sam’s mind briefly went to filth, before resuming to the matter at hand. He didn’t want to worry you, but he also didn’t want to lie. Since they had met you they had agreed to not lie, the truth something you’d have to handle if you wanted them around. “He’s off investigating something he heard. He’ll meet us back at the apartment,” Sam explained. You laced your fingers with Sam’s, allowing the blonde to walk you across the street. “You think it’s another one of your kind?” You asked, taking another bite of your twinkie.

Sam purposefully kept you on the side away from the road, ensuring no car would hit you if it came brawling your way. Especially with the icy roads, Sam knew human drivers would be unpredictable. (Big shocker: he wasn’t a fan of automobiles when they came out.) “I doubt it. This is our territory now. Our scent is everywhere,” Sam reassured you. You shoved the empty wrapper in your pocket, leaning on Sam for support as he walked you home. His body was cold and statue like, yet you found comfort the more you touched him.

The three of you didn’t want to make things confusing after you all met. After all, the sex was just supposed to be a one time thing. A peace offering in the boys minds. That’s what it was supposed to be. Yet the memory constantly lingering in the forefront of all of yours minds. There was a not so subtle craving that you all wanted it to happen again, the timing just not seemingly right. Sam and Colby didn’t believe in rushing things, even if you didn’t have all the time in the world as they did. Snow crushed underneath your sets of footsteps, Sam’s hearing acutely on alert for intruders.

Yet he couldn’t find it within himself to hear anything over the soothing sound of your heartbeat. It was music to his ears, the sound gratifying to him. It was so soothing in fact, it was distracting. This distraction created the perfect element of surprise for a man in a ski mask to emerge from the alleyway shadows, grabbing you. “Sam!” You screeched, thrashing against the criminals grasp. Sam was forced to let go of your hand, knowing he’d accidentally tear it off if he held onto you and played tug of war against the criminal. Sam could hear it now, the disgusting blood flowing through the lowlifes veins. He had been so blinded by how ethereal your presence was and now he was paying the price.

The flash of a blade sent Sam into an angry frenzy, baring his fangs at the attacker. “Sam! Help me! Colby!” You screamed, your voice echoing off of the alleyway walls. In the blink of an eye Colby was on the attacker, biting into the side of his neck. The grasp on you was released, your body falling to the ground. You quickly turned around, moving backwards on the icy sidewalk. Colby wasn’t feeding onto your attacker, his gaze was much more intense than that. Much more unhinged. He yanked his head backwards, tearing his throat apart. You barely had time to blink before Sam was on the other side of the attacker, copying Colby’s actions.

Clumps of flesh hit the ground, streams of blood flowing everywhere that you looked. Your attacker was long dead, your heart thumping so loud you thought it may burst out of your chest. You continued to back away, your back hitting a street lamp as you watched Sam and Colby. Any mortality they had, any sense of pride or self control had been washed away by the biggest wave. Neither of them were hungry, the taste of the attackers blood sickening. They received no satisfaction from feeding on him, their animalistic craving ordering them to tear the threat apart.

So they did, the man’s neck now a pile of unidentifiable blood and flesh. You swallowed, staring at your best friends. The ones who did your laundry and watched sitcoms shows with you. The ones who looked over you every single moment of the day, even when you didn’t want them to. The same ones who had once fucked you merciless, your life never having been the same afterwards. Blood coated both of their hands, the same crimson paint dripping down their chins and necks. Sam’s maroon sweater was now soaked, Colby’s leather jacket stained with splatters.

Sam dropped the attacker first, his eyes darting around in search of you. You were a pitiful sight, one Sam wished he didn’t have to see. You were on the ground, your back hugging the closest streetlight. Your hands were buried into handfuls of snow, your fingers turning red from the cold. Your eyes were widen, your gaze refusing to stray from him and Colby. Sam swallowed, the rancid taste of the attackers blood still coating his tongue. He walked in front of you, crouching down to your eye level. “I’m so, so sorry,” He whispered. You looked terrified, surely of them. Sam was very sure, his eyes soaking in what he figured to be the last time he’d see you.

Colby quickly joined his side, the corpse abandoned behind them. You had never seen so much blood before, the color seemingly everywhere you looked. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Colby cooed. He brought his hand up to your cheek, lovingly stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. The blood was staining your skin, the feeling unnatural and making you slightly uneasy. Yet, when you looked at the two killers in front of you, you felt nothing but pure awe. Sam was trying to find the words to say to you, expecting the worst. Colby didn’t seem to have the same thoughts as him, which only made the situation ten times worse.

“I-I-I-” You began stuttering, unable to form a coherent sentence. How could you do it? How could you ever thank them? They saved your life. The faint sound of sirens interrupted the conversation, the boys heads turning to the left at the same time. “Sorry princess the conversation is going to have to wait. Let’s get you home,” Colby said, scooping you into his arms. You curled up against his chest, the stench of blood flooding your nostrils as you nuzzled against his shirt.

\/

The boys had gotten you inside safely, setting you down on the couch gently. “Do you need anything? Water? Food?” Colby asked. There were only a handful of things a human could need, surely there were maybe five max. In his mind at least. Sam’s mind was soaring in the other direction, his mouth running dry. You shook your head no, meeting their gaze. “Thank you,” You said. Sam blinked a few times, trying to ensure he heard you correctly. “We’d do anything for you,” Colby answered, crouching in front of you. The blonde braced himself, sure this was the end.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do my best to protect you. I know what you’re doing to do and I just have to say that I-” Sam began, your widened eyes stopped him. Fuck, you really had no idea the power you had over them. The three forbidden words were on the tip of his tongue, the ones that would only make this harder. You quickly rose to your feet, cupping his face into your hands. Gratitude had washed over you, your body demanding to give them a reward. You couldn’t deny that although unsettling, the sight of them covered in your attackers remains made your heart skip a beat.

“I wanna thank both of you, for saving my life,” You say, looking up into Sam’s red orbs. A thousand thoughts ran through the blondes head, many of them thinking they had broke your sanity or something along those lines. “Are you not scared?” Colby asked, approaching you from behind and resting his hands around your waist. You shook your head no. “You both won’t hurt me,” You answered. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t know that. You saw what we did. We ripped his throat apart. Tore him to shreds,” Sam huffed, “What exactly makes you so confident we wouldn’t do that to you?”

His words were hurtful, even if they did hit the hammer on the nail. “You did that to protect me. I know you. I know you both. You won’t hurt me,” You answered again, more confident this time. Colby exchanged a look with Sam, the gears in his brain finally turning the same way his were. “I think what Sam is trying to say is that what you just saw was a lot to process. It is for us, which means it has to mean even more to a human-” He began, your sharp eyes turning around to meet his. Your eyes were shooting daggers, a look Colby knew to not threaten. “Enough with the whole ‘weak human’ bullshit. I may not be immortal but I have a brain you know,” You snapped.

Yeah, Sam had came to the conclusion that they broke you.

“And what does your brain tell you about what you just saw? About the two blood soaked demons that are standing in your living room?” Sam questioned. Your facial expression softened, your eyes resuming their doe like fashion. “They’re telling me that you’re both vampires. Vampires with habits and tendencies I anticipated. Ones that don’t scare me,” You answered. Why didn’t they understand? Could they understand?

Your words seemed so sincere, both boys back on you. It was Colby in front of you this time, Sam’s chest pressing against your back. “We are so sorry you had to see that,” Colby told you. He grabbed your chin, guiding you to look up at him. They could hear your heart skip a beat, the blood smudging against your soft skin. “It’s okay. If it makes you guys feel better, you both look awfully hot covered in blood like this,” You say, biting your bottom lip. Sam pressed himself against your ass, his hands traveling up to your breast.

“Really, is that so?” Colby hummed, smirking down at you. He centered his thumb on your bottom lip, pulling it down teasingly. “In that case, let us show you how sorry we really are,” Sam murmured into your ear, pressing a kiss against your earlobe. You groaned, his large hands kneading at your breast. “Open your mouth princess,” Colby muttered. You did so, flattening out your tongue on display. The brunette could feel himself getting hard, watching you eagerly suck his thumb as he put it into your mouth. The taste of blood coated your tongue, your pupils dilating as you looked into Colby’s eyes.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” Colby praised. He removed his thumb from your eager mouth, replacing it with his lips. His taste made you feel drunk, your body becoming putty in between the boys as Sam tweaked your nipples. He chuckled darkly into your neck as they hardened under his ice cold fingertips. “Always so eager,” Sam murmured, sucking hickies onto your neck. He could feel your veins, hearing the blood flow through your delicate body. Colby’s tongue slid into your mouth, the brunette careful to not nip you with his fangs. Your desperation only made them harder, your sinful noises only becoming louder.

“Fuck, i’ve missed this,” Colby panted, pulling away from your lips. A thin string of saliva hung between both of your lips, your lips now swollen. “We’ve missed this,” Sam corrected, working on his third hickey. Colby dropped to his knees, eager to please you. “Let me taste you, fucking please, just wanna make tonight up to you,” Colby pleaded, his desperation washing over him. You could feel Sam’s hips roll against yours teasingly, ripping a groan out of your throat. “Answer him baby,” Sam encouraged, the smell of your arousal flooding his nose. You licked your lips, your balance unsteady.

Sam’s large hands kept you in place, his assault on your throat relentless. “Please, do whatever you want to me,” You whined, raking your fingers through Colby’s hair. The brunette quickly pulled down your skirt and stockings, accidentally tearing them in the process. “We’ll buy you new ones,” He muttered, bringing your panties down to your ankles. Your slick was drenched for them, Colby’s eyes blown with lust as he admired your cunt. This is all he could think about since the last time he saw you like this, so wet and desperate.

“Go on baby, use Colby’s tongue the way you need,” Sam said encouragingly. You pulled him towards you by his hair, his eager tongue lapping up your juices. Your knees almost buckled, Sam quick to keep you in place. The blonde was having a hard time restraining himself, your blood calling to him. Your smell was always so delightful and it only became more so when you were a moaning mess. “Sammy,” You whined, using your spare hand to grab his wrist. Colby’s lips sucked at your clit, making it harder to form coherent sentences.

“Yes baby?”

“Drink from me,” You panted, grinding against Colby’s face. Sam blinked, unable to deny or question your request. Your blood was sweeter than any others he had tasted, his body always yearning to have another taste of you. He slowly sank his sharp fangs into you, the piercing pain subsiding into a blinding euphoria. “Oh my God,” You whined, clawing at Colby’s hair. His large hands were keeping your thighs pried open, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Sam drank from your neck like a starving man. “Thats it princess, keep using me. Make yourself cum on my tongue,” Colby ordered, the sight of you crumbling enough to make him want to cream his pants.

Sam managed to pull himself off of you, panting as he did so. Your blood was so intoxicating, so addicting. It’s like you were made for them. He lapped at your neck, cleaning your wound as you felt a familiar knot form in your stomach. “Fuck fuck fuck,” You whimpered. Sam slithered one of his hands around your waist to keep you upright, using the other to guide your head to turn. He brought his lips to yours, swallowing each noise you made with his mouth. You could taste your own blood, the metallic taste sending you over the edge. You pulled at Colby’s roots are you came, your vision clouded with stars.

Colby emerged from between your thighs, bruises of where his hands had held your thighs apart already forming. Sam picked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You smashed your lips against his, the boys bringing you to your bedroom. Your back hit your plush mattress, the boys switching positions. Colby stood in between your legs, undoing his belt. “You sure you can handle me princess? I won’t go easy on you like Sam,” He smirked, causing Sam to roll his eyes. You nodded eagerly, reaching behind you to undo Sam’s belt.

“I’m not just a human Colbs. I can handle whatever you throw at me,” You say, as cocky as you can muster. The boys exchanged mischievous looks, their cocks throbbing with excitement. You laid your head back, quickly helping Sam take off his pants. You could feel your core throbbing with desire, Colby making himself right at home in between your legs. He rubbed his tip up and down your folds, soaking in the feeling. You stuck your tongue for Sam, eagerly awaiting his cock. The mere sight of it was making your mouth water.

“You have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to fuck you,” Colby confessed, pushing himself inside of you. You moaned, your noises being muffled by Sam’s cock as he placed it inside of your mouth. The vibrations sent a chill down his spine, your name falling off of his lips. “Fucking hell, you’ve got to try her mouth,” Sam groaned, pushing himself down your throat deeper. Colby grinned as he bottomed out, your walls milking his cock.

“Trust me I remember, everything about her is a slice of heaven,” He replied, gripping your waist harshly. He began to move slowly, slithering one of his hands down to your clit. Your thighs trembled at the extra stimulation, Colby’s thrust speeding up rapidly. Both boys seemed to be in a state of heat, their hips moving faster than you could keep up. “You’re so pretty like this,” Sam praised, watching the shape of his cock go up and down your throat. Colby bit his bottom lip, his sinful noises threatening to spill out at a rapid rate.

“You’re taking me so well. Like you were made for me,” Colby grunted. He drew faster circles around your clit, your waterline flooding with tears as Sam’s cock abused the back of your throat. They were merciless, hell bent on making you cum whilst chasing their own highs. “Made for us,” Sam corrected, his orgasm coming quickly. He pulled himself out of your throat, watching as you stuck your tongue out, desperately trying to lick the underside of his cock. He jerked his shaft above you, depositing his seed directly into your mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot, my fucking God,” Sam panted, watching you eagerly swallow his cum. Your mouth was free to moan now, your mascara smudged and tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “Just like that, please, feels so good Colbs,” You babbled. Colby grabbed both of your legs, throwing them over his shoulders. He felt impossibly deeper, his cock abusing your g spot as it pleased. “You’re fucking milking me princess, it’s like you want me to cum inside of you,” Colby moaned, his thrust relentless.

Sam snickered as he lowered himself near your ear. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? To be bred by him? By both of us? Such a dirty girl, wanting to be bred by demons,” Sam snickered, licking the side of your neck. You could feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm, your body beginning to tremble. “Shit, i’m gonna cum,” You warned. One of your hands found Sam’s squeezing it tightly as you felt your orgasm wash over you. He now felt what Colby felt before, the butterflies swarming around his stomach at the romantic gesture.

Colby’s hips stuttered, his thrust coming to a halt as he came inside of you. He slowly pulled out of you, collapsing on the other side of the bed. The rooms sounds consisted of your rapid breathing and heartbeat, for Sam and Colby at least. Colby stroked your hair as you calmed down, Sam’s hand never straying from yours.

“Hey guys?” You hummed. Sam could’ve jumped on his feet right then and there. Anything you needed. Anything you wanted. He’d eagerly walk to the ends of the earth to get it for you. “Yeah?” He replied, awaiting your orders. You giggled, looking over at him.

“Wanna have a round two?”

[fallendev0tionvn]

Im slow.. when it comes to lore of Clive lmao but hey its interesting, so may i ask what's Nietzsche philosophy.. so like i can watch his philosophy, so i can understand! :D

i've been stalking your account to understand Clive but I just realize i am slow when it comes to lore LMAOO, oneee... question that is a Slight NSFW (Maybe..?), is Clive gentle when it comes of Him and MC do it for a first time?

(i just realized i change topic to add one question which is not related to Clive's lore :P)

I'll answer the second question first, Clive is always gentle! He only wants to bring you pleasure, not pain. The only time he gets a little rough is when he's feeling jealous🏃‍♀️.

ANYWAY.

I'm SORRY for the person I'm about to become, but get ready for a LONG yapping session (I was Dostoevskij in my past life) that probably won't make sense (keep in mind that I wanted to be either a comic artist, a psychologist or a philosophy professor...explains a lot). Half of this is from my notes when I was studying for my graduation exam💀

First of all Nietzsche is one of the most misunderstood philosophers. Why? He's either "idolized" by those red pill/looksmaxxing guys without realizing that he actually goes against their morals, or edgy wannabe "nihilists" for the quote "God is dead." (Nihilism is a form of extreme pessimism, in simple terms, it's the belief that there's no true meaning in life, nothing can be known or communicated. But if Nietzsche is telling you to destroy the old meanings of life TO create your own instead of listening to what others say, would he still be considered a nihilist? Sure, active nihilism is a thing- but in my opinion he is NOT a nihilist).

His philosophy has also been used historically for the worst things that I won't even mention. Why? his sister edited some of his last unfinished works based on HER own beliefs when he ended up in the asylum. Many think he was a "....", when- let's be real and study a bit of history- if Nietzsche's mental health deteriorated the year THAT political figure was born (1889), how could he possibly be associated with him? Literally, tf.

The reason for this is because I think many don't read or study his philosophy in the correct order, nor do they know the timeline of his ideas.

To understand the concept of the "Übermensch", you have to start from the very beginning, when he first mentions the Dionysian and Apollonian spirits- the übermensch is supposed to bring back the rebirth of the "tragic spirit". (Übermensch= overman, the highest version of oneself a person can become, the "better" version of you, basically).

What key concepts did I take inspiration from? (I say inspiration because not everything is directly related to Nietzsche, I started from his main concepts to create characters, lore etc.)

ETERNAL RETURN:

(Bad ending: The cycle ends here)

See Clive's necklace? The symbol on his bicep and the main menu? The ouroboros.

It's such a deep concept and it asks: "What if every moment of your life had to repeat itself endlessly, in the exact same way, forever?"

This means everything, every pain, every joy, every regret, would return again and again and again. This NOT about whether it's scientifically true, we don't know if we're destined to relive the same life after death. It's a thought experiment, a way to ask yourself "would I still want to live my life if I knew I'd relive my worst moments forever? How would I act?"

If your answer is no, you're not affirming your existence. If yes, you're embracing life fully. In a way, you'd try to be more yourself and live with fewer regrets, right?

DIONYSIAN VS APOLLONIAN:

(The intro of the game, Silas and Clive's conversation)

To simplify it: Think of the two hemispheres of the brain.

Right brain = Dionysian (chaos, passion, music, imagination, intuition, emotion). This side is emotional, creative, raw, deeply human. It's the spirit Nietzsche believed humanity lost.

Left brain = Apollonian (logic, structure, rules, order). This side is rational, clear, less human.

Why did Nietzsche use greek gods to describe this? Because he rejected the "classical and elegant" image of Greece we learn about in school. To him, archaic Greece was the perfect society because it embraced chaos, suffering, and the tragic. (That's why I added greek mythology :3)

He also saw greek tragedy (a form of ancient drama/theatre that expresses human suffering, fate, and moral conflict) as the perfect fusion of the Apollonian and Dionysian. This fusion created a form of art that embraced life in all its beauty and suffering.

With Socrates (ancient greek philosopher), the Dionysian spirit was killed. We began to exalt reason over everything, meaning everything had to be explained, justified, or made logical. This made humanity obsessed with truth and control, disconnecting us from the fullness of life.

"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."

Clive tried to force himself to lean more towards the Apollonian, he suppressed his emotions, tried to follow "moral rules", and tried to look "normal".

To explain the change between his younger self and current self there's an iconic quote:

"Become who you are" In the sense that in life, we constantly follow models that are necessary- because we grow through imitation. Children grow by watching, by imitating. But then, we must detach from this imitation and become who we truly are, a process of self reckoning.

After his "death", Clive starts being himself. There's a balance now, but you can still influence him to lean more towards his Dionysian or Apollonian side.

To live a full, healthy life, we need to embrace both sides:

"The tree that grows to heaven must send its roots to hell."

GOD IS DEAD:

(Who helped Clive?)

Nietzsche's most misunderstood quote.

Saying "God is dead", as he writes, implies that God once existed, or at least, that he was once central to the way humans explained the world. After all, only something that has existed can die; things that have never existed don't die. That's why Nietzsche has this declaration spoken not by an atheist, but by a madman. The atheist and the believer ARE part of the same system aren't they? One says "yes", the other says "no", but they're both within the same structure of thought, a world where God is STILL a reference point.

The madman on the other hand, speaks from outside that system. When he says "God is dead", he's not just denying the existence of God- he's saying that the world is no longer ORGANIZED around God. There was a time when everything was explained through God, when God gave order and meaning to existence. But today, that's no longer the case.

We must understand that Nietzsche, often read in an oracular and overly dramatic way, is actually a profundly coherent philosopher. His thinking is rigorous; If churches are now empty, if they became museums, tombs for god (visiting them for the "Affreschi", example: "La cappella sistina"), it's because he is dead. We killed him, or more precisely, we forgot him- because already with the scientific revolution, and even earlier with Renaissance, man placed himself at the center. We no longer live in a world explained through God, but through human reason, science and self determination. (That's why I chose literally the "forgotten God" from greek mythology. If you figure out who he is, you'll learn he actually died.)

Now if you want to learn more about Nietzsche:

His philosophy goes through THREE major phases;

- The youthful phase: Influenced by Schopenhauer (another amazing philosopher, highly recommend reading about him too), celebrated ancient greece, wrote "The Birth of Tragedy", Introduced the Apollonian and Dionysian spirits.

- Enlightment phase: Distanced himself from religion and idealism, embraced critical thinking, dismantled traditional values, wrote "Human, All Too Human".

- Mature phase: Developed his core concepts -> eternal return, übermensch, death of god, wrote "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" "On the genealogy of Morality" "Ecce Homo"

[senseandaccountability]

I never feel older, crasser or more like a dry, boring literature nerd than when people say they find non-ascended Astarion’s ending so sad and wish there was a better one. To me, this is one of the best written storylines in the game. In all of the RPGs I’ve played, even. It’s extremely emotionally rewarding and thematically satisfying and boy, am I not used to that from my favourite media. (Forever looking at you, Lucifer.) Is it bittersweet? Absolutely. But tragic? No. 

Astarion rejecting the ritual despite knowing what it means is anything but tragic - it's powerful, it's the best and most resilient in him shining through. Regardless of how shitty the circumstances were, he made a choice when he made that deal with Cazador. A choice that gave him two centuries of hell. His life as a puppet to Cazador was a tragedy, it left him with no choices, it limited his every move and infringed on the freedom of his mind. It had one driving force: to make him a malleable tool, to help up the stakes in an already viciously brutal system. 

In Cazador’s manor he is faced with a choice once again. To him, as obsessed with the ritual and the lure of power as he is during that questline, the circumstance must feel similar to the ones in that street corner when the Gurs had beaten him to death’s door. Death or power. Except it’s not. 

That’s not the deal and it never was. “Having it all” was never, ever on the table. (None of us can have it all outside of self-help books, come on.) There will be a sacrifice either way, just like there was when he sacrificed his autonomy and freedom for eternal life. Astarion’s quest is about seeing through the delusions and trappings of power. It’s about preserving a sense of self, humanity, your soul if you will, no matter how dire the circumstances. It’s about daring to hope that you can change.

“This is a gift, you know. Thank you, I won’t forget it.”

[elliecore4eva]

Future Snippets of Ellie & Sunshine!Reader

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Sunshine! Joels Daughter! Reader

1. Morning Routines (or Lack Thereof)

Ellie wakes up to your weight half on top of her, your face buried in her neck. She can feel your slow, even breathing, the warmth of your body wrapped around her like a human-sized blanket.

She should get up. Should.

But then you make the softest little noise in your sleep, curling in closer.

Ellie?

Yeah, she's never moving again.

Joel finds you both like that an hour later when he stops by, knocking once before letting himself in like he pays rent.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, crossing his arms as Ellie blinks up at him sleepily. "How the hell do you ever get anything done?"

"I don't," Ellie mutters, wrapping her arms tighter around you. "She's too comfy."

Joel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re hopeless."

2. Tipsy Bison Teasing (Again)

"Okay, but seriously?" Jesse leans forward, a familiar grin creeping onto his face. "How does it feel, knowing your entire reputation is ruined?"

Ellie glares. "I never had a reputation."

"Oh, you did," Dina corrects. "Broody, intimidating, sometimes an asshole? Now you just follow her around like a lost puppy."

Frank, sipping his drink, nods solemnly. "Tragic, really."

Bill just grunts in agreement.

Ellie leans into you, tucking her face against your shoulder.

"At least my girlfriend likes me," she mutters.

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I do."

Jesse groans dramatically. "Ugh. Disgusting. Get a room."

Ellie smirks. "Gladly."

3. The Town’s Favorite Person

You have a way of making everyone feel special.

You check in on Maria, helping her with whatever town duties she’s juggling. You make small gifts for the kids in town, little hand-sewn patches for their jackets, bracelets, or sometimes just fresh-baked cookies.

Even Bill, gruff and eternally skeptical, has warmed up to you.

"Damn kid," he mutters one day, watching as you hand a freshly baked pie to one of the older folks in town. "How the hell do you have time for all this?"

"I like taking care of people," you shrug. "And it makes them happy."

Bill just grunts. But later, Ellie finds a fully upgraded rifle sitting outside your shared place, courtesy of Bill.

"No one better touch a damn hair on her head," he mutters when Ellie thanks him.

Ellie just smirks. "Trust me, man. I’d burn the whole town down first."

4. The Proposal (Sort Of?)

It’s not planned. Not even a little.

Ellie is just watching you one evening, sitting across from her on the porch, laughing at something Joel said.

And it just hits her.

Like a fucking freight train.

She wants forever.

"Marry me."

You blink, mid-laugh. "What?"

Ellie freezes.

Joel chokes on his coffee. "What the fuck?"

Bill mutters something about kids these days having no sense of timing.

Frank looks delighted.

You? You just smile.

"Yeah, okay."

Ellie stares.

"Wait. Really?"

"Guess you’ll have to wait and see."

Ellie groans, dropping her face into her hands. "You're actually evil."

"Yeah, but I’m your evil."

Ellie looks up, grinning. "Damn right you are."

Joel shakes his head. "You're both insufferable."

Bill just grunts in agreement.

Frank wipes away a fake tear. "Young love. So tragic, so beautiful—"

Ellie throws a pillow at him.

5. "Our Favorite Girl"

Ellie leans against the counter at the Tipsy Bison, arms crossed, waiting.

"Let’s go see our favorite girl," she mutters under her breath.

She doesn’t notice Bill and Frank at the bar, both of them pausing mid-conversation.

Frank slowly raises an eyebrow. "Did you just say ‘our’ favorite girl?"

Bill grunts. "Knew it. She’s got the whole damn town wrapped around her finger."

Ellie blinks. "Wait. No, I meant—"

Frank smirks. "No, no, keep going. Tell us how you’re completely whipped."

Ellie groans, burying her face in her hands. "Why do I even talk in public?"

6. The Rainstorm

It starts as a light drizzle. Nothing bad, nothing worth stopping for.

Then it turns into a full-blown downpour.

You and Ellie sprint toward your house, laughing, soaked to the bone.

As soon as you’re inside, you shiver, rubbing your arms.

Without a word, Ellie pulls off her hoodie and tugs it over your head. It’s warm, a little big on you, and smells just like her.

You blink up at her, grinning. "You’re gonna get cold."

Ellie shrugs. "Doesn’t matter. You looked colder."

You step closer, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"You’re a softie," you whisper.

Ellie rolls her eyes. "Shut up."

But she’s smiling.

7. “I’d Burn the Whole World for You”

Ellie isn’t the jealous type. Not really.

But when some new guy in town starts hovering a little too close to you at the market, laughing too hard at your jokes?

Ellie stands at your side in an instant, slipping a casual arm around your waist.

"Hey, babe," she says, loud enough for him to hear. "You ready to go?"

The guy blinks, then immediately looks away. "Oh—uh, yeah. Yeah, of course."

You arch an eyebrow. "Babe?"

Ellie shrugs, smirking. "What? It’s true."

You laugh, bumping her shoulder. "You’re ridiculous."

Ellie grins, kissing your temple. "Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous."

From a few feet away, Joel watches, shaking his head.

"Damn kid," he mutters. "Whipped beyond saving."

Bill grunts. "Good. Keeps her out of trouble."

Frank laughs.

8. Late-Night Confessions

The stars are bright above Jackson, the sky endless and quiet.

You and Ellie sit on the porch, a thick blanket draped over both of you. Your head rests against her shoulder, and for a long while, neither of you speak.

Then, Ellie clears her throat.

"You know I still—" she hesitates, then sighs. "I still think about that night."

You know exactly what she means. The Tipsy Bison. The words she said.

Your fingers trace patterns on the back of her hand. "I know."

Ellie tilts her head toward you. "I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it."

You shift, turning to face her. "I forgave you, Ellie."

She shakes her head, frustrated. "Yeah, but—"

You lift her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "No buts. You’re allowed to move forward."

Ellie’s eyes soften. She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. "I love you."

"I know." You smile. "Now stop sulking and come inside before Joel thinks you’re proposing out here."

From inside, Joel’s gruff voice calls out. "If you are, at least do it right!"

Ellie groans, burying her face in your neck. "I hate this town."

You laugh, tugging her inside.

9. A Morning with Family

The smell of coffee and bacon fills the house.

Joel is at the stove, grumbling as he flips pancakes.

You sit at the table, still groggy from sleep. Ellie, half-asleep, rests her head on your shoulder.

Joel glances over. "You two gonna eat, or you just sittin’ there like a pair of lovesick fools?"

Ellie grunts. "S’too early for this, old man."

Joel snorts. "Too early for breakfast? What the hell do you kids run on?"

You smile sleepily, nudging Ellie. "Pancakes sound good."

Ellie sighs, dramatic as ever, but sits up. "Fine. But only 'cause you said so."

Joel hides his smirk as he sets a plate in front of you.

Bill and Frank arrive soon after, bringing fresh bread and a bottle of honey.

"Figured you two should eat something real," Bill mutters, setting the loaf on the table.

Frank smiles. "Besides, I like seeing her happy."

Ellie glances at you, her heart twisting in her chest.

Because for the first time in a long while, you are.

10. “You’re Stuck With Me”

The sun is just starting to set, casting a warm glow over Jackson.

You and Ellie sit on the edge of the watchtower, legs dangling, watching the sky turn soft shades of pink and orange.

Ellie’s quiet tonight. Not in a bad way—just comfortable.

After a while, she speaks. "You ever think about leaving?"

You blink, turning to her. "Leaving Jackson?"

Ellie nods. "Not for good. Just… seeing what’s out there. Maybe taking a trip, just you and me."

You tilt your head, considering. The idea is tempting. "Where would we go?"

Ellie shrugs. "Dunno. Maybe Wyoming. Or back to Colorado. I heard there’s an old music store in Denver that’s still kinda intact."

You smile. "You just wanna see if they have any old guitars."

Ellie grins, bumping your shoulder. "Maybe. But I’d go anywhere, as long as it’s with you."

Your heart warms.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "You don’t have to take me anywhere, Ellie. I’m not going anywhere."

Ellie watches you for a long moment, then smirks.

"Damn. So I’m stuck with you, huh?"

You laugh, nudging her playfully. "Yeah, pretty much."

Ellie shakes her head, but her smile is full of something deep and unwavering.

"Good," she murmurs.

11. Bill and Frank’s (Unsolicited) Advice

It happens at their house.

Ellie’s sitting on their porch, sulking into a cup of coffee.

Bill sits beside her, arms crossed. Frank leans against the railing, watching with mild amusement.

"Alright," Bill grunts. "Out with it. What’s your problem?"

Ellie sighs. "Nothing, man. Just… thinking."

"Thinking’s dangerous for people like you," Bill mutters.

Frank snickers. "She’s brooding. It’s about her girl, isn’t it?"

Ellie glares. "I don’t brood."

Bill just stares.

Ellie groans, running a hand down her face. "Fine. Whatever. Yeah, it’s about her. It’s always about her."

Frank’s smile softens. "That’s a good thing, you know."

Bill grunts. "Not if she keeps sittin’ here mopin’ instead of just doin’ something about it."

Ellie blinks. "I—what? I have done something about it!"

"Yeah?" Bill raises an eyebrow. "Then why are you still sittin’ here like a kicked puppy?"

Ellie grumbles under her breath.

Frank laughs. "Look, kid. If she forgave you, then let yourself be happy. Don’t waste time waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just… be good to her."

Bill nods. "And don’t fuck it up again."

Ellie snorts. "Yeah. Got it."

But deep down, she knows—she won’t.

12. A Home, Not Just a House

It’s late. The house is quiet, save for the sound of rain tapping against the window.

Ellie lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Then, slowly, she turns—and there you are.

Asleep, peaceful, curled up under the blankets.

Ellie’s heart clenches.

She reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I love you," she whispers.

You stir slightly, eyes barely opening. "Mmm?"

Ellie freezes. "Go back to sleep."

You blink sleepily at her, then smile. Soft. Safe. Home.

"Love you too," you mumble, before nuzzling into her warmth.

Ellie lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

For the first time in a long while, everything feels exactly as it should be.

13. The First Argument (And How They Fix It)

It happens over something stupid.

Ellie forgets to tell you she’s going out on patrol. You wake up to an empty house, her side of the bed cold, and panic sets in.

By the time she gets back, soaked from the rain, tired, and completely unaware of your frustration, you’re pacing the kitchen, arms crossed tight.

"Where the hell were you?" Your voice is sharp, edged with worry.

Ellie blinks. "Uh… patrol?"

"You didn’t tell me."

Ellie furrows her brow, setting down her damp jacket. "Didn’t think I had to. I go all the time."

"Yeah, and usually you say something before you leave."

Ellie scoffs. "Jesus, I didn’t realize I had to check in like a fucking kid."

You flinch. It’s subtle, but Ellie sees it—and immediately regrets it.

You shake your head, stepping back. "That’s not what this is about."

Ellie sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. "Look, I was already late to meet Jesse, and I didn’t wanna wake you. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal."

"Ellie, I woke up and you were gone. No note, nothing. You know what my first thought was? That something happened. That maybe you—" You swallow hard. "That maybe I lost you."

Ellie’s stomach drops.

She’s so used to thinking about protecting you, keeping you safe, that it never really hit her how much you worry about her too.

She steps closer, hands hovering near your arms but not touching, not yet.

"Baby." Her voice is softer now. "I’m sorry."

You look away, jaw tight. "You scared me."

14. The Interventions Begin

Ellie hates herself for this.

The air is still tense when there’s a knock at the door. Before either of you can react, it swings open, and Jesse steps in, soaked from the same rain as Ellie.

"Oh, good. She’s alive. Thought I was gonna have to find her body on your floor." Jesse pauses, taking in the atmosphere. "Whoa. You two fighting? That’s rare."

"Not helping," Ellie mutters.

"You forgot to tell her, didn't you?" Jesse shakes his head, sighing. "Ellie, man, how are you still making rookie mistakes?"

Ellie glares. "Can you go?"

"Oh, hell no." Jesse grins. "I’m staying for this. Go on, continue. I love a good domestic dispute."

Ellie shoots him a look of pure exhaustion, and you cross your arms. "Jesse, get out."

"Fine, fine." He throws his hands up, backing toward the door. "But if you two break up, I got dibs on her."

Ellie nearly lunges at him.

"Kidding! Kidding!" Jesse laughs, shutting the door behind him.

Ellie turns back to you, guilt creeping up her spine all over again.

"I promise—I won’t do that again. I’ll always tell you."

You hesitate, but finally nod.

15. Bill and Frank Give Their (Unsolicited) Advice

Later that evening, you’re at Bill and Frank’s place. You’re still a little distant, curling into Frank’s side on the couch while he rubs your back. Bill is pacing in the kitchen, arms crossed.

"She didn't tell you where she was going?" Bill repeats, his voice sharp.

You shake your head. "Not a word."

Bill scowls. "Oh, she's an idiot."

"Bill," Frank warns gently.

"No, no, I'm serious." Bill gestures wildly. "That girl would riot if you left the house without telling her where you were going. She’d have the whole town on red alert looking for you."

"Yeah, well," you mumble, "she thinks I’m overreacting."

Frank sighs, squeezing your shoulder. "She’s just being dumb, sweetheart. She doesn’t like feeling like she messed up."

Bill scoffs. "Well, she did."

Frank shakes his head. "You love her, though, don’t you?"

Your lips press together. Then, finally: "Yeah. Of course I do."

Bill groans. "Then I guess you have to forgive her. Eventually."

Frank smirks, nudging you. "Make her suffer a little first, though. Just for fun."

That actually makes you laugh.

16. The (Proper) Apology

By the time you get home, Ellie is waiting on the porch, hands in her hoodie pockets, looking like a kicked puppy.

As soon as she sees you, she springs up.

"Baby," she blurts, talking too fast. "Listen, I was a dumbass. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t important enough to tell. You’re literally—fuck, you’re the most important thing in my life, okay? I hate that I made you feel otherwise."

Your arms stay crossed.

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, shifting nervously. "I went to talk to Joel, and he said if I ever do it again, he’s gonna ‘knock some goddamn sense into me.’"

You almost smile at that.

"And Bill and Frank?" Ellie grimaces. "Bill called me an idiot about ten times. Frank told me to grovel. So, here I am. Groveling."

She suddenly drops to her knees.

You stare. "Ellie—"

"I beg for your forgiveness, oh love of my life," Ellie declares dramatically. "Smite me not, for I am but a humble fool."

You try to stay mad. You really do. But she looks so ridiculous, soaking wet, on her knees in front of you, pleading like a medieval knight.

Your lips twitch.

Ellie sees it. "Ah-ha! You’re smiling!"

You roll your eyes, sighing. "You’re lucky I love you."

Ellie grins, springing up. "Yeah?"

You shake your head, pretending to be exasperated. "Yeah."

Ellie cups your face, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "I love you more."

You pretend to consider. "Mm. Debatable."

Ellie groans. "Oh, come on—"

You laugh, pulling her inside, shutting the door behind you.

(She never forgets to tell you again.)

17. When It’s Your Fault (And How You Fix It)

It’s bound to happen eventually.

You and Ellie don’t fight often, but when you do, it’s usually her messing up—her being thoughtless, her forgetting to tell you something, her running her mouth.

But this time?

It’s on you.

18. The Mistake

It’s late when Ellie comes home from patrol, soaked, exhausted, and clearly having had a rough day.

You’re supposed to be home, waiting for her. That’s the plan. That’s always the plan.

Instead?

You’re not there.

She checks everywhere. Your house. The stables. The Tipsy Bison. Nowhere.

And just as worry is sinking into her bones—

"Hey, have you seen—"

"Oh, your girl?" Jesse cuts in, amused. "She’s at Bill and Frank’s. Didn’t she tell you?"

Ellie stops cold. "What?"

"Yeah, I saw her heading over earlier. Thought you knew."

Ellie frowns.

You didn’t tell her.

After everything you just fought about a few weeks ago—**after she promised she’d always tell you where she was going—**you just… forgot?

And oh, does it piss her off.

19. The Fallout

You’re sitting at Bill and Frank’s when the door slams open.

Ellie steps inside, dripping wet, pissed off, eyes locked on you.

"Ellie—"

"Really?" Her voice is sharp. "Really, Bunny?"

You blink. "What?"

She laughs dryly. "Oh, don’t ‘what’ me. You know what."

Bill and Frank exchange looks.

"Do we need to leave?" Frank asks, already standing.

"No," Ellie snaps. "Actually, stay. Maybe you two would like to hear how my girlfriend completely ignored our last fight and pulled the same shit on me."

You stiffen. "Ellie, come on, it’s not the same—"

"Not the same?" She scoffs. "You lost your mind when I forgot to tell you I was leaving. You said you panicked. You said it scared you. But when it’s me worrying? Oh, that doesn’t matter, right?"

Your stomach twists.

You didn’t mean to do it. You just got caught up in talking to Frank and completely forgot. But the way Ellie is looking at you?

Like you let her down?

It hurts.

20. Bill and Frank Weigh In (Again)

"Okay, I’m stepping in," Bill interrupts. "Ellie, sit down before you pass out."

Ellie glares, but she does.

Frank leans forward. "Sweetheart," he says to you gently. "You really didn’t tell her?"

You shake your head, feeling small. "I forgot."

"You forgot?" Bill snorts. "You almost took her head off when she forgot."

You wince. "I know."

Frank rubs your shoulder. "You didn’t mean to, but Ellie’s allowed to be upset."

You nod, glancing at her. "I know."

Ellie exhales, scrubbing a hand over her face. Her anger is fading, but the hurt is still there.

Frank nudges Bill. "We should give them space."

"I was enjoying this," Bill grumbles, but he stands anyway.

Before they go, Bill leans toward you. "Apologize. Properly."

Then they’re gone, leaving just you and Ellie.

21. The (Proper) Apology

You sigh, looking at Ellie. "I really am sorry."

Ellie crosses her arms. "Then why’d you do it?"

"I wasn’t thinking. I was talking to Frank, and I just… forgot." You shake your head. "It’s not an excuse, but I swear, it wasn’t intentional."

Ellie exhales, her frustration starting to thaw. "I just—fuck, Bunny. The second I realized you weren’t home, my heart fucking dropped. I thought something happened. Thought I lost you."

You pause.

That’s exactly how you felt when she forgot to tell you.

Your chest tightens. You stand, moving toward her.

"I’m sorry," you say softly. "I hate that I made you feel like that."

Ellie finally uncrosses her arms. "Just—just don’t do it again, okay?"

You nod, stepping closer. "I won’t."

She sighs, pulling you in. "We good?"

You wrap your arms around her. "We’re good."

Ellie kisses your forehead, grumbling, "Next time, I’m putting a tracker on you."

You laugh, hugging her tighter.

(And you never forget to tell her again.)

22. Making It Up to Her (A.K.A. The Cutest Date Night Ever)

A simple apology isn't enough—not for you.

You want Ellie to know how sorry you are. You want to show her just how much she means to you.

So, you come up with a plan.

23. The Setup

It takes a full day of preparation.

You rope in Dina and Jesse first, mostly because Dina loves this kind of thing and Jesse is just along for the ride.

"A date night?" Dina smirks, arms crossed. "To make up for your screw-up?"

"She’s pulling a ‘grand romantic gesture,’" Jesse teases.

You huff. "I just want to do something nice for her."

Dina grins. "Then let’s do this."

Next, you visit Maria and Tommy—because you need a place to set it up.

Maria listens, nodding slowly. "So, let me get this straight—you want to set up some fancy-ass date for Ellie?"

You nod.

Maria exchanges a glance with Tommy, then shrugs. "Alright, let’s make it happen."

Finally, you head to Bill and Frank.

Frank is instantly on board. "Oh, this is adorable. Let’s plan a menu."

Bill, as expected, is grumpy about it. "Why the hell are we all getting involved in their date?"

"Because it’s cute," Frank insists.

"It’s dumb," Bill mutters, but you see the small smirk he’s trying to hide.

24. The Date Night

When Ellie arrives, she’s confused as hell.

"Bunny, what the—"

You grab her hand, grinning. "Just trust me, okay?"

She raises a brow but follows.

The setup is perfect.

Fairy lights drape the wooden beams of the barn. Candles flicker. The table is set with a full dinner—one that you helped Frank cook.

And watching from afar?

Dina, Jesse, Joel, Bill, Frank, Maria, and Tommy.

They’re all hiding behind barrels, fences, and window frames—watching like it’s a damn movie.

"Oh my god," Ellie breathes, looking around. "Babe, did you do all this?"

You nod. "Wanted to make it up to you."

Ellie stares at you—really looks at you.

Then, she smirks.

"You know," she teases, "this is kinda whipped behavior."

From their hiding spot, Jesse stifles a laugh. "She admits it!"

Bill groans. "Jesus Christ."

Joel snorts. "I coulda told you that years ago."

Ellie ignores them, cupping your face. "I love you."

You beam. "Love you more."

She kisses you, slow and sweet.

And from behind you, a chorus of voices yell—

"Finally!"

"Get a room!"

"We set all this up for one kiss?!"

You both laugh, and Ellie pulls you closer.

Tonight?

Yeah.

She’s never loved you more.

25. The Date – Ellie Sees How Sorry You Really Are

Ellie watches you all night.

Not in a casual, playful way. Not in the way she usually does, where she’s smirking like she just won the lottery because she gets to call you hers.

Tonight, she watches you like she’s seeing you for the first time.

And what she sees?

You’re nervous.

Your fingers fidget with the edge of the tablecloth, smoothing and re-smoothing a wrinkle that isn’t even there. You keep glancing at her, then away, like you’re scared of something.

Ellie’s heart tightens.

She realizes—this isn’t just a date to you.

It’s an apology. A real one.

Not because she demanded it. Not because you were afraid she’d leave.

But because you love her that much.

She sets down her fork.

"Babe."

You freeze mid-cut, staring at her.

"Come here."

You blink, confused. "What?"

She just holds out her arms. "Come here."

You hesitate, but eventually, you get up and sit on her lap, your arms around her neck.

Ellie breathes you in.

"You know I forgive you, right?" she murmurs.

You nod against her. "I just—I wanted to do something nice. To make it up to you."

Ellie chuckles softly, pulling back to look at you.

"You didn’t have to do all this, Bunny."

"I wanted to," you insist.

Ellie searches your face. "You always do that. Try to make everything better, even when I don’t ask you to."

Your voice is small. "Because I love you."

That does it.

Ellie tilts your chin up, kisses you slow and deep, and lets herself fall all over again.

Behind you, someone—probably **Jesse—**snickers, "Okay, yeah, this is cute, but is anyone actually gonna eat?"

Dina throws a roll at him.

Bill groans. "For the love of—just marry her already."

Frank grins. "Give them time."

Ellie just presses her forehead to yours.

"Let’s eat, yeah?"

And this time, you smile for real.

Ellie recovers quickly, a slow, cocky smirk pulling at her lips as she leans back in her chair, arms still wrapped around your waist.

She tilts her head at you, eyes soft but teasing.

"Oh, I’ve thought about it," she says smoothly, her voice low and certain. "And when I do it, it’s gonna be perfect. Just gotta make sure our favorite girl here is ready to be stuck with me forever."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

Dina lets out a dramatic gasp. Jesse fake wipes a tear.

Bill just grunts, unimpressed. "Took you long enough to say it."

Frank beams. "Oh, she’s a goner."

Ellie just grins against your cheek, whispering so only you can hear: "Whenever you want me, Bunny. You just say the word."

You grin, eyes locked onto Ellie’s as you lean in just a little, voice dropping into something sweet and dangerous all at once.

"Oh, baby… you really think I’m not already planning how I’m gonna say yes?"

Ellie’s smirk drops. Her breath catches.

Across the table, Joel chokes so hard on his drink that Tommy has to slap his back.

"Jesus Christ, kid!" Joel wheezes.

Tommy, still coughing, gapes at you. "The hell kinda smooth talkin’ was that?!"

Dina and Jesse erupt into laughter, absolutely losing their minds.

Frank? Frank just leans back with a satisfied smile. "Told you. Goner."

Bill shakes his head, grumbling as he takes a sip of his drink. "You two are gonna make me sick."

Ellie?

Ellie just stares at you, like she’s about two seconds away from dragging you out of there and proving just how much of a goner she really is.

Ellie finally blinks, her face so red it nearly matches the Tipsy Bison’s lantern lights. She leans in closer, voice low, teasing but just a little breathless.

"That right, Bunny?" she murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw. "You already got your answer, huh? Should I be worried, or should I be flattered?"

You pretend to think, tilting your head. "Mmm… depends. You planning on making it worth my while?"

Ellie groans, dropping her head against your shoulder, laughing through her flustered state. "You’re gonna kill me, I swear."

Joel, still recovering, wipes his mouth aggressively. "I’m gonna need a damn drink to deal with this."

Tommy nods. "Two."

Dina and Jesse are howling, Jesse literally clutching his stomach.

Frank just sips his drink, grinning. "Oh, she’s got you whipped, alright."

Ellie lifts her head, smirking now, because for the first time in her life—she doesn’t mind hearing it.

"Damn right, I am."

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