#something to try to rely on less in the future though

[butahumbleguest]

I've been meaning to do this study for ages- time lapse under the cut!

#alex rider #cw blood #the timelapse really shows how much I futz with the transform tool; I do think each little edit added a lot to the accuracy #something to try to rely on less in the future though

[fluentmoviequoter]

Tim Testing

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After transferring to the Mid-Wilshire division because of toxic male officers harassing you, you find yourself partnered with Tim Bradford. When you are injured during a Tim Test, you hide the injury so he doesn't think less of you.

Warnings: angst to fluff, misogynistic comments and actions toward reader (from police officers), reader is injured and passes out, Tim is a softie

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: This was such an amazing request!! Tim (and everyone at Mid-Wilshire) would be so welcoming after dealing with something like this, so I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

You knew from the beginning that it would be different for you, that being a female cop would have its pros, cons, and tough moments. What you didn’t expect was the men who were supposed to be your equals harassing you and making each moment far worse than it should have been.

Between the crass comments about how your uniform fit, questioning whether it was your time of the month whenever you tried to stand up for yourself, and their inability to trust you in the field, you learn your place quickly.

“I’d like to request a transfer to a different station,” you tell your commanding officer.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because there is no respect, no trust in this station. Looking over my shoulder while I’m trying to work, and having to defend myself against the very people who are supposed to have my back is exhausting and it makes me unable to do my job.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he slides a form to you. “Your decision. Though showing how weak you are by moving around every time things get hard, or your feelings get hurt isn’t plausible.”

“And you had to ask why,” you mutter, snatching the paper off his desk and walking out to fill it out in private.

“Hey, princess, before we leave on patrol I need to know you don’t have your gun at the front of your belt,” someone calls. “Don’t want to risk getting killed by your poor aim.”

You remain silent, which makes them quit or spurs them on to push you further. As if your day isn’t going poorly already, they take your silence as a weakness.

“Just her gun? You should be more worried about how her attitude changes if her bra rides up or her hormones spike,” a second voice adds.

“You’re on your own today,” you reply. “I’m on desk duty.”

“Finally, someone put you where you belong.”

The men laugh as they walk toward their shops, and you take a deep breath as the quiet settles over the station. Once your paperwork is complete, you take it to the captain. You can only hope it goes through quickly before you get fed up and quit forever.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your commanding officer yells your name as you walk in, intercepting you on your way to the locker room. 

“Your transfer just came through, you’re expected at the Mid-Wilshire division for roll call first thing in the morning; today’s PTO while we complete the paperwork,” he informs.

You accept the paper he hands you and pretend not to hear as he adds, “I hope they know what they’re getting into and have the patience to deal with you.”

Smiling as you empty your locker, you hope things are looking up. Although, you know it will be hard to open up to new people and trust new cops, even if they are different than your previous team.

✯✯✯✯✯

Entering the Mid-Wilshire station, you cross your fingers that transferring was the right decision. Sergeant Wade Grey is your new commanding officer, and your day (and your future) relies on this meeting going well.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask, knocking on his open door.

He looks up, smiling as he beckons you inside. Saying your name, he opens a folder and compliments your arrest record. “I was surprised to hear you asked for a transfer, it seemed like you were doing well at your previous station.”

“The environment was making it difficult to do as well as I know I can, sir,” you answer.

Grey nods. “I can understand that. Our people are good, though, so I expect you will fit in well and succeed in all you do here.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“And you can drop the ‘sir,’ we’re not as formal as some other stations.”

Blinking in surprise, you look away from Wade when another cop enters the small office. 

“Sergeant Bradford, I’d like to introduce you to your new partner. I will warn both of you this is likely a temporary partnership, but one I trust will do you both some good.”

You smile at Bradford, who tilts his head to the side as he looks you over. It’s clear that he isn’t thrilled about having a partner, having grown used to working alone since becoming a sergeant. As long as he doesn’t treat you like a boot, or worse, like a girl who doesn’t have what it takes to be a cop, you can survive working with him for a few weeks.

What you don’t see, though, is that Tim can look at you and tell you’re a good cop. He reviewed your paperwork and arrest record with Wade yesterday, and he’s impressed by you. You’re good, but you have the potential to be better with the right help. And, for some reason, Wade is convinced that Tim can give you the push you need to be your best.

“Okay, let’s go,” Tim says, turning away as Wade tells you to have a good day.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim acknowledges that you’re not a rookie but warns you from the beginning that you still have something to prove.

“I know you’ve been a cop for a while, but I haven’t seen you in action. Your records are admirable, but I need to see proof that you’re still that good,” he explains. “So, I will test you and challenge you while we’re riding together, but don’t view it as starting over, more like proving grounds than qualifications.”

You nod, remembering something Wade muttered about “Tim Tests,” which you’re sure are unique to Bradford.

“I understand. I’ll do my best, and I want to learn to be better.”

Tim doesn’t reply, and you raise your guard, unimpressed with how shut off he is with you. In general, your past has made you wary around men; after Tim’s insistence that you have something to prove, you are determined to hide everything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. You will do whatever it takes to show you are a good cop, worthy of respect.

Slamming on the brakes, Tim yells, “We’re being ambushed; what do you do?”

“Radio for backup, stay in the shop, stay low, and fire only if necessary,” you answer, nearly robotically, as he catches you off guard.

Tim eases back onto the road, ignoring you once again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Just before your scheduled lunch break, something which you haven’t actually enjoyed in far too long, Tim parks between two old warehouses.

“There’s a suspicious package in the gray building, you’re riding alone and need to check it out,” he explains. “Radio any information as you find it.”

You switch your radio to a private channel with Tim, accepting the call as you exit the shop and enter the building. It’s dark and wet, but you refuse to accept any comments or disdainful looks from Tim if you fail this test, so you will find the package and impress him as quickly as possible.

“7-Adam-9, located suspicious package: brown paper bag situated between steel beams,” you radio.

“Dispatch, requesting additional information,” Tim replies.

You sigh, moving forward to look at the bag because you can’t touch it. When you move, the beams sitting upright in the warehouse shift. Stepping back a second too late, one side of the heavy structure hits the back of your shoulder, shoving you forward into the crate holding the package.

Pain radiates through your shoulder as you move to the side, pulling yourself away from the mess you made with a sharp inhale.

“7-Adam-9, false alarm. Suspicious package is empty. Code 4.”

“Copy 7-Adam-9.”

Taking a step toward the door, you hiss in pain as the pain moves from your shoulder around to your ribs, where you fell against the crate. It seems likely that you broke something or at least got a deep bruise, but telling Tim would be like admitting that you’re weak. So, as you level your expression and cover your pain by walking normally, you decide to hide your pain.

Being labeled weak or incapable, or as before, giving Tim a reason to view you as less than is not an option anymore. Buckling your seatbelt, you press your lips together to keep your pained sounds muted, and the feeling of the seat on your shoulder makes you count down the minutes until you can get out of the shop.

✯✯✯✯✯

As the day goes on, your pain grows in intensity. Each breath causes immeasurable pain, and your stomach turns when you move your shoulder in any direction.

“Wade’s going to ask me, so how’s your first day going?” Tim asks, turning down a residential street to respond to a noise disturbance.

“Fine,” you answer quickly, clenching your jaw to stay quiet.

“Good,” he replies, though his voice sounds different. “Glad you found a station that works for you.”

You can’t tell if his comment is passive-aggressive, implying that you are the issue rather than the station you transferred from. The overbearing pain you’re feeling makes it nearly impossible to care.

“You take point on this one,” Tim offers as he parks by the curb.

“Yes, sir.”

Asking questions and explaining the city’s noise ordinances to the tenant, you’re momentarily distracted from your pain. The moment you turn to return to the shop, though, you’re reminded that your new position isn’t quite as enjoyable as you were expecting.

“Take us back to the station,” Tim says, tossing the shop keys to you.

When you raise your hand to catch the keys, your shoulder screams in protest, and you close your eyes momentarily to hide the pain.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

Nodding, you release a sigh when Tim climbs into the passenger seat, too easily convinced by your answer.

✯✯✯✯✯

After a quick meeting with Wade, discussing your new role, and signing a few documents, you head for the locker room. When you pull your shirt off, you glance in the mirror, surprised to see the size and color of the bruise; your entire shoulder, over to your neck and down around the front of your ribs, is a sickening purple. The yellowish tint around the edges is a sign that it will only worsen before it begins to heal. Attempting to raise your arm again, you feel something shift under your skin and step into one of the bathroom stalls, kneeling as you try to keep yourself from being sick. When you lean your head against the metal wall, the coolness is soothing, and as you finally let yourself acknowledge the pain, it becomes all you can feel.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim opens Wade’s door, furrowing his brows when he sees you’re not there.

“She left a few minutes ago,” Wade answers.

“Her car’s still here.”

“Must be in the locker room then.”

“Why’d she transfer?” Tim asks, stepping inside to close the door.

“I don’t know, Bradford. You’re going to have to ask her.”

Tim nods, turning away to search for you. He knocks on the locker room door, and when no one answers, he opens it and says your name. Once again met with silence, he steps inside and looks around. Your locker is open, but you’re nowhere to be seen. As he rounds the last row of lockers, he sees someone sitting on the floor in one of the bathroom stalls.

Tim says your name, knocking on the door. It opens at his touch, and he catches it before it hits your arm. Kneeling beside you, he looks across your face, pressing his hand behind your neck as he tries to find the source of your unconsciousness. His hand dips to your upper shoulder, and you groan, opening your eyes.

Tim ignores you as you wake, gently leaning you forward as he surveys the bruise where it’s visible past your tank top.

“Stay awake,” he says, moving you again. “Just your shoulder?”

You nod, and he demands to know: “Home or hospital?”

“Home,” you whisper. “But I can-“

“Obviously you can’t,” Tim snaps, his arms gentler than his voice as he lifts you from the ground.

✯✯✯✯✯

You stay conscious, fighting against the pain as you give Tim directions to your home. After getting you inside and as comfortable as possible, he leaves your side to gather a few things before returning. He gives you a glass of water and a few pain reliever pills, waiting until you’ve taken them to lay an ice pack across your shoulder. You take a deep breath at the cold before catching yourself.

“What else hurts?” Tim asks.

“My ribs,” you admit.

He leans you back gently, pushing your tank top to your sternum as he surveys the darkening bruise across your lower ribcage. Gently moving his hand across your skin, he doesn’t feel anything obviously broken, apologizing as you whimper at the pressure. Pulling the first aid kit he brought from your kitchen to his side, he places several cooling packets over your ribs. 

Satisfied that he’s done all he can do for you, Tim moves to sit across from you, making himself comfortable in your living room.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m not leaving,” he answers quickly, “what if you collapse again?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tim silences, closing his eyes as he leans back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’ve heard that question dozens of times, but previously, it was asked in a much different tone. Always an accusation that you hadn’t handled something correctly or that you should have let someone else do whatever it was that needed to be done. 

When you look back at Tim, his eyes are on you, and you shrug. His eyes narrow as his gaze intensifies, demanding your answer.

“The last station that I worked at made me nervous to tell people things, especially other cops. All of the guys that I worked with harassed me constantly, and they tried to convince me that I wasn’t a good cop because I was a woman. So, I have trouble trusting other police officers with personal things. During your Tim Tests, I thought that if I acknowledged something had happened, you’d see me the same way.”

“Which way?”

“Weak, incapable,” you answer, trailing off.

“They were bad people,” Tim explains. “They may have been okay cops, but no one deserves to be treated like that.”

You nod, licking your lips as your gaze drops to the blanket across your lap.

“Want to tell me what happened today?” he pries.

“The steel beams around the bag?” Tim nods, so you continue, “They fell. One of them hit my shoulder and knocked me forward.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you helped me. My last partner would have found a way to blame be.”

“Like I said, bad people. But you… you’re a good person and a good cop,” Tim continues. “I’ve known that since you walked in, but I needed to know that you knew. Getting hurt or being unable to do something on the first try doesn’t make you less of a person, or a cop. Being a woman doesn’t either. And if they didn’t see that, it’s their loss.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

“And my gain.”

You furrow your brows at Tim, but he leans back and closes his eyes instead of elaborating.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #requests #fem!reader #the rookie

[qqueenofhades]

I'm a little confused by the left's repeated assertion that they're "trying to hold Biden accountable" and push him left, things they've been talking about since before he was elected, and the ramifications of that at this point in time. I do think we need to be calling out things we disagree with and making our feelings known, but seeing people like Nina Turner complain about student loan forgiveness when it's been made abundantly clear Biden is doing all he can and he can't actually cancel anything as just the President (without being sued or having it reversed by Republicans - please correct me if I'm wrong and there's more he could do here?) doesn't feel like it's that? I just don't understand the logic behind people on the left adding to this narrative that he isn't trying hard enough on what we want, rather than the Republicans are preventing things from being done. We need to not sit back and get complacent, yes, sure, but I feel like the line where it goes from helpful and necessary to harmful and more beneficial to the right was crossed a while ago.

The thing is, you're confused by it because it's a bad-faith argument. Actually "holding someone accountable" means honestly assessing what they can do, what they have done, what they can be expected to do in the future, and if they haven't done it, what's stopping them (i.e. have they just not done it or are they being actively stopped from doing it by factors beyond their control)? It doesn't mean "constantly moving the goalposts to constantly criticize someone if they don't magically get everything done immediately, regardless of reality." The way Online Leftists use it, "holding Biden accountable" means "relentlessly criticize him every instant he doesn't magically transform into the Socialist Messiah overnight, the end." That's not actually a useful, honest, reliable, or constructive metric.

This is also the case because their version of good policy is "someone thinks the Correct Thoughts all the time and any failures to achieve it means they are not thinking the Correct Thoughts hard enough." I'm not sure how anyone could have missed what SCOTUS is doing right now, but Online Leftists remain determined to discount, minimize, or otherwise totally ignore its role, because that would mean a) there is in fact a difference between the parties, b) Hillary Clinton would not have made the same appointments Trump did, and c) they might therefore have some responsibility in not voting for her, none of which can be countenanced. As such, if Biden has failed to wave a magic wand and get all student debt erased for everyone overnight, He Is Just Not Trying Hard Enough. SCOTUS very notably outlawed his first forgiveness program? BIDEN'S FAULT!

Even though Biden extended the Covid-era payment pauses as long as he could (it was Congress that passed the law mandating an end to them, because THE PRESIDENT IS NOT AN ABSOLUTE MONARCH!), and even though he's now rejiggered the entire repayment program so that your monthly payments can get lowered to $0, these count as payments, and no interest accumulates as long as you "make" them, which in practice adds up to full forgiveness -- this still isn't good enough for the Online Leftists, because it happened after trial and error, is a partial solution, doesn't snap its fingers and erase everything, and relies on slow and careful policy work. And yet, it's going to be a lot harder for SCOTUS to overturn than just "the president forgives your debt," which was the first thing he tried to do and it didn't work! With a different SCOTUS, it might have! But we have this nightmare court BECAUSE OF TRUMP, and all the Pure Thoughts in the world won't get rid of it!

Biden is the most liberal president we have ever had, period, full stop. It's not sexy and it's not exciting and it's not something the Online Leftists will ever acknowledge, but it's the truth. And whenever he is actually and extensively pushed, he goes more left, not less. I suspect at least part of the recent negative press barrage he's gotten is because he's openly come out with a plan to raise the tax rate on billionaires to 25%, and the corporations and oligarchs that own the mainstream media Really Don't Like That. (They've always been unfair to Democrats, but look for it to be especially so.) That would be, BY FAR, the highest the top-rate tax bracket has been since Reagan. Biden is the first president ever to actually address the scam of "Reaganomics" and take credit for "Bidenomics," which actually does represent a major rearrangement of the way capital is envisioned and distributed in this country for the first time in the 40+ years since Reagan wrecked it. That's why the capitalist media is really, REALLY determined to muckrake him as much as possible, and to do Kamala even dirtier than they did to HRC in 2016.

Anyway also: Holding someone accountable also implies that you're working with them and will reward them (i.e. voting for them, engaging with them) if they do the things you expect, which is another thing the Online Leftists won't do. So yes. This. The end.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

[bipp-bopp-time-to-stop]

A Divine Devotee

It's finally here and I'm at 100 followers! It's still sinking in for me but I wanted to do something to celebrate. Given how loved "Far More Than Just A Mask" is, I decided that a part two to it would be great for my 100 follower fic. Getting it written, like all of my fics, was something of a process so I hope it's at least as good as the first part. Hope you all enjoy!

TW: Yandere themes, blood, descriptions of a violent ritual, gore, cannibalism (accidental, technically), nudity, Fierce goes absolutely mental and no one has a Good Time TM

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Learning to live with the Fierce Deity in the flesh was something you expected to be akin to a thorn in your side. He was, in a way, just that. Were he not tasked with something, he was beside you. Even if he wasn’t by your side for whatever reason, that didn’t mean he still wasn’t with you in some capacity.

That strange bond he forced created between the two of you was still present. With every passing day, it seemed to weaken but you doubted it would every go away. In the present, it was hard to send little more than a handful of words over the bond, so the two of you relied on emotion. You never really thought about what it would feel like to be emotionally connected to another person (much less a god) but what you got wasn’t something you expected.

Emotion did not radiate off of him in a way you could sense it. It wasn’t some visible aura around him nor did it replace your own. Rather, it was a feeling in you body. Your being would alight with a hot flash at his anger or your extremities would slowly turn numb and freeze at despair. Your lungs would stutter and your eyes would sting with his sadness and your heart and brain would flood with dopamine at his joy. Not matter how he felt, it was always extreme.

Yet, when you once asked him what your emotions felt like, he described it as trying to sense the presence of a mouse. Your emotions, quite simply, were but a whisper to him. Despite that, he claimed he always did his best to sense and feel them. You had no choice but to experience his emotions so he felt it only fair that he try to do the same.

It had confused you, at first, as to why it was like this. Why he was so extreme and you weren’t in the eyes of the bond. Although he may be “talkative” with you, he’s typically quiet and rather neutral around the rest of the boys. All it took was some few minutes of thinking when the answer quite literally appeared in his name.

Fierce Deity.

He is a god and you are a mortal. Gods, in comparison to mortals, live at an unreachable extreme. It would certainly explain why Fierce always had that air of intensity to him. It would also explain why you felt so minute in comparison to him. It made you worry about what the future may hold. Would he eventually grow tired of how little you were in relation to his divinity? Would his boredom lead to him simply leaving or acting upon his name towards you and the group to amuse himself? Pessimism was easy to reach your mind nowadays and you know (you hoped) that such thoughts could never come true, but your brain refused to shut up.

Large bulky arms secure themselves around you and startle you from your spiral. The smell of rancid iron assaults your nose and the seeping wetness of your clothes makes it clear that you’re going to say goodbye to yet another outfit. A weighty head rests itself upon you and the rumbling hum that sounds though the chest pressed against your back resonates through your nerves. As the arms strengthen their embrace even further, you find yourself being slowly lifted from the ground.

“What ails you, dearest?” Fierce inquires. He audibly huffs and puffs in the scent of your hair but such oddities have long since lost their weird factor on you.

“Nothing too important, Fie- uhm, honey. Just my brain not wanting cease its ramblings. What… about you?” You respond as you look down at the arms around you. He wasn’t drenched in blood but it was certainly splattered on him. Not in huge amounts (at least huge in comparison to the typical gore he seemed to wear), but enough to tell you that something- or someone- was now dead. For the sake of not developing a headache, you hoped it wasn’t the latter.

“I brought us food. Elk,” Fierce stated. Ah, that would explain the strange and distant cry you heard some thirty minutes ago. And, for the next thirty minutes, you’d be avoiding the bloody scene that would now be accompanying camp. The double helix sword Fierce wielded was great against monsters but too rough against prey. As such, he simply resorted to using little more than his hands when it came to ending them. You had seen the end product of this method only once and it was sight that you vowed to never look at again. The bent neck, torn skin, smashed head, and splinters of bone poking through the pelt… ugh, there goes your appetite.

As silence continues to permeate the atmosphere, the embrace around you eventually loosens. Fierce’s footsteps crunch and squish on the forest floor as he moves away from you. He stops once he’s fully in view and you can’t help but stare at his face. It would be wrong to say he was anything less than beautiful. His face- his true face- was so similar yet different to the mask made in his likeness. His tattoos, still red and blue and angular, were more weathered like warpaint. His hair, still silvery white and straight, had turned into billowing locks due to the passage of centuries. And his eyes- oh, those eyes- were still so intense. They didn’t glow white hot with rage and were no longer blank slates. Rather, a ring of steely gray and blue surrounded his pupils. The colors reminded you of both the swinging steel of battle and the common hue of blue that existed in the eyes of most of the boys. A small feature, you wonder, that may have been picked up from Time.

“If you choose to accompany me to go get cleaned up… then I assure you that there will be more to look at then,” Fierce offers with a slight lit in his voice. His lips are ever so slightly turned upward as are his brows. Perhaps not as poetic as Wars’ pick up lines, but still effective enough to get your heart pumping.

“Well, after you got me dirty, I have little choice but to join you,” You sigh and follow behind the man. He lets out little more than a small chuckle, one of triumph, but you don’t let it get to you. Had you declined his invitation, he’d no doubt be left in a cranky mood. And, whenever Fierce was feeling all around unpleasant, it would always lead to most unpleasant things.

As you walked behind the god, you vaguely noted how the forest started to thin out before stopping completely. Stretching out before you was a sizeable lake. It was hours away from Ordon, hence why you never saw it in game or never heard Twilight mention it, but it was a reminder that there was so much more to every Hyrule than a screen could ever show. The surface of the water was still and stained a variety of oranges and pinks with the setting sun. Even after basking in the spring sun for the entire day, the water would undoubtedly still be cold.

A clinking sound catches your attention and you look over at Fierce just in time to see his chestplate fall to the ground. By now, his hands are fiddling with the buckle of his belt and you advert your eyes away. This wasn’t the first time you’ve both seen Fierce naked or bathed with him, but there was still a layer of reserve you had towards him. You had accepted the fact that you were now his lover (not that you were going to be left with any other choice) but there were certain aspects of a romantic relationship that you weren’t ready for yet. Perhaps it was because you were scared of taking such a leap. Or, maybe, your feelings didn’t run deep for the god like his surely did for you. Whatever the case was, constantly adventuring, fighting, and dealing with the Shadow made it hard to try and sort out such complex thoughts and conflicting emotions. For now, you had little choice but to go with the flow.

Once Fierce had waded deep enough into the water to where only the start of his hips and the beginning tufts of his happy trail peaked above the water did you go about getting undressed. The deity was kind enough to keep his eyes trained elsewhere until you were in the water much like him. An involuntary grunt fell from your lips as you waded into the cold waters but the sooner you got washed off, the sooner you’d be out of the lake.

After a quick dip below the surface to fully wet your body, you were whisked into Fierce’s arms. He carefully placed his arms around your midsection as not to touch an private parts of your body. The warmth that radiated from him was welcome in the face of the biting temperatures of the lake. Without his armor or thick clothes to cover up his body, you had full view of picturesque divinity. It wasn’t superhero level of muscle nor veiny, but was certainly a warrior’s build. The expanses of his muscles were only heighted or barely hidden by a suitable layer of fat. The fat only added to his weight to make him more solid and even harder to push around as well as helped soften any blows that may befall him. Unsurprisingly, his body was littered with scars of battles and wars waged so long ago that the history books likely couldn’t recall them. His hands were wide and large as well as covered in callous. You felt envious of the ways he made certain flaws and imperfections look so desirable.

“You ought to work on ‘shutting up’ your brain more often, dear (Name). It’s no wonder you experience so many headaches,” Fierce hummed out as he began to card a hand through your hair. With a few kisses placed to the crown of your head, you were distracted enough from your thoughts yet again to focus on the now. You didn’t bring any soap with you, but you hadn’t been splattered with blood like Fierce was. For now, the water should be enough.

Fierce begins to ladle water across your shoulders before you can even cup your own hands. Once fully wet, the man goes about rubbing your skin both to wash off any blood or grime but to also soothe your muscles. Even with the rough skin that coated his palms and fingers, his touch and motions were gentle. The gesture was nice and a welcome feeling to the stiff knots littered throughout your neck and shoulders, but it was also strange.

Not strange in the fact that it came from your lover, but from a god. It was the mortal, no matter the nature of the relationship, that did acts of service for the divine. Brought them food, made sacrifices in their name, and lived, breathed, and died by their beliefs. They’d heed every order given to them no better than a well trained dog. There were, of course, exceptions to this standard.

And Fierce was quiet the exception.

He acted as if you were the sole reason he existed. He brought you food, gifted you things from trinkets to treasures, and even shouted out your name in battle as if it was waged for you. Even with your hesitance towards him at times, he never once faltered in the way he acted. Any positive sign from you, from a compliment to something like a kiss on the cheek, only seemed to embolden him further. You had to be scarce in affection with Fierce even if it may have seemed harmless at the time.

Gods are dangerous beings, after all. Their sorrow drowns lands and their anger scorches the earth til’ naught but ashes remain. Their envy chokes the life out of whatever it can bind itself around and even their happiness can lead to slaughter. But their love? That’s a whole other beast to deal with.

Whenever Fierce felt as if he hadn’t been given enough affection recently, he sought to gain it by doubling his efforts. Instead of picking the ripest grapes from the vine for you to snack on, he’d uproot the whole plant and drag it back to camp for you. Instead of gifting you a new tunic or bracelet, he’d dump entire wardrobes of clothing and accessories upon you (kindly cleaned of gore, naturally). Instead of handing you a few monster parts he picked up after battle as a little trophy, he’d make let you watch him harvest them. He’d force ask you to tell him which parts to tear away next. From ripping out teeth and twisting off horns to gutting them and pulling out their innards, he did it. Given a monster’s tendency to puff away into nothing more than smoke upon death, the beasts were always forced to stay alive.

Yet, after receiving love and affection, he could be even worse. Smothering to the point you weren’t allowed to do nearly anything without his “help”; walk, eat, change, or bathe. He’d be willing to bite at anything that came near the two of you during his moments of love, leaving you with little choice but to distance yourself from the rest of the group. In the moments where he was nothing short of lovesick, you were left with very few options as to calm him down. Some days you’d have to act indifferent towards him to get him to back up whereas others required you to just submit to the affections like a doll for him to hug and squeeze. If you didn’t manage to subdue him fast enough… bad things happened.

Like right now.

You had been whisked away from your bed in the middle of the night. Despite your pout and complaints, Fierce did little more than hum as he carried you out of the castle. The guards that were littered about the grounds hardly acknowledged the two of you (most certainly out of fear of what Fierce would do to them). The only familiar face you passed by was Impa, but the woman only spared you what you believe to be her attempt at a sympathetic gaze (no doubt Wars had filled her and Zelda in on the relationship between you and the deity).

As Fierce’s long legs carried you through Hyrule castle and out of the city’s protective walls, you could only fathom what awaited you. He was always one to make sure you had a proper amount of sleep each night, so this deviation in routine had your stomach twisting. As he began to venture into the woods, a little tune was hummed under his breath and his fingers idly tapped against your back. A harmless gesture any other day or situation, but it meant he was excited. No doubt to show you something and to explain his scarce presence over the past few days.

“You’ve always shared a lot of your culture with me. Food, celebrations, talk of your society and how it functions, and even what love is like in your world,” Fierce finally broke the silence of the forest (why are the woods quiet? Why can’t you see any fairies fluttering around?). “I thought, perhaps… I could do the same. It’s not much, but I still want you to enjoy a few things I did back when I was in my prime.”

With those partially cryptic words finally spoken, you were set down on your own two feet and spun around. In a small clearing of the forest now sat a little feast. Placed upon a round but sizeable table were multiple plates of decadent food. Some dishes were familiar to you such as a fragrant seafood stew prepped with lobster, crab, prawns, and fish. Strips of glazed and tender gourmet meat rested upon a suitable bowl of rice. There was also a charcuterie and meat board loaded with all sorts of treats. The sight was enough to get your stomach rumbling and you sat down in the smaller chair at the table. With the hot and fresh food before you (no doubt kept that way with the use of a little magic), your worries could wait for a moment.

“This is but a sliver of the food that use to grace the tables I ate at. While this little feast lacks many things, mainly ambrosia and entertainment, I do hope you enjoy it,” Fierce states as he watches you dig into whatever was closest to you. The food tasted just as amazing as it looked and smelled, so Fierce had to have gotten help from someone. Perhaps Wild or the cooks at Hyrule castle? Whoever it was, you were grateful to them.

As you enjoyed some of the gourmet meat and rice bowl, another plate was slid over to you. It appeared to be a standard plate of steak but the meat on the plate wasn’t beef. It looked similar to beef, but it sooner looked like a filet than a steak. Not to mention that the smell may have been meaty and savory, but not beef like. It was also generously covered in a thin, dark sauce and plated with a small pile of what you imagined was the Hyrule equivalent of home fries.

Curious to try the new dish, you moved it closer and brought your fork and knife to it. You did your best to slice against the grain and pulled away with a good bite of the meat. After a quick dip in the sauce it came with, you plopped it into your mouth and began to chew. It was soft and tender and had a similar mouth feel to regular steak, but the taste was far from that simple. It had the meaty heaviness that came with red meat but it’s taste was a bit closer to poultry. The tangy sauce helped cover up the subtle, bitter aftertaste of the food.

“What do you think? It’s the one dish I prepared myself,” Fierce commented as he watched you. He practically seemed to be on the edge of his seat and his eyes bore straight through you. His eagerness towards your commentary was strange given how innocent this little date night had been so far, so you decided to not question it too much as not to ruin the mood.

“It’s an interesting taste. It tastes good and the sauce is a good pair for the meat, but it’ll still take some getting used to,” You replied before taking another bite out of the meat. Since this was the plate Fierce had specially prepared himself, it would be nice of you to finish it.

“I also made a drink. It’s not as close to the mortal made ambrosia as I hoped it would be, but I hope you enjoy it,” Fierce pipes up yet again as he hands you a wine glass full of what looks similar to red wine. It’s darker in color, though, as well as more opaque. When you go to taste it, you also notice that it’s just a bit thicker than normal wine. While there is the taste of grapes and alcohol in it, there’s also a noticeable twang of raspberry and something else you can’t put your finger on. Much like the meat, there was subtle, bitter aftertaste. You offer Fierce a nod of approval and, for the moment, that’s that.

The midnight meal passes by rather peacefully. The forest is still all too quiet for your liking but at least you and Fierce keep each other company. When it eventually becomes too much to take so much as another bite out of any of the food, the deity also sets down his utensils along with you. As you sit and digest your food, Fierce goes about packing up the leftovers and storing them in his own enchanted pouch.

Instead of picking you back up and taking you back to the castle, Fierce beckons you to follow him closer into the forest. You comply, albeit a bit sluggishly due to a full belly and the early stages of fatigue. Wherever he’s taking you next mustn’t be far or else he would’ve picked you up.

The next spot he takes you to is dark and ill lit by moonlight. You can make out what appears to be a… tub? It’s clearly filled with liquid and had all kinds of petals scattered around it and in it. Underneath the earthy and floral scent of the scene, there’s another smell that you turn your nose from. With it being smothered by everything else, though, the most you can describe it as is a stale musk.

Gently, Fierce begins to pull away the pajamas covering your body. He keeps his actions slow and steady so you could make him stop at any time. You don’t as you understand he wasn’t going to do anything bad to you and, before long, your night clothes and underwear are neatly put to the side. Fierce helps you into the tub and let’s your body slowly sink into the liquid. There’s a noticeable thickness to the liquid- like a thinned out syrup. Aside from that and the smell, it was only luke warm. Were there more moonlight or just any light in general, you’d be able to properly see the color of the liquid.

Fierce kneels down by your side and begins to rub the liquid into the parts of your body that aren’t submerged. He says little aside from a few orders to move one way or the other. Whatever elixir it is that you’re bathing in is also added into your hair and generously applied to your face. Your best guess is that this was some sort of soak that Fierce must have done to himself way back when. Whether it was going to be beneficial for you or not would be something you could get figured out later.

“I imagine you’re curious about all of this,” Fierce murmurs out as he continues to “wash” your hair. “The meal, this bath, and what more I may have planned…”

“Well, yes… that’s been in the back of my mind the entire time,” You confirm after a moment of hesitance. That telltale churning in your gut was starting to act up but you did your best to hide it. You weren’t the only one nervous, though, as Fierce also seemed to be getting anxious as well. It buzzed through the bond like a bee’s nest. Nervousness was a rather rare emotion for the deity and it made your blood run cold at whatever he may be planning.

“Remember… how I promised that my love for you is eternal? Well, it is but… you’re not,” Fierce sighs and the bond is flooded with sadness that threatens to make you sob until the sun rises. Thankfully, it doesn’t last for much longer as Fierce seems to focus his train of thought elsewhere.

“Y-Yeah?” You cough out after a bit. Fierce remains still and silent for a few moments despite your stare. Slowly, his eyes meet yours and the intensity that stirs within them could have been enough to kill.

“I think I’ve figured out a solution to that.”

What?

What did he mean by that? Was… was he planning on turning you into a god? Or, at the very least, immortal? There’s little else his comment could be interpreted as. But how would such a thing even be possible? As far as you can recall, you’ve stumbled across nothing in Hyrule or its history that hints at mortals being able to ascend to divinity.

“Fierce, how… is that even… I-”

“You need not stress, dearest. The process has already begun and you’re fairing quite fine so far,” Fierce smiles.

What?!

You nearly leap out of the tub and scramble across the ground. Your wild dreams of escape are shattered as Fierce quickly wrangles you into his hold and attempts to calm you down. He even tries to send calming and relaxing sensations across the bond but it does little to soothe your frantic mind. Not only that, but you managed to get to a point in the forest where there was more moonlight. The pale light illuminated your bare skin and it only showed red. Red, red, red, red, red.

It’s blood. You had been soaking in blood.

By some miracle, you managed to not upheave tonight’s meal. That didn’t stop you from kicking and screaming to get away from Fierce. Unlike times before when he had crossed a line, Fierce showed no sign of backing off. He kept you pinned to the ground and simply took any blow you sent his way head on. It was simply a matter of letting you tire yourself out.

“Shh… it’s okay, you’ll be fine, (Name),” Fierce hushed as he pressed the side of your head against his chest. His heart beat was slow and steady like a bass drum. It contrasted the never ceasing allegro of your own heart and you worried that, at this rate, you’d end up fainting.

After quickly adjusting his embrace around you, Fierce lifts you up and carries your body to the next destination of this “date night”. Your kicks had lost their wind and had become little more than wiping your foot against him. You try to look at anything but the red ick still clinging to you or Fierce. Vaguely, standing just above the tree line and nearing the horizon lines, were the tallest towers on Hyrule Castle. It was so far away that you couldn’t really see the flags mounted on their peaks flapping in the breeze nor would anyone there be capable of hearing the loudest scream you could make (would anyone even come to your rescue if they heard you? Who in their right minds would think to try and fight against a god?)

Something cold and hard presses against your back. Your view shifts as Fierce lays you down on stone and quickly goes about securing your arms and legs. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s laid you flat on an altar. What ritual he had planned was for him to know and for you to cruelly find out.

“I’ve never wanted to hurt you before and I still don’t. I will never feel the urge to harm you but… I have to do this. If I don’t, then you’ll become victim to your mortality and I’ll be left alone. I can’t exist without you anymore, (Name)... I can’t,” Fierce whines and that sadness from earlier crashes over you again. Your thoughts turn to the darkest possibilities given your current state, but things are made abundantly clear when a hidden dagger is pulled from beneath the god’s linens.

You’ve never seen a dagger that looked so ritualistic before. It’s blade was carved and sharpened from the tooth of a beast and runes or words of a language you couldn’t read were etched into the blade. Its handle was made from stained and wrapped leather that had a few brilliant feathers bound in it. For the first time since properly meeting him, you could see Fierce’s hand shake as he poised the blade.

“I think… you’re ready. You’ve been strengthened enough to take my blood tonight. You’ve drank, ate, and bathed in my essence. Now, it is time for it to enter your veins- raw and unfiltered,” Fierce muttered. With care and precision, the blade was brought to your skin. Enough pressure was applied so that it began to cut through the layers of your skin. He stopped just shy of your sternum and began to pull the blade down the length of your torso. It was a slow and agonizing pain you couldn’t describe so you only screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed. You fought against the bindings that held you but it was to no avail.

The blade finally stopped just past your pectorals before pulling away. Fierce laid the blade against his hand and sliced in deep. A small sputter of blood spattered out as a result and it feels like fire when it makes contact to your open wound. The pain is only amplified tenfold when Fierce presses his cut palm down on the slash of your chest. Your voice raises to an octave you didn’t know was possible as what feels akin to liquid fire begins to spread through your chest. This is only worsened by the icy sting of sadness and despair as Fierce struggles to keep a lid on his own emotions. You can see his lips moving and know he’s mumbling something but you can’t tell if it’s some kind of mantra to complete the ritual or a shoddy attempt at keeping himself calm.

As his blood spreads out further and further, you find that the world is becoming more and more incoherent. Black spots smudge your vision and static feels your ears. Fierce’s face, contorted into so much pain and anguish, is the last thing you see before passing out.

Your mind feels as though it’s drifting around on the inky waters of unconsciousness. Even though this feeling is unknown to you and you don’t know what awaits you when- if you wake up, you feel peaceful. There is no pain to feel and no sights to disturb you. All you sense is your body drifting along and the occasional noise. The noise is that of someone speaking or shouting or crying- you can’t tell. It’s so distant and sounds as if it’s underwater. It’s like a siren call that plays on your curiosity and empathy to open your eyes. To wake up and investigate or comfort whoever it is that’s calling for you.

“...p… wa… up…”

Perhaps you weren’t unconscious. Maybe you were dead? It’s possible given the… trauma? That you just went through? (What happened? The pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain It’s all gotten so blurry? Golden Three preserve me save me)

“Ple…. wake… please, (Na… up…”

Were you now drifting down the River Styx? Maybe, maybe not. It had always been portrayed as hellish and depressing, but you felt so peaceful. Maybe Hyrule just had a nicer one that home did.

“Golden Three, please… pray that they… return them to… give me back my…”

Hmm… the waters were beginning to feel a little choppy. Were you finally arriving at your destination? Whatever that meant…

“(Name), please! COME BACK TO ME!”

Your eyes snapped open as breath returned to your lungs. You were stuck staring straight up at the inky abyss above you. Somehow, the night sky was now bespeckled with glittering stars and you could better make out the twisting and mixing nebulas of color.

Your head lolled to the side and you saw that Fierce had devolved into the dictionary definition of a mess. Tears streamed down his cheeks and smears of red were all over him. His hair was bunched up and knotted- no doubt from him pulling and tearing at his own hair. Heavy and harsh breaths racked his frame as he was nearly hunched over your body. His stillness was enough to convince you he had turned to stone until his entire body seemed to go lax. He toppled over and landed across your bare skin but neither you nor he cared much about that at the moment.

“You came back… you came back…” He gargled out. His voice, once deep and smooth, was now crackly. He buried his face against your body to hide his expressions from you as he clung to you like a child to their blankie.

“What… happened?” You finally croaked out as you took in your surroundings. Everything was so… sharp. In focus. You could make out the the individual veins on the leaves of nearby trees. You could see dew beginning to form on grass a distance away from where you were laying. Fluttering high above the trees, you could also see the flying and swooping forms of bats. Its like you were looking at everything through the lens of a telescope.

A metallic rattle then click alerts you to the shackles (when did those get there?) on your wrists. Fierce had managed to get up and was working on getting you freed from them. Once unbound, he wasted no time in scooping you up and hurrying through the forest. You gripped onto him as tightly as you could before you felt him come to an abrupt stop. Icy cold water was splashed over your body and Fierce used his shirt to wipe you off. The shirt was quickly stained red and you hadn’t realized you were positively coated in dried blood.

As your skin was cleared of the red ichor, you realized that your chest looked rather weird. The skin was scarred but the scar itself was strange. It was a thin but long and straight line down your chest. It wasn’t your skin’s natural color, but silver like it was made of metal. Feeling it confirmed that it was still your skin and nothing else.

You turn your head upwards to ask Fierce a question but not even a word gets the chance to fall from your lips as Fierce kisses you desperately. Romance and love aren’t the present emotions to be felt in the kiss- it’s despair and relief all wrapped up in an overwhelming amount of guilt. The kiss lasts long enough that you eventually have to claw at Fierce’s chest to push him away. Sweet air flies back into your lungs and you’re left huffing and puffing yet again.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Fierce whispers as he hangs his head low. You knew he was apologizing for more than just the rather crude kiss, but your brain was in a fog. You still couldn’t place what had happened for him to be so distraught.

“I remember… eating? Yeah, we were eating in the forest and then you took me somewhere. I was soaking in… in something but after that… everything’s a blur…” You mumbled out and massaged a sudden ache in your temples. Trying to remember what happened, even if it was only a small detail, made your head pound.

“I…” Fierce starts to speak but stops himself. Amongst the whirlpool of emotions in his eyes and bubbling behind the currently closed doors of the bond, you could see that Fierce was thinking. He was thinking about how to phrase his next words carefully. It was odd behavior coming from him given that he preferred to be bluntly honest. “It… doesn’t matter anymore. Things spiraled out of control for a moment but… but everything is okay now. I promise.”

It didn’t exactly feel like a lie (It is it is it is run run run run no longer trust him, don’t love him, stop listening to him, stop) but it wasn’t the truth. Whatever happened had scared Fierce- a man you once thought incapable of feeling fear. Because of that reason alone, you took his word.

“Let’s get back to the castle before the boys or the princess start to wake up,” You state as you try to take control of the situation. It works as Fierce nods and stands up. He lets you stand on your own two feet while he runs off to go get something. After a minute, he returns with your night clothes in hand. He doesn’t speak up or do anything as you get dressed. Once it’s time to start heading back, he doesn’t pick you up but rather walks alongside you, hand in hand.

The small yet noticeable deviations in Fierce’s habits made it clear he was still in some state of shock. You didn’t know what to do to snap him out of it or if you should just let it run its course. You decide on simply intertwining your fingers with his and giving his hand a gentle squeeze to let him know that you’re here and you’re okay (no no no no no no no don’t do that, don’t encourage him, it makes things worse, so so so so much worse).

“(Na… (Name)?” Fierce whispers out. His tone makes him sound like a distraught child wanting to call out to their parent or older sibling. It’s fear and hurt ready to break past the dam that’s barely holding it in.

“Yes, honey?” You hum and give him a small smile.

“You’re… here, right?” Fierce asks. The snarky part of you wants to scoff at the question but you understand that now’s not the time for that.

“Yes. I’m right here,” You confirm and squeeze his hand again.

“You… won’t… ever leave me, will you? I don’t want to be alone again,” Fierce mumbles. Your heart clenches (no, don’t, don’t feel sympathy for the monster) as it’s clear Fierce is thinking back to the time he was trapped in the mask. No doubt being left along for decades, if not centuries, between wielders left him with a fear of abandonment. God of war he may be, it didn’t mean he wasn’t (a monster, a torturer, a villain) without feeling.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you or the boys. You’ve all been through so much and deserve some kindness after all of the cruelty,” You claim, your voice stern and firm much like the statement itself.

“You… love me? You love me, right?” Fierce finally asks the question that had been brewing in his chest. His eyes, ever the window to his soul, showed all. The searching, the yearning, the despair, the anguish, the fear, the worry, the sadness, the hopefulness, the happiness, and the love (the insanity, the madness, the darkness).

“Fierce, I… yes… yes, I do love you,” You admit. It was true (no it wasn’t). Perhaps it was because he never gave up on you despite how conflicted you felt. He waited and was there for you every step of the way without even having to ask. It may have been intense, it may have a bumpy ride, but you were here now. Here with your hand in his and with a clear mind (it’s all so warped and foggy, he won’t let me think straight).

“Will you love me for eternity?” Fierce inquires. His tone is a bit lighter now, as are his eyes. It’s as if the increasing weight of the world was finally lifted off his shoulders. He was still patiently waiting for your answer.

“Hmm…”

Don’t say it…

“Eternity is a long time, honey…”

Eternity is forever, I’ll be trapped with him forever…

“But…”

No, please…

“Yes, Fierce…”

No… no…

“I will love you for eternity.”

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere lu #yandere lu x reader #yandere lu fierce deity #yandere lu fierce deity x reader

[capseycartwright]

hiiiiiiii lorna it’s only weird if you make it weird if u want<3

a throwback to quarantine era because there's just not enough of it u know?

Eddie Diaz is a grown man. He probably shouldn’t need to clarify that, but he is a grown man – and as a grown man of thirty-something years of age, he shouldn’t be feeling so weird about sharing a bed with his best friend.

Except he might be having a panic attack of some kind.

“Eddie,” Buck huffed, squirming as he got settled on the left side of his California King. He looked laidback, and comfortable – which was to be expected, Eddie supposed, given this was Buck’s bed, and Buck’s home. Eddie had always struggled with comfort, and he relied on being in his own space to find that comfort: and now, he was here, in Buck’s loft, sharing the relatively small space with three other people, and he wasn’t sure when he’d actually be able to go home to his own house, to his son.

“Buck,” Eddie mimicked, trying to use sarcasm to cover up his nervousness.

He didn’t know why he was being so weird.

(He did –

His slowly changing feelings toward Buck were something Eddie didn’t have the mental – or emotional – capacity to deal with just yet, and then the world went mad, and they were in lockdown and there was a killer virus spreading through the world, and now Eddie was having to face sharing a bed with his best friend who he might – maybe – have some less than platonic feelings toward, and –

He was being weird about it.)

“You have to get in bed if you’re going to sleep,” Buck hummed, folding his arms across his chest. He was wearing pyjamas, a garish cartoon character printed on the front of the grey material.

“I just – is it weird?” Eddie hopped from left, to right, the cool wood of Buck’s bedroom floor cold under his bare feet. But he’s not an animal – he wasn’t going to sleep with socks on and face the cripplingly domestic task of finding the socks he would inevitably kick off during the night under the weight of the shared duvet.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Buck shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the prospect of sharing a bed with Eddie for the foreseeable future.

“I snore,” Eddie offered.

“I talk in my sleep,” Buck countered. “I kick sometimes, too – so sorry in advance to your shins. Any other arguments to make?”

Nightmares, Eddie wanted to say –

Sometimes, he woke up screaming and he couldn’t remember why: and other times, he woke up screaming and the why felt terrifyingly vivid: it was Afghanistan, it was watching Shannon die, it was losing Christopher and that constant fear that Eddie wasn’t a good enough father, it was watching the ladder truck up and the weight of it crush Buck while Eddie screamed Buck’s name until his lungs burned.

“I’m a restless sleeper,” he finally settled on a more measured set of words: because admitting to the fact that his sleep was plagued by nightmares and insomnia felt as though it wasn’t something he could talk about right now – and maybe wasn’t the right moment, either, given the tension that had crept into every corner of Buck’s loft as the four of them wondered how long they might have to live like this: crushed in like sardines, desperate to protect their families from a virus they didn’t know enough about yet.

Buck grinned. “I’m a deep sleeper,” he countered. “So, we’re a perfect match.”

Eddie couldn’t argue anymore, and so he nodded, padding the final few metres to the right side of Buck’s bed, tugging his side of the duvet free, sliding in, the cotton of Buck’s sheets soft under his skin. Buck’s bed was big, sure, but they were two relatively big guys – so Buck’s shoulder was pressed to his, as Eddie tried to get settled.

“It’ll be okay,” Buck reassured, his voice quiet, quiet enough to make sure that Hen, and Chimney couldn’t hear from downstairs. Those words were for Eddie, and Eddie alone.

Eddie appreciated it so much he could cry.

“How do you know that?” he wasn’t great, at voicing his fears, but Buck had always made him feel comfortable enough to admit to some of those dark thoughts running a marathon inside of his head.

“Because,” Buck nudged Eddie’s shoulder, the faint outline of his smile in the dim light of the loft all the reassurance that Eddie had ever needed to get through the worst days of his life. “It always is, when you and I have anything to do with it.”

And yeah –

Maybe Buck was right.

send me a 'there was only one bed' prompt

#911 fox #buck x eddie #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #prompt fill #clusterbuck #thank u emma!!

[blindbeta]

Hello.

I am writing a superhero series and I have a blind superhero character. I am currently trying to research how to portray this character in a respectful and accurate way.

For context, this hero is part of the supporting cast, and is a character the MC meets later on in the story. Every character in this world has some sort of superpower. His is the ability to control sound waves. While he can use them in an echolocation sort of way to detect enemy attacks, he can't use them in his everyday life as using your power is just the same as doing any physical activity, it's tiring.

Though, some blogs I've seen seem to discourage giving blind characters superpowers. I don't think this character's powers necessarily "cancel out his disability" I just want to make sure I'm writing this character respectfully.

I guess what I'm asking is, do you have any tips for writing blind superhero characters?

Blind Characters, Echolocation, and General Tips for Writing Super-powered Blind Characters

I answered a similar question that might be helpful. It explored some problems with the echolocation trope. You can read it here.

Limiting the Use of Echolocation

I like the fact that he can’t use it for very long and that it is draining, much like eye strain or using echolocation in real life. Echolocation is also challenging to learn and is not a replacement for a cane or other mobility aid. It would be unhelpful with most day-to-day activities. I’m glad you are considering the possibility of a superpower erasing his blindness and avoiding it in daily life.

Although, I still wonder about his superhero life.

Can he be an active superhero without echolocation? If it is something he relies on to be a superhero, maybe that would be something to consider. If he is an active superhero without it, you’re on a good course.

Furthermore, does he only use his powers for echolocation? I would assume not, although I could not tell from your question, as your main concern is the echolocation aspect.

Addressing Common Concerns With the Powers Often Given to Blind Characters

1. Negating blindness

Controlling sound waves doesn’t necessarily negate blindness outside of echolocation possibilities, as far as I can imagine. Aside from the overly common trope of giving a blind character a sensory-based power, that is. My concern is less about superpowers in general and more about powers that negate blindness, such as those that provide sight. An example would be a character who uses visions of the future to be able to see the way a sighted person would.

Does he still navigate in a way that might be familiar to blind readers? Does he use orientation and mobility techniques? Does he use Braille or large print or brave regular text with headaches so frequent his pockets are full of medication? Does his blindness impact his life?

Blindness need not only limit a character. Is he better able to orient himself? Can he pick up on sounds and landmarks and changes in light with more ease than his teammates? Is he used to getting hurt while playing blind football and thus able to withstand typical scrapes and bruises without being slowed by them? These are only a few ideas and they will change depending on his level of vision, exposure to the blind community, and how long he has been blind.

2. The Power to See is Boring

Additionally, these powers usually focus on addressing blindness, rather than being powers in their own right. This is the difference between a superhero with the power to see and a superhero who can manipulate emotions with a brush of their hand.

Could you consider other uses for this power that aren’t echolocation? For example, could he use his powers to facilitate or conceal communication? To amplify sound? Think of applications for the power that don’t involve echolocation or creating a way to see. Create other uses for echolocation. From your question, it seems you are already considering this.

The way you described use of the power doesn’t seem to negate blindness to me. I also think that considering other uses of this power outside of echolocation (which is often written to negate or reduce the impact of blindness) would be helpful.

Also, as I was reading your question again, I wondered if there are any other blind characters in the story. Since everyone has powers, that could be interesting to explore even if they don’t decide to be superheroes.

I hope this gives you some ideas to explore. Feel free to send a follow-up ask if needed.

#blind #blind characters #writing blind characters #blind superhero #echolocation

[cluescorner]

Tim Drake has a weird fucking function

The thing about Tim that I find unique is that his life became SO MUCH WORSE after joining the heroing thing. Everybody else had a mid-to-shit life before becoming a hero/living with Bruce and mostly everybody (except Jason who LITERALLY DIED) had their life improved by being a hero/being Bruce's kid (or at least it is typically portrayed as such.

Tim had the exact opposite trajectory. His life wasn't perfect before he became Robin, but like...multi-millionaire/billionaire (canon is unclear, but he's within Gotham's upper-strata) kid with both natural intelligence + charisma and a bright future ahead of him and parents who were emotionally neglectful but nothing really beyond that (which is also a form of trauma, but all of the info we have indicates that the Drakes were no Arthur Brown or David Cain) and he still had other people he could rely on outside of them. He went to boarding school, which could be something horrible OR something amazing depending on your own thoughts/experiences. I grew up having a commute where we'd drive past a really pretty and rich af boarding school that literally everybody in our area DREAMED of going to, so to me the idea of going to boarding school sounds incredible but mileage may vary. Tim seems like the type of kid who would thrive in that though. Based on what we know in canon atm, his pre-robin life was fucking amazing.

And then he starts being the sidekick and working towards becoming Robin. His parents immediately get kidnapped and poison themselves through drinking tainted water; his mom dies and his dad is in a coma. This is not the fault of Robin, but Tim himself muses about the idea that Robin and dead parents are linked: to become Robin completely, you must lose your parents. And with how fate/destiny/canon events can operate in comics universes, maybe he isn't that far off. Once his dad wakes up, their relationship becomes strained as the man grieves the loss of his wife and realizes that his son has been doing vigilantism as a hobby. It is unclear exactly how good of a parent Jack was before the incident, but the results of Tim's involvement with the Robin mantle has definitely made things worse between father and son. Jack will also die within quick succession of 2 of Tim's best friends, his girlfriend, and his other father. He will also effectively lose like 1/2 his loved ones in the fallout of all of that mess including: his older brother, his other friends (both civilian and superhero), and the stepmother with whom he shared what I would argue is his best parent-child relationship (Dana also may have died, but it's left unclear). He has stopped pursuing higher education (the moment he even applied for college he 'died', and it seems he hasn't made another attempt since) and if he wasn’t a major focus of the media before he sure is now. He tries to quit briefly (in fact he initially was planning on quitting once someone more suited came along) and cannot bring himself to do so. Even when he does manage to get away for a while, his superhero life impacts the pre-robin life he is trying to go back to. Leaving is an impossibility, this is all there is for him now. He also isn’t allowed to make mistakes anymore, not when lives hang in the balance. The one who enforces that impossible standard the most (besides Bruce depending on who's writing) is himself. He’s got TRAUMA now and people want to hurt him constantly. He is constantly questioning his own sanity and morality and place in the world. He almost dies like every month. Tim grows colder and less grounded, he is becoming both a better and a worse version of himself at the same time. He’s saving lives in the same few issues as he’s setting up a Saw movie plot for the man who killed his father. He is haunted by the ghosts of his past and the looming figure of his future. His life becomes SO MUCH FUCKING WORSE after he becomes Robin. Some of it is the fault of others, some is the fault of circumstance, and some of it is due to his own actions. But basically all of Tim's worst traumas and life-changing moments are either tied to or caused by Robin. Dick's parents would still be dead, Jason would still be living on the streets, Stephanie would still have Arthur Brown for a father and a lot of other things that deserve their own posts/IDK if they've been retconned, and Damian would still have been raised in the eco-cult where death is a constant. Those are life circumstances that occur without the involvement of Robin, the only one who even needs Bruce involved at all in their series of events is Damian. But Tim? All of what is considered his 'worst' moments occur after he assumes the role.

This idea is what I find the coolest and most fascinating about Tim as a character. Being a hero is usually portrayed as either an outright awesome thing or a righteous duty that one must fulfill or (maybe in a grimmer and/or more grounded story) a sacrifice to your interpersonal relationships/mental health that is made for the greater good. For Tim, being a superhero actively ruined his life (both because of the general circumstances surrounding being a kid vigilante and the choices he made as part of that role). It's never portrayed that way in canon because we need to come out of issues going 'wow being a superhero is so cool! I'm gonna buy the next issue!', but when you just look at Tim's life literally everything really bad that we know of occurred after he became Robin.

#tim drake #batman #batfamily #Red Robin 2009 #Red Robin #idk this is just why I think Tim is a really interesting character. I'm probably not being as articulate as I could be but it's tumblr so #I've had a lot of people say that they think Tim is the most boring robin. And I disagree because I don't think any of them are boring #but it is definitely the hardest to explain what makes Tim interesting to people with only a cursory knowledge #and it doesn't help that a lot of what makes Tim cool relies on his relationships with OTHER characters. #like you can explain why Jason is cool and interesting without even mentioning Batman if you really want to. #with Tim you need a fucking relationship chart and like 11 asterisks whenever anything involving the 'Bruce is dead' era is involved #so I just felt like typing up why I think he can really work as an exploration of somebody who straight up got WORSE after heroing #granted it's never actually stated because DC needs to make money. and tbh the closest we've ever gotten is Red Robin 2009 #which I feel is dubiously canon at best at this rate. was it retconned? did any of it happen in the current universe?

[theteasetwrites]

Don't Go Where I Can't Find You

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 9 (during six year time jump) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—fingering, grinding, sideways sex?? (idk what it's called lol), gentle sex (I think?), unprotected sex (DON'T TRY IT AT HOME), straight (?) people sex, swearing, angst ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Prompt: "Did you ever even love me?" from the Norman Reedus Whores Discord Prompt Challenge (more info here)

❧ Summary: Daryl hasn't been the same since losing Rick, and though he loves you, he needs to do what he thinks is right: try to find his friend, bring back his body, or die trying. Six months apart is too much to handle, he soon realizes, and something is calling him back home.

❧ A/N: Hiiii how y'all doin... um so like I tried to do angst, smut, and fluff all in one??? And I also tried to knock out several requests in one fell swoop. So I have sort of a bastardization of what @shariiina requested (tho they asked for a big fight and makeup sex which I don't think I quite nailed but I will definitely try do that more accurately in the future), as well as some anon requests for soft/gentle sex and also reader crying during sex. I was ALSO trying to fit in the prompt from my prompt challenge thingy that my Discord group is doing lol so there's a lot happening here. I just hope it turned out ok! I think this is a pretty sweet little story with a steamy lovemaking scene and a pinch of angst. Some cute/funny moments as well I think.

You weren’t there when the bridge fell, but you heard it, and you felt the ashes from the fire as they drifted over your face. 

Daryl had shifted past you, not answering you as you asked what was going on. He had that thousand yard stare you’d seen before. You’d seen it when he lost Merle… When he lost Beth… When he lost Denise… 

When you grabbed his face with your hands to look him in the eye, asking what on Earth had happened as tears drowned out his vision, you knew what happened. Context clues gave it away, and the ache in Michonne’s wailing as she emerged from behind Daryl, Maggie and Carol supporting her limp, writhing body. 

In your bewilderment, you felt Daryl jerk himself from your grasp, retreating somewhere inside himself you couldn’t reach, somewhere you couldn’t follow. His grief was hostile territory for you, though his heart had become a world of comfort and familiarity the past few years. 

This excursion was far more intense than what you’d seen from him before, though. Death was a fixture of everyday life for you and everyone else you knew, but Rick’s death was unprecedented. Nothing could compare to the grief in its wake, especially not for Daryl.

For as long as you could, you left him alone. The only reminder of his presence after that was the feeling of his body weight dipping on the other side of your bed. You were surprised he even tried to sleep next to you, but it was the one thing reminding you that he was there. 

Only in the morning he’d be gone, a cool, silken expanse of olive green sheets where once his body lay, sprawled out with open arms trapping you so close to his chest for hours on end, until whatever responsibility he had took him away from you. 

Now he seemed to leave on his own accord, you supposed. You weren’t sure where he’d gone during the day, but it wasn’t for lack of looking. You found yourself wandering the streets of Alexandria sometimes, in the back of your mind trying to locate a man who didn’t want to be found, but maybe he wanted you to look for him, you thought. You loved him enough to never stop looking.

Each night he slept less and less. After a while, you weren’t sure if the nights were getting colder from the changing season, or if the warmth of his body you usually relied on was getting further from you. One thing you were sure of—autumn was fading into winter, and for the first time since you found yourself in his arms, you were cold.

One morning when you woke up, you were sure he hadn’t been to bed at all the night before. His musky scent of pine and tobacco still lingered, but it was gradually becoming more faint, and your home was becoming a shell, all because he wasn’t in it.

“Daryl,” you mumbled against your pillow, then flipped over in a half-sleep state to face him where he’d be if he were there. After a month of not waking up next to him, you would’ve thought you’d grow used to it by now. You’d never get used to it, not when waking up next to him was all you had to look forward to.

The haze of sleep still deluding you, you reached out to touch him, the empty space of him. Where are you? you heard your inner voice speak. Daryl… come home. 

Your eyes fluttered open with reluctance to see he wasn’t there. Again. 

But you heard him moving downstairs, that creaking of the old floorboards underneath his feet. You felt his presence when you were awake enough to feel anything. He was home, and that was enough to get you out of bed that morning.

“Daryl?” you called out to him softly, voice still groggy from sleep. Your bare feet were cold against the hardwood floor as you tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, where you saw Daryl’s worn grey backpack sat upon the couch, next to his crossbow.

“Daryl, are you here?”

Approaching footsteps from the kitchen preceded his appearance. He emerged with a few cans of green beans, and a tired, sleepless look upon his face.

You sighed in relief, happy that he was home instead of wherever he went to be alone. Your smile faded when you realized how exhausted he looked, and how red the whites of his eyes were. 

You hadn’t been able to touch him in weeks, so when you took the cans out of his hands to place them on a nearby table, he seemed almost startled by your movement.

“You need sleep,” you said, tentatively coming closer and closer until you could rest your hands on his chest, gently moving them up and down against the scratchy fabric of his wool poncho. “Let’s lay down. You’re exhausted.”

His tenseness seemed to loosen under your touch, but his glassy eyes portrayed a different story. Something was off, something more than just grief.

“Sweetheart,” you said, while raising a hand to pin the unruly hairs behind his ears, “what’s wrong?”

He huffed, then removed your hands before turning to pick up the cans. “I’m leavin’,” he grumbled, his back turned towards you.

He moved to the couch to stuff the canned beans inside his pack, then zipped and buckled it tight. Next, he turned to the hallway, retrieving his quiver of bolts he usually used on trips outside the walls. 

You didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t have any reason to go out there. As far as you were concerned, his mental health needed to recover from the loss of his best friend, his brother, before he could even think about going out there. Still, maybe it was what he needed, and maybe when he’d come back in a few days like he always did, he’d be more like himself. Maybe it was what he needed to heal.

“When will you be back?” you asked, as you always did. 

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze, but not before he made incidental eye contact with you. You looked so innocent, so unaware of what he had planned. He couldn’t hide from it now. Weeks of milling over it in his addled brain had finally accumulated to this moment—telling you, the person he loved more than anything, that he didn’t know when he was coming back. He wasn’t even entirely sure where he was going. 

“I was going to make that casserole you like for dinner,” you added. It was better than the silence. “But I’ll wait till you get back. Unless you’re coming back tonight?”

He shook his head. “Don’t wait for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you,” you said, with a soft laugh under your breath. “Just tell me when and I’ll save it for when you come home.”

He went silent again, opting to arm himself with his various knives and utility belts instead of answering you. 

It wasn’t like him at all to ignore you, to avoid your touch, to avert his gaze. Maybe when you first met him three or four years ago, but not now. Not after two years of the greatest kind of intimacy two people could share with one another. 

You tested the waters, coming closer to touch him and see if he’d recoil again. Your hands held his, disrupting him from looping his belt. A small smile spread across your face, and though part of it was forced, all of it was born out of love for him. He’d told you before that your smile could fix everything for him, so you hoped he meant it.

“Hey,” you said. “I love you, Tarzan.”

The corner of his lip quirked ever so slightly, but something held him back from returning your smile, even if you called him that little moniker you gave him years ago, to reflect the “wild man” he seemed to be. He always felt more at home in the wilderness, it seemed.

What you expected was for him to return the sentiment, to call you “Jane” as he usually did. He only chewed his bottom lip, and watched your hands as they fit perfectly in his.

He only shook his head, a gesture so foreign to you in this circumstance. He should’ve smiled, held your hands tighter, kiss you… Not loosen himself from your grasp, not take his undying warmth away as he stepped backwards, away from you.

Of course, it was hard to react that way. It wasn’t his instinct, and a part of you knew it, but it still hurt. He didn’t want to say what he was about to, or to do what he was about to do, but he had to. At least, he convinced himself that he had to. 

“I’m goin’ away,” he said. 

“I know.”

“No,” he replied. “I’m goin’ away, and I ain’t comin’ back till I find Rick.”

You stepped back subconsciously, so much so that you couldn’t feel the back of your legs hit the couch. Gravity forced you to sit on the edge, somewhere between disbelief and confusion. None of those words made any sense together, in that order in which he spoke them. It must’ve been an illusion, some trick of the mind orchestrated by the debilitating loneliness that had settled in your heart. To make matters worse, you feared this was just the beginning. 

You tried to make sense of it, in a way that allowed the sense of it to become something else—something you could grasp. “Rick’s gone,” you said quietly. “How are you going to find him if he’s gone?”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t know the answer to that himself. He truly didn’t. “I’m gonna find him, dead or alive.”

“Alive?” you asked in bewilderment. “You… You think he’s alive?”

“Never found a body… Blast of the explosion coulda blown him somewhere nearby.”

“Daryl,” you said, “that’s…” Your words failed you then, as they often did when emotions took over. You couldn’t help it—you loved him, and Daryl never lied. If he said he wasn’t coming back, he wasn’t coming back. “You can’t leave.”

“I gotta.”

The lump in your throat was becoming impossible to swallow, and tried as you might, you couldn’t keep your voice from cracking under the pressure. Tears would soon follow, you were certain of it. Still, you were trying to delude yourself, to interpret Daryl’s straightforward words into something that didn’t tear you apart from the inside out.

“But you’ll be back soon,” you said, looking up at him with much more than just a hint of vulnerability in your face. “You’ll come back, even if you can’t find him?”

He lowered his head in silence, then finally replied: “I dunno.”

Your legs lifted you up to full height, a sudden burst of impatient energy seething through you.

“What does that mean?”

“Means I don’t know, (Y/N).”

You shook your head in bewilderment. “You can’t just leave. I mean, I understand you want to find him but… You can’t leave.”

He huffed through abnormally flared nostrils, indicating that he, too, was losing his patience. It wasn’t pure anger, though, in fact there was very little anger inside of him—it was more like dread, sorrow for the pain he would continue you putting you (and himself) through as he tried to justify his reasons for needing to leave, even though he couldn’t really think of any justifiable reason. It was irrational, impulsive, dangerous, inconsiderate… Most of all, he just wanted to get it over with; to rip off the bandage and try his best to ignore the sting.

“I ain’t tellin’ ya again,” he said, in that low, extra gravelly voice that told you he was close to a breaking point. “It’s settled.”

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak, with nothing but a barely audible whimper falling and fading into thin air. Your tears inevitably broke out, but they were muffled as you tried to maintain composure. You weren’t sure why—Daryl had seen you cry countless times, but this time was different. Maybe Daryl was leaving you because you cried so much, because you cared so much. You feared he found you pathetic or overbearing, maybe even annoying. 

Of course, no such thing was true, but irrational fears born of insecurity and self-doubt got the better of you. The strain in your face was evident.

“I, uh, I don’t wanna leave,” he said. 

“Then don’t!” you suddenly exclaimed, voice weak and faltering. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, then stepped forward tentatively as you approached him. “Or… let me go with you.”

“Nah,” he said quickly. “No way. You gotta stay here where it’s safe.”

“Daryl… I—I can’t. I need you. I love you… How could you say you’re leaving? Doesn’t what we have mean anything to you?”

You hated to ask him that, and you never would’ve unless you weren’t genuinely afraid he felt nothing for you anymore. Of course, it wasn’t that at all—it was the grief that overwhelmed him, called him to take Rick’s disappearance on his already burdened shoulders. In a sense, it had nothing to do with you, but you were the one who was going to suffer. You were the one who’d be left behind.

“You know it does,” he replied, this time voice much more firm and loud, as though he couldn’t even risk the thought of you not knowing that for sure. “This ain’t easy for me, but it’s eating me up inside. I at least gotta try.”

“Then let me help,” you begged, and somehow you’d gotten close enough to take his hands in yours. If you got desperate enough, you wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself down on both knees before him. “Please. Just don’t leave me… Don’t—don’t go where I can’t find you.”

“Woman,” he sighed, leaning his forehead against yours. He must’ve known how you melted when he called you that, how easily you could give into him. “Don’t go lookin’ for me. I need you right here.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to flood your cheeks with tears. “I need you here,” you said. “I just don’t understand how you can do this after everything.”

You stepped back, gently yanking your hands from Daryl’s grasp until you stumbled back onto the sofa. You sat there staring straight through his face, which had sunk as the grim reality of his decision came shattering down upon him.

He wasn’t sure what was worse: being away from you indefinitely, or leaving you hurt like this. 

As you held your head in your hands, you thought back to all the times Daryl had said he’d never leave you, in the same breath as the words “I love you.” Now that he was leaving you, without a return in sight unless he found Rick, you wondered if those words really meant anything.

“Did you ever even love me?” you asked sincerely. 

It wasn’t that you wanted him to prove it, or to feel guilty for what he was doing, but you genuinely didn’t know anymore, and that uncertainty terrified you. You’d built your whole life around him the last few years. You’d made sacrifices, compromises, choices that were predicated on the belief that you were going to be with him forever. Was it over now? You had a feeling Daryl didn’t even know himself, all he knew was what he thought he needed to do, and that your relationship would have to hang in the balance until he accomplished his self-assigned task.

He swallowed hard, making sure he didn’t cry when he opened his mouth to speak. “I never stopped loving you,” he said. “I never will.”

That was six months ago now.

Six months since he’d seen you, six months since he’d held you, six months since he’d heard you say, “don’t go where I can’t find you.”

He hated that he’d done just that, and he quickly realized that his decision wouldn’t ease the pain of Rick’s disappearance. 

All it did was render him lonely. Much more lonely than he’d ever felt in his life. 

Still, he gave himself a mission, a responsibility to find Rick alive or dead. There were questions that needed to be answered, and Daryl didn’t leave any stone unturned.

He went where you couldn’t find him, though you didn’t try to find him. You were convinced he didn’t want you, that there was more to his leaving than just finding Rick. He didn’t love you anymore, and you still found yourself wondering if he ever did.

Around the same time he left, though, you noticed you couldn’t find one of your blouses—the cream colored peasant blouse with lace trim and cinched waist. You hadn’t worn it in some time, since it was one of Daryl’s favorites on you, but its disappearance drove you crazy, since you couldn’t think of where it had gone to.

That blouse had lived a more interesting life in the past six months than you had, as it lay neatly folded at the bottom of Daryl’s pack, the only thing he had to remember you by. 

Perhaps he should’ve told you he took it, knowing you were rather sentimental about your clothing, but in the emotional minefield of that morning he left, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you. He spoke very little that day, and he regretted not telling you everything he wanted to.

So now, sitting beside a rocky creek in the last golden light of the late spring afternoon, only the gentle sound of trickling water and birds chirping sweetly in the trees, he thought of you.

He always thought of you, especially with the weather warming up, knowing how much you loved to wear your sundresses and sandals. 

You’d frolic around the house, opening the windows to let in the soft, subtle spring breeze and the twinkling sound of the wind chimes. When he was home, you’d somehow get him to lay on the couch, your body snuggled up to his as you both fell asleep to those wind chimes, on an afternoon not unlike today. 

He could practically taste the sweet and sour lemonade you squeezed fresh from the tree that had grown outside the walls, but hovered over just enough to allow ripe yellow lemons to fall on the shady grass below, waiting for you to pluck them up with a delicate hand in the safety of Alexandria.

In his hands, he held your blouse, absentmindedly caressing the fabric between his fingers. He had taken great care not to let the lifestyle he’d been living the last six months tarnish or tear the thin fabric, as he fully intended that someday he’d return it to you. 

He didn’t know when that day would come, which was why he couldn’t promise you he’d return, but for weeks, he’d felt home calling back to him. In fact, he was sure it’d been calling to him since the moment he left, but now he allowed himself to hear it, those dainty chimes on the wind, drowning out the sound of the creek before him.

He didn’t take your blouse out of his pack often. There was no way he’d risk staining it with his filthy hands, or let the well-preserved, lingering scent of your perfume wear off, but lately he found himself sitting here, not far from his camp, holding that shirt.

Did you ever even love me? The phrase rang out in his head, echoing in the empty cathedral of his mind. 

The fact you even had to question it devastated him beyond even his own comprehension. What was worse was how he left without really proving it, without actions to mirror his words. 

I never stopped loving you, he’d said. I never will. 

He’d played that scene out in his head with every possible chain of events, but nothing could stop him from remembering what he had said, and the fact that what he said simply wasn’t enough. 

Stupid, he thought to himself. I’m so fuckin’ stupid. 

Six months of searching for a missing man, and he had nothing to show for it but a few dead ends. If he hadn’t found him now, he was never going to find him. He had told himself he’d never stop looking, but something had struck him just then, when he milled over your words once more: don’t go where I can’t find you. 

If he kept looking for Rick, he’d be lost, too. It was time to go home.

He walked longer than he had in some time, long enough for day to stretch into night. The guards at the gate nearly couldn’t recognize the hero of Alexandria, face shrouded by a tattered hood and smeared with several layers of dirt and blood.

Only the crossbow on his back gave away his identity, as well as the gruffness of his voice. The gate opened for him with a familiar rattle, and quickly the routine began to settle in once again, as though he’d never left.

As his aching feet carried him towards the house he once shared with you, he found himself wondering if you were still there, or if you’d moved to a smaller home. His question was answered when he spied your muddied yellow rain boots sitting outside the front door, and your hand painted welcome stone on the front step. 

Thank goodness he’d never lost his house key—he kept it on a long string of twine so he could never not find it. 

As he turned the key and pushed open the door, he was overwhelmed with the scent of something he vaguely remembered coming from the kitchen, where the oven was still warm from dinner that evening.

Hunger overwhelmed him, and made him instinctively head to the fridge, where a recognizable casserole dish was sitting on the top shelf, still warm.

He didn’t notice he let out an audible grunt of hunger before he bent over to pull the dish out and set it on the counter. Peeling back the tin foil, a smattering of potatoes, cheese, garlic, and probably a myriad of other spices and vegetables you’d thrown together, greeted him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cheese, or anything moderately tasty, but it must’ve been before he left, certainly it was something you had made. 

As he shoveled spoonfuls of lukewarm food into his mouth, he realized you had inadvertently made good on your promise: you had that casserole ready for him when he got back. 

Turning to face the clock on the wall, he narrowed his eyes to see through the darkness: 10:37 PM. 

You must’ve been asleep upstairs, and plopping himself onto that bed alongside you was just about the best possible thing he could think of right now. He trudged up the stairs, with each step careful not to wake you. He was worried about how you might react to his sudden appearance after so long away, but at the same time, he couldn’t wait to see you. He couldn’t think straight enough to work out the logistics. What if you woke up before he did, and what if you were terrified of his sudden presence? Perhaps you wouldn’t even want him in your house, after so long of not seeing him. Still, there was no indication that your relationship was over when he left. He assumed it was an unspoken agreement that if and when Daryl returned, you’d pick up right where you left off. He only hoped that was a correct assumption.

Sure enough, you were asleep, without the light of the lantern by your bedside table which you used to leave on for him to return. As such, he could hardly see you, your features just barely illuminated by the cool, indigo-tinted light of the moon streaming in through the window. 

In the warmth of the night, you must’ve kicked off your blankets, as your sprawled out body was outlined only in the thin cover of the sheet. He smiled to himself, remembering how much of a restless sleeper you were, always tossing and turning so much that you’d end up tangled in the blankets, and sometimes he’d wake up with your hand dangling over his face. You were even more restless when he wasn’t there, since his arms holding you close to his body seemed to keep you from moving around too much. That, and the comfort he provided you with was enough to lull you into the deepest, most undisturbed sleep. 

As he stripped himself of his vest and shirt, he remembered how filthy he was, covered in grime and tree sap and dried walker blood. He was ashamed to admit he hadn’t had a proper shower in weeks, and if you’d been with him, you would’ve made sure he bathed at least every other day, but he’d been alone for so long, left to his own devices, and his less than sanitary habits.

But a shower sounded almost as good as sleep, so he turned towards the bathroom door, gently closing it behind him as he entered to light the lantern next to the sink. Routine—it was all coming back to him. He had tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy out there in the woods, but he quickly learned that it was nearly impossible, what with the nomadic nature of his lifestyle, moving from camp to camp, never staying in one place for too long. As much as he was used to living like that, he hated it. It made him feel more like an animal than a human. 

Tarzan, he remembered you calling him. Somewhere between man and beast. Right now, under the gentle stream of the warm water, as he struggled to comb his fingers through the large knots in his wild, disheveled hair, he never felt more like he was trying to regain his humanity, to wash the wilderness from his body. 

He raised his hands to rub his face vigorously under the splashing water, and proceeded to further claw at the tangled clumps of chestnut waves on his head. 

“Damnit,” he sighed under his breath. It was so much easier when you did it for him. 

Remembering the existence of shampoo and conditioner, he turned to reach for the bottle of homemade “hair stuff,” as he called it. When he removed the cap, a fragrant burst of sweet pea and lemon awakened his senses. Oh, it was just like he remembered, just like the smell of your hair. 

“(Y/N)...” he mumbled under his breath. “My girl.”

He’d missed lathering his hair with your little concoction, but even more than that, he missed the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, and the sound of your voice so close to his ear as you asked him about his day. Maybe you’d accidentally tug on his hair a little too hard as you tried to get out the knots, but he’d never complain. Not when even the pain felt so good.

Soon his head was drenched in white bubbles and soapy lather, cleansing his mop of brown hair and removing the blood and dirt that had somehow found their way into his wavy locks. 

When he washed out the shampoo, he squeezed a hefty dollop of conditioner into his palm, and smoothed it through his less tangled hair to get the real stubborn knots out. It felt wonderful to finally be clean, but that was just his head. His body still needed tending to.

You must’ve still been getting those handmade bars of rose petal soap from the neighbors, since the sweet floral scent quickly wafted into his nostrils as he held it in his hands, rubbing it between them to make a thick lather.

As the conditioner settled in his hair, he dragged the soap languidly across his chest, paying extra attention to his underarms, which surely needed it. 

His hands trailed down with the soap to his abdomen, circling around his navel. It’d been so long since his stomach felt full. His belly protruded more than usual, too, a sight that was welcome as he looked down to see the dirt washing off of him. 

Next was, of course, his nether regions, where he’d felt an irresistible urge since the moment he saw you, even if he could hardly make out your face. He knew you were just as beautiful as ever, and that he wasn’t entirely sure how he could sleep in bed with you without getting lost in his lustful thoughts.

He could already feel the tingling sensation surge through him as he ran his soapy hand along his shaft, paying extra care to the tip and all the crevices. 

“Shit,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against the tile wall. It had been so long since he touched himself. In fact, he was sure he never really had time to do it while he was out in the wilderness, constantly in danger. 

That didn’t stop him from thinking of you, though. All those lonely nights of shallow, dreamless sleep without the softness of your body he’d gotten so accustomed to holding. Too often had he found himself reaching for empty air, or whispering your name in the haze of his exhaustion. On particularly desperate nights, he clung to your blouse, burying his head in the bundle of fabric like it was a burial shroud as he unzipped his pants to just barely touch himself over his underwear, but that was long ago, and lately he had to reserve his yearning to simple thoughts and memories, making it all so much more potent. He needed you.

Without entirely meaning to, he gripped tighter around himself as he made longer and more intentional strokes. Soon the soap in his other hand must’ve slipped from his grasp, and he leaned forward to catch himself before the sudden pleasure of his touching became too much to bear.

He flinched slightly as his forehead pressed against the cool wet tile of the shower wall, one hand outstretched above his head, the other now tugging harder and faster on his cock. 

When he became more aware of his body and its movements, he slowed his pace, opting to thumb at his tip in gentle circles as he took a deep breath. He felt the water hitting his back, heard the heavy pitter patter of droplets hitting the tile below and pooling around his feet ever so slightly. Funny how one could feel so alive, so human, in such a simple way. 

And yet, he could hardly bear to allow himself that simple, human pleasure of intimate touch. How could he do such a thing when he’d left you alone for six months? The shower could cleanse his body, but not his mind. 

Still, he allowed his fingers to trace gently along the semi-hard surface of his shaft, as once your fingers had done the same. “I love you, Tarzan,” your voice echoed in a distant memory. He nudged his forehead in small circles against the tile, as if it could ever feel like your warm, soft body, curled up against his as he held you like he always used to. Why did he ever stop? 

Always trying to find something. Always trying to save someone. Always the hero.

The longer the water ran, the more he returned to the reality of his situation, and the more he realized just how exhausted he really was.

He crept out of the bathroom slowly, careful to hold the lantern close to him so as not to wake you with its light. His sore legs seemed to carry him to the bed—his side of the bed, the one that you’d left deserted for six months, as if you knew all along this night would come, that someday he’d come back to you.

What on Earth was he thinking? He could’ve slept on the couch, he could’ve slept on the front porch, for crying out loud, but would it be so bad if he slept here, where he belonged? Weren’t you still his, anyway? Please, still be mine.

If you were awake, he’d beg you, but you weren’t awake, and he’d spent too long having one-sided conversations. He just needed sleep, or you, whichever one he could have. If it was only sleep, he would take that gladly.

Though it was tempting, he had to admit. Tempting to wake you up. Tempting to gently rub your shoulder until your eyes shot open as they always did, an old habit from living on the road. Tempting to engulf you like quicksand until your body melded with his, for the first time in so long. Tempting to rid you of that silky button-up nightshirt he immediately recognized on your body. It looked a little suffocating, a little too modest for his taste. The night was warm, stolid and heavy. Even that sheet seemed too hot, or maybe he just wanted to see your body, that pliant, supple flesh he had once held sensual dominion over. 

In your sleep, you’d finally settled into a fetal position, curled up on your side, back facing him. As he set down the lantern on the bedside table, you stirred slightly, a small, breathy whimper escaping your lips unconsciously. 

From the indirect light of the lantern, he could finally make out your features—a stinging pain rose up in his abdomen, as he’d almost forgotten how sweet you looked in your sleep. It was something out of a Renaissance painting or a pre-Raphaelite’s hazy daydream. Though he could only see your side profile from his vantage point, your lips parted so delicately as your head moved in adjustment against the softness of your pillow.

He was just about to settle into his side of the bed when he noticed a dark piece of fabric tangled between your arms as you held it close to your chest. Squinting, he lifted his knees to the bed and leaned over you to get a better look, and of course he knew what it was. It was his, after all.

Aw, sunshine, he thought, watching your fingers curl and indent the fabric of his old black t-shirt he used to sleep in on cold winter nights. He could even make out some of the holes, in the same old spots. 

Overwhelmed with love, he let himself lay down as close to you as he could without waking you, he’d hoped. His arm’s old muscle memory immediately kicked in as it draped itself gently over your side, a movement he was quick to take back when he felt your body flinch and heard your breath hitch in unison.

Sleep hadn’t quite lost its hold over you as you mumbled out something incoherent. You’d felt his empty presence before, especially when his name echoed in the atmosphere of your dreams on a nightly basis. By morning, you wouldn’t remember them, only blurry glimpses and long lost sensations. 

In your mind, you always knew that slight weight around your waist was nothing but a phantom limb, but in your heart, you’d always bring yourself to look over your shoulder at his side, where he never was. Until tonight.

When you lifted your gaze ever so slightly, you swore you saw a faint glimmer of familiar blue eyes nestled between dark strands of freshly rinsed hair, though it couldn’t be, you thought.

Still, in your transitory state between consciousness and sleep, you mumbled his name under your breath, almost unintelligibly: “Daryl…”

Though he looked much clearer than he usually did in your dreams, you were quick to dismiss the dimly lit, shadowy figure beside you as nothing more than a lovesick illusion, so you turned and buried your face in the shirt you’d been clinging to every night since Daryl left, not knowing that he was right there, only wanting to hear your voice again.

“Hey, Jane,” he said softly, then reached his hand out to touch your shoulder as you flinched yourself awake.

“Oh... my god,” you said groggily. “Daryl?”

His body didn’t give yours the chance to turn to face him. Instead, he aligned his chest snugly to your back, and tucked his arms tight around your sides until you were fully stuck in his grasp. 

Rendered silent, you shook your head in disbelief as you felt his lips hungrily latch onto your exposed neck, while his hands slid along your side in a desperate attempt to remove the sheet draping your body.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him, whether it was the sound of your voice or the feeling of the warmth radiating from your body, but all he knew was that he had no immediate desire to explain himself, or to excuse his actions, if they could ever even be excused, all he could say, repeated in breathless sweeps of his nearly tear-soaked voice, was: “I’m sorry.”

Between each apology, his lips found a new part of your skin to soak with saliva from his frantic open-mouthed kiss. 

The more you felt his lips tremble against your heated skin, the more your heartbeat thundered in your chest, and the more you couldn’t care less if he was sorry or not—six months without him, without love, made you ravenous for touch, and his touch alone. 

When your shock and relief at his presence subsided, you reached back to squeeze his hand as it grasped firmly onto the fabric of your nightshirt, nearly tearing it in his reckless desperation.

You had barely even seen his face, but you felt his body and his presence with you in the darkness of your room, so it was enough to know he was there, that he loved you enough to come back home to you. Whatever anger and confusion you had was still there, but what consumed you was the very essence of him, the only thing you’d wanted for the past six months.

“Mm, Tarzan,” you hummed sleepily, bringing his hand to your chest to cup your breast. 

You felt his chest heave against your back, and the scent of your shampoo in his hair made you smile as you bit your lip, trying to hold back the happy tears and save them for later. 

His hand squeezed your breast gently, but just enough to elicit a deep sigh from your lips. The erection growing in his underwear was becoming unavoidable, and that hardness pressed up against your bottom made you shiver in need. Your body squirmed and writhed so much he hissed between his teeth, burying his head in the crook of your neck, where his tongue traced circles under your ear. 

Heat spread all through your body, until you were uncomfortable under the thin fabric of the sheet. With a huff, you kicked it off you, and Daryl’s hand didn’t waste a second to reach over your waist and palm at your clothed mound. You’d forgotten how strong he was—the pressure of his heavy hand pulled you even closer to him, and sent a small shockwave through your touch-starved body.

Both of you felt so delicate, like thin sheets of glass ready to shatter at the slightest touch. When his hand fondled you there again, you let out a sharp gasp as you reached down to hold your hand over his. “Yes…” you sighed. “Touch me… Don’t stop.”

He put more pressure on his palm as his fingers circled above your underwear, right over that sensitive little bundle of nerves he used to be so good at stimulating. His fingers were still just as good as they had once been—maybe even better from months of using them so much more than he had before. They were nimble and precise, yet somehow still heavy and bulky in shape. You’d never known such perfect fingers before, or such hands that could caress your body with the utmost love and respect. 

Even in his desperation to touch you, to make love to you, he always held you like he could wait an eternity for you if he needed to—there was never any rush to his love, it was always slow and sweet, tender and soft. If you stopped him now, told him to get out of your house and to never see you again, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d respect your displeasure with him and his absence, but you didn’t pull away. Maybe a part of you wanted to, wanted to torture him and put him through the same pain you went through when he left, but something told you that he had gone through that same pain, too, that he never wanted to leave you, but he felt he had to. 

You always knew he loved you, and here he was—proving it.

As his mouth sucked on the skin of your neck, you maneuvered his hand until his fingers slipped underneath the fabric and tickled your outer lips. His hand stilled for a moment, allowing you to use it to your liking. You used it to spread your lips, and encouraged his fingers to enter you slowly, all while you writhed purposefully against his palm, hitting your sensitive spot.

He groaned lowly in your ear as the feeling returned to his fingers, and he didn’t hesitate to dig deeper, two fingers curling up inside you until you whimpered in satisfaction. “Oh, God… Daryl.”

The weight of your leg being placed atop his as you tried to spread yourself out more caught him off guard, and his fingers dug deeper, sending you writhing and whimpering from the pressure. He felt your tightness squeezing all around his thick fingers, soaking them as you became more aroused.

“Don’t remember you bein’ this tight, sunshine,” he whispered into your ear between kisses. “You’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

“Mm, put it in me,” you said, voice strained as your core rutted against his hand to increase the pressure. You bent the knee of your outstretched leg and grounded your foot on the bed, stretching your entrance as much as you could. “It’s been so long.”

He grunted in agreement as he pulled out his fingers to raise them to your clit once more, circling it in slow, rhythmic motions. 

“I ain’t never stopped thinkin’ of you,” he said. “I missed you… God, I missed you, woman.”

You smiled and reached down to tug off your panties, while he moved to yank himself free from his own underwear. 

Quickly you found yourself reaching back to grasp his hard shaft, pulling it to your folds where you pressed his tip to your clit. His chin pressed firmly to your shoulder, he watched you stroke his cock against your slit, which you dragged back and forth along his now aching shaft.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your neck. “I ain’t gonna last long.”

“Me neither.”

His hips jutted forward and backward, gently rocking himself against you. Each movement hit your clit and forced a heavenly sigh from your lips. Daryl had tried with all the mental fortitude he had to recreate that sound in his head, but your voice was like honey, coated in sugar crystals and dripping from your succulent lips. He hadn’t known sweetness like you and your body for so long, and he knew with every surge of tingles that ran through him that he couldn’t keep himself from his release for too long. 

You gasped when his cock entered you slowly, breaching your entrance and burying itself in your tightness. Now you could feel just how incredibly close you were to bliss—only a handful more minutes of touching and penetrating would relieve you of your need.

“Oh, God!” you cried out in a gasp. “I—I… Oh…”

You felt his cock remain still inside of you as he caught his breath, trying to pace himself. His hand massaged your breast with tender, circular movements, comforting you. 

You bit your lip and shut your eyes tight as you writhed gently to feel more of the pressure of his tip on that tingly spot inside you.

“You all right?” he asked. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine… I think I just… forgot how big you are.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked with a smile, slightly more cocky than his usual one-sided smirk. He slowly pushed himself deeper, his cock curving more and more inside of you. The warm, confining walls of your body clenched around him on their own accord as they adjusted to his sizable thickness. Your body had been so used to it before, but now it was almost foreign, like your first time all over again.

“So… tight,” he grumbled against your shoulder. Letting go of your breast, he snaked his hand down to your clit, moving his fingers with increasingly fast pace. “Want you to come on me… Want ya to get this cock all soakin’ wet… like a good girl.”

You giggled under your breath. After all this time, you’d still never get used to Daryl’s dirty talk, but you loved it—the way his gruff, scratchy southern drawl made those sinful words sound so sweet and nearly angelic, yet with a deep, growling animalism in the pit of his stomach.

“Mm, don’t stop,” you sighed. “I’ll… come for you.”

“You better.”

His hand applied more pressure to your outside as his cock buried deeper inside you, going all the way until his hilt hit your bottom. You stretched your leg further behind him, allowing more room for the girth of his cock, though still you were so constrained around him, a feeling that had him gasping for air between heavy, breathless breaths.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so good.”

He moved as rhythmically as he could as he lay on his side, with your leg wrapped behind him and your bottom on his lower abdomen, causing him to strain. His feet anchored him, allowing his hips to thrust in steady, consistent movements. There was just enough pressure on you, just enough to get those shockwaves of bliss pumping through you as he got you closer to letting go.

The more he penetrated you, the more your body soaked him in arousal, allowing more comfort for your orgasm to soon take over. As his hand applied more pressure, you grinded yourself against his palm in a desperate attempt to get more of that sweet tingly feeling.

“Easy, girl,” he whispered in your ear. “It’s all right… I got ya… Your man’s got you. I’m home.”

“Daryl…” you whimpered shakily. “Oh, Daryl… Don’t you… ever leave me again.”

“I won’t. I got you, sunshine. Let me make you feel good, just like I used to.”

Even he was starting to crumble the closer you got to relief, and as he pleasured you, inside and out, you shut your eyes tight and felt the incoming surge of pleasure about to send shockwaves through you. Still, you weren’t quite there, and the agony of wanting that sweet feeling to send your body into unrestrained convulsions was so potent that you couldn’t stand it anymore. Your sensitive, supple body couldn’t stand it anymore.

Tears began to roll down your cheek, seeping out from between the tightly closed lids of your eyes and falling into the corners of your lips until the taste of salt melted onto your tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out, tears breaking your voice. “I need…”

“What do ya need?”

“I need to… to come.”

“You will.”

His hand gripped your mound hard and hit harder at your clit, sending you into a whimpering state of frantic writhing and panting. “Please…” 

“I’m here… I got ya.”

The glass shattered when you least expected it, but it was so mind-numbingly good that you flung your head back onto his shoulder, while your body writhed and rocked back and forth in pleasure as each wave of bliss surged through you. “Yes!” you cried out. “Oh, yes… Oh, God…”

He held still inside of you as your walls clenched and squeezed around his aching cock, swollen and just about ready to burst inside you. Each pulse has him groaning against your scalp, where he’d buried his face in your hair. “Shit,” he groaned. “You’re gonna make me come, too.”

As your high subsided, you unfurled your leg and rolled more completely onto your side, careful not to let his cock go. He clung to you, his arms around your abdomen as he refused to release you from his grasp. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t leave again—he knew that from the moment he decided to come back home. 

Without a word, he thrusted deep inside of you, moving at a more desperate pace. He kept his arms hugging around you, with his hand placed firmly on your stomach, where he felt his body meeting yours.

“I love you,” he panted in your ear. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, Daryl… Come inside me.”

He groaned just at the thought—the thought of filling you in the most sensual, intimate way possible, and watching it all trickle out, the proof of his love for you.

One more deep thrust and he felt the final pulse trail down his shaft, into the tip, and out into you, his moans and “ah’s” of relief sinking into your shoulder as his teeth dug a small imprint. 

Your sigh of pleasure broke out into a breathy, delirious laugh, the feeling of his spend tickling you from the inside and heating you up with its warmth. He held you close by your waist as his hips kept thrusting, eager to drain every last drop inside of you. 

He must’ve had so much built up inside of him, so much pent up need for release—his explosion never seemed to end. He was writhing against you, dragging heavy, open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck. 

“Mm,” you sighed, rubbing your stomach as if you’d just eaten the best meal of your life. “You still got it, Tarzan.”

He blushed and leaned forward to kiss your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’ without you, Jane.”

You turned your head till your lips met his, for the first time in so long. His tongue snaked languidly into your mouth, and yours did the same, until you pulled away, with your tongue circling over his lips.

You studied his face in the dimness of the dark room, and that sorrowful look in his eyes reminded you of your own sadness, the one that had left such a bitter taste in your mouth for so long. Daryl might’ve filled you up with sweetness again, but you wouldn’t forget how he left you.

“You jerk,” you said, much to his surprise. “You left me… I thought you’d never come back.”

“I—I know,” he said, tangling his hand in your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” He trailed off, not sure what else to say. He never had a way with words, and he was hoping he’d proven it with his actions. “Shoulda never left. Shoulda stayed right here, with you.”

You shook your head and turned your body towards his, finally seeing him in full. It reminded you of long nights laying in bed together, talking endlessly until the sun came up, or until one of you fell asleep, usually you. Only now, instead of talking about the future, you spoke of the past, of the moment Daryl broke your heart, and his own, too.

You soon found your cheeks were soaked in tears, and his hand quickly moved to catch them. You’d cried so many times since he left, always wondering where he was, if he’d found Rick, if he was even alive. You yearned for his touch, for his thumb to brush away the tears and for his lips to kiss them away until there were no more tears left to cry. 

Now, he was finally here, you just weren’t sure how to deal with it. 

“I know… I know that you love me,” you said. “I know that. I just wish… I wish I would’ve wrapped myself around your ankle and made you stay.” You laughed through your tears, and he smiled, too, just a little, at the thought. “I think I loved you too much to do that… You weren’t happy. You did what you needed to do. I understand that. I mean, I didn’t like it, but I understood it.”

He shook his head. “Nah, don’t make excuses for me. You should be mad… Shoulda kicked me outta this bed.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, still tearful, but clouded now by happy tears, not sad ones. “I don’t think I could ever kick you out of bed�� But I’ll tell you one thing.” You wrapped your wrists loosely around his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead touched yours. “Next time you leave like that, you might not have a warm bed, or a woman, waiting for you when you come back.”

He nodded seriously, his damp bangs tickling your nose as they fell into place. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t gotta worry about that, though. Told you, I ain’t ever leavin’ again.”

You sniffled and wiped your nose, giggling at your own emotional state. “Good. Sometimes, I felt like going out there, try to find you. Almost did once or twice. Michonne stopped me. But you know, I knew I wouldn’t be able to find you anyway.”

He sighed, the cruel sting of guilt stabbing him in the side. His chin lifted to rest on your head, as his hand moved to stroke your back, replacing your nightshirt to cover your bottom half. “You don’t belong out there,” he said. “Neither do I. I know that now. Just… had to try.”

“I know. Hero complex. I think that’s just one reason why I love you so much.”

You leaned up to kiss his forehead, nestling your nose in his scalp, where you got another good whiff of your shampoo. “Did you take a shower just for me?” you asked, slightly blushing at the idea. Of course, you knew he probably would’ve taken one anyway, but a part of you hoped that maybe, just maybe, he did it for you, knowing how much you loved him when he was clean.

He shrugged, his lips curling into a small, wry smirk. “Well, uh… Maybe. Knew you wouldn’t want me dirtying up the place.” He looked around the room, the light of the lantern behind him casting a shadow of your curved figure on the wall. Not much had changed at all since he left, other than a few of the trinkets he had brought back for you being on full display on your shared dresser. Absence really did make the heart grow even fonder, though you were always certain you couldn’t love Daryl anymore than you already did. 

It reminded him of the shirt he had seen you clinging to as you slept, and how he, too, kept one of your shirts for just the same purpose. “You sleep with my shirt every night?” he asked with a slightly mischievous raised eyebrow.

You huffed. He knew the answer to that question, you could tell. “Don’t make fun,” you said. “I missed you. You’re important to me, and… sometimes, that shirt felt like all I had left of you.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat that formed at your words, and he knew if you said anything like that again, his heart would break into a million pieces. Not only because he had put you through this, but because he knew the feeling, too. He knew the fear that he would never see you again, the uncertainty of it all. 

“I, uh… I got your shirt, too.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Huh?”

“Well, uh…” He cleared his throat. The slight embarrassment of his sentimentality made him flustered. “Ya know, I… mighta taken that white shirt with me.” Another pang of guilt knocked the wind out of him. He had taken one of your favorite shirts, for his own benefit, what kind of man was he? “I’m sorry. I shoulda asked, or—”

You laughed and squeezed him tight, nestling your head in his shoulder to kiss the junction of his neck. “That’s so sweet,” you said, choking up once again. “Sweetheart, do you have any idea how crazy I was, tearing this place apart looking for my blouse? I thought it just… grew legs and walked out of here, never to be seen again.”

“Well, I kept it in perfect condition,” he said. “Good as new. No stains, no rips, nothin’. Like it never left.”

~

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~

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[thelibrarian1895]

Bats and Time Travel

First, a disclaimer, I have only some minimal level of Booster Gold knowledge.

That being said, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that detective work isn't his strong suit, or the strong suit of most time travelers. Why would it be when they can just peak into the past and see what happened? So when something comes up and it's less straightforward than obvious bad guy needs a beating, Booster is at least smart enough to get expert help. On occasion that expert help has to go through time with him. He has to be very careful with this because no one wants another Flashpoint and he doesn't want to clean up any time shenanigans. The same goes for any other time related incident.

Bats are, of course, the go to for anyone who needs expert detective assistance. You can generally just grab any Bat and they can fill in as a detective though some are happier about it than others. Some are also more suited to time travel than others.

Batman works out well enough. He can be more or less trusted not to go off and mess with the timestream and cause some sort of catastrophe that takes forever to fix. Things get a little dicey if any case brings the Bat around Gotham or near one of his kids in the past. It becomes an exercise of restraint for both involved because B very much wants to go to his child and protect them/lecture them/hug them depending on the timeframe or at bare minimum loom over them. Booster has to sometimes physically get in the way to stop this. It doesn't always work. B is at least polite enough to fix the mess. Batman has trouble with alternate universe or alternate timeline adventures since he has to so often beat other versions of himself up and comes back extra broody. His family appreciate when he gets to the self reflection and determination to improve part after he's done brooding.

Nightwing is good to work with during time related incidents. Very professional, very cheerful, but still kept out of Gotham and very reluctantly kept from his past self because Nightwing really wants to give his past self a pep talk more often than not. Nightwing has, however, written letters for his past self that has resulted in a few branching new timelines or a mess that he was polite enough to help fix. Nightwing is allowed on alternate universe adventures which lets him give those pep talks to himself that he knew he desperately needed/wanted at those various ages.

Red Hood is not allowed on time travel cases because Jason has poor impulse control and has on more than one occasion killed someone who would commit a terrible crime in the future and ended up causing decades worth of a mess that needed to be cleaned up. He is responsible enough to fix his own messes and is only allowed now in alternate universe adventures. He's good at alternate universe adventures and they've helped him remember to rely less on hearsay and more on solid evidence.

Red Robin is Booster's favorite to work with because the kid can be snarky if caught in the right mood and the worst he has to worry about Red Robin when it comes to damaging the timeline is Red Robin taking pictures of various incidents. Red Robin is also polite enough to direct all attention Booster's way which appeases Booster's attention seeking nature. This is how Tim has the best collection of Batman tripping on his cape pictures and other similarly embarrassing incidents of his friends and family. Tim is allowed on alternate universe adventures and again returns with more pictures that his friends and family can't prove aren't them. He is developing an alternate tim support group to try to prevent additional gun batmen timelines. And, as he tells his brothers on occasion, so he can have intelligent conversation with family when Cassandra is away.

Black Bat would be Booster's favorite to work with except he's extremely intimidated by her, even more so than he can be by Batman. She has deliberately allowed herself to be seen in the past on occasion and those sightings in certain conspiracy forums as a cryptid. She's very proud of it. She is also a cryptid in other alternate timelines but is no longer allowed to go to alternate timelines after she has had to be restrained from adopting/kidnapping alternate versions of her younger self or her siblings.

Spoiler is also not allowed on time travel cases for the same reason as Jason, poor impulse control. She may have set off glitter bombs that resulted in a timeline mess almost as impossible to clean up after as the glitter. Her ability to help with alternate universe adventures is under review because, again, glitter bombs.

Robin aka Damian has worked in a timestream case once and came back with a dodo bird. Booster is glad that the kid allowed himself to be persuaded that there wasn't enough room to bring back the mastodon. He is not allowed to work on timestream cases until he can be trusted not to come back with extinct species. He is also not allowed to go on alternate universe adventures after he came back with another dragon bat he has named Desdemona.

Signal takes advantage of timestream adventures to fact check the crazy nonsense his siblings have told him. Booster likes the kid well enough and the invisibility does make things easier at times. The only reason he's not Booster's preferred Bat is because Signal is more naturally charismatic and people pay more attention to him than to Booster and also Signal needs to work on his confidence in his detective skills. He gets migraines dealing with alternate universe adventures and so tries to avoid them when possible.

Alfred has gone on ONE timestream adventure. Booster does not speak of the adventure. Alfred will just smile slightly if asked. Alfred is not allowed on alternate universe adventures because the Bats in his home universe get sullen and withdrawn without him and at least one kitchen fire will occur. His alternate selves are also possessive of their respective kitchens and do not appreciate intruders, even if the intruders are themselves.

#bruce wayne #tim drake #batman #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #damian wayne #stephanie brown #batfam #alfred pennyworth #booster gold #dcu #dc comics #cassandra wayne #duke thomas #signal dc #red robin #red hood #nightwing

[themirroredmoon]

Different Ways to Develop Your Intuition

1. Meditate. Messages from your intuition tend to be quiet, so spending time in silence will help you hear and interpret these messages.

2. Start noticing all that you can with your five conventional senses. Doing so can raise your sensitivity to your sixth sense.

3. Pay attention to your dreams. When the cognitive mind is busy, it can override the intuitive right brain and the subconscious mind, the wellspring of intuition. But when you're sleeping, your cognitive mind rests and opens space for the subconscious mind to signal you in dreams.

4. Get creative. Engaging in creative activities, such as drawing, scrapbooking, or free-flow journaling, quiets the cognitive mind and allows your intuition to speak up.

5. Divination. Learn to use a tarot deck, or try a deck of oracle cards, and interpret the card's messages for yourself before you consult a guidebook.

6. Test your hunches. Got a feeling which horse will win at the track? Getting a sense that it will rain tomorrow even though the weather forecast says it won't? Do you just know your best friend's new guy is bad news? If you have feelings about what might happen in the future, write down your hunches, then check them later. See how often you were right.

7. Consult your body compass. Your intuition speaks to you through your body, and the more you cultivate somatic awareness, the more sensitive you become. If you get an uncomfortable physical feeling when you're trying to make a decision, pay attention. Do you feel light or heavy? Got a sick feeling in your gut? Saddled with a headache or diarrhea? It could just be the result of stress responses activated by false fear, but it could also be your intuition ringing loud and clear.

8. Escape from your daily routine. Get away. Slow down. Go on a retreat, take a sabbatical, or just spend a day in new surroundings with nothing planned. When you're overly busy, it's hard to be sensitive to the quiet voices of intuition. Try clearing your schedule and see if your intuition pipes up.

9. Spend time in nature. Being in the natural world, away from technology and the cognitive mind's other temptations, can open up the kind of intuition we needed when we as a species lived outdoors and relied upon it to keep us safe from the elements, predators, and other true fear dangers.

10. Learn from the past. Recall a negative experience from your past, ideally something fairly recent. Before this thing happened, think back to whether you got any feelings that urged you to steer clear. Maybe you got a gut feeling something wasn't right. Maybe you had a foreshadowing dream or a vision. If so, did you pay attention to that feeling, dream, or vision, or did you talk yourself out of it? Try to remember exactly how you felt. Recall as many details as possible. The more you can get in touch with the part of you that tried to warn you, the more you'll trust it next time.

11. Feel more, think less. The mind thinks, always chattering away, arguing with itself like a crazy person. Intuition, on the other hand, feels. If you're not sure whether you're listening to your fearful mind or your trustworthy intuition, see if you can differentiate whether you're thinking or feeling.

12. Engage in repetitive movement. Run. Dance. Chop carrots. Play the piano. Paint. These physical actions can calm the cognitive mind and open up your intuition.

13. Align with your values. Your mind may steer you away from your integrity, but your intuition never will. Become comfortable with how you feel when you're betraying your values, and you'll learn what intuition doesn't feel like. Learn what it feels like to behave in alignment with your values, and you'll start to sense your intuition more clearly.

14. Practice sensing people before you know them. See what kind of information you can glean from observing people and feeling their energetic signature before you talk to them or learn anything about them from other people. The more you pay attention, the more you'll realize you already know things you couldn't possibly know with the cognitive mind.

15. Release your resistance. Don't call yourself crazy when you get an intuitive hunch. Often, the cognitive mind argues with intuition rather than trusting it. By doing this, you may rationalize yourself out of intuitive knowing that could change your life for the better.

16. Breathwork practice. Breathwork- the intentional manipulation of the breath- can yield powerful insights very quickly. Tomorrow will be the post about this point specifically.

#witch #witches #witchy #witchery #witchcraft #witches of the world #witches of tumblr #witches of instagram #witches of tiktok #beginner witch #witch beginner #baby witch #pagan #pagans #paganism #pagan witch #Pagans of Tumblr #pagans of instagram #pagans of the world #pagans of tiktok #spell #spells #spellcaster #spellcraft #pagan beginner #beginner pagan #spellbook #book of shadows #book of secrets #intuition

[unhappytimeleaper]

Hii can I request yandere Mika hcs please?

requested by anonymous

Word Count; 4,200

Okay, so requests for just general headcanons are hard for me because usually there is just so much I could go off of. I tried my best to whittle down this to where it wasn’t overwhelming but still enough to capture the main points of what I wanted. I ended up cutting out some ideas because I couldn’t keep writing; I wanted to edit and finish this. I’m sorry. 

Also p.s. I’m a very small account with less than 150 followers. I only get notes occasionally, and I say this because I still regularly have minors interact, and I will instantly be able to see that and block you. I’m 100% aware the bigger accounts grow, the harder it can be for one person to check, but none of you are being sneaky, and I don’t care about likes/reblogs enough to let it slide. Go away. I don’t like you if you are actively a minor trying to save my work. If you can read all 4,000 words of this, you can read where it says don’t interact if under Seventeen. Even while getting ready to post this I had an ageless blog like my last post like no.  

Kagehira Mika; Unedited. Gender Neutral Reader.

CW; this is a clusterfuck. Yandere everything. Stalking, jealousy, unsolicited photography, stealing, manipulation, violence [against Mika, not reader], isolation, potential kidnapping, power imbalances, paranoia, other characters enabling yandere’s actions, and dismissal of feelings. Some moments can be read with lewd intentions, though never explicitly stated. Seriously it just has it all.

This blog is 17+ please have your age in your bio or tagged; any ageless blog and below the age asked for will be blocked at the end of the week.

For a general setup, Mika is. Well, a contradiction in many ways. The best way to put it is just as how others describe him, cat-like. It’s never to say Mika thinks he’s above you, consistently battling himself with the idea of being human over something like a doll, but for someone so ‘below’ you metaphorically, he pulls the strings. In the case of you, his extent of creepy actions, his stalking tendencies, and overall jealousy trap you in the strings of the marionette this time. For someone so below you as he claims, why does he have the power? Why does he not listen to you if he claims you have control over him? Cat-like— pets who rely on humans to bend to their needs and take care of them but still are more of a type to “run a household” rather than wait for the owner to come to them. 

A good example is, say, isolation; you explain to him keeping you alone with little interaction outside of him (and maybe minimal time with Shu or Ritsu) isn’t good; it isn’t healthy. Just a little time together in public, you don’t even need to go alone, just need to stretch and feel the bare sun on your skin even for a few moments; he loves you, right? He cares for you, so this would be better for both of you. He’s so weak-willed and eager to please you for a moment you think he’d easily comply, but it doesn’t work. It sends him more into a panicked frenzy, clinging and cuddling, making all sorts of claims that move too fast to rebuttal. It’s dizzying, and in the end, he remains the one truly in power despite his remarks about being only for your needs. 

Of course, the main this is despite his contradictions in power, overall, he does genuinely often seek to please you. Make no mistake that despite being the one with the upper hand in terms of your future, you still can easily live a life of semi-normalcy if you play your cards right. And even if things get to the extreme, like fully isolated, Mika will bend fate to bring you nearly anything you would ask for. And if he can’t get it, he’ll try anything he can to make it. 

Now to argue, the reasoning behind Mika’s tendencies is pretty apparent. The rooted abandonment issues are a crucial factor, it drives most of his fears and creates logic as to why he feels the need to lock onto people so intensely. He’s a rooted stalker, a mix between being extremely open with it and completely hidden, taking photos constantly without your knowledge, willing to collect all sorts of trash or items he can get his hands on, break-in, and more. There basically isn’t a stone unturned where Mika hasn’t been. Even more part of this comes in despite a fear of talking to strangers; he will threaten them for being ‘too friendly’ and say you two are together even if you aren’t, almost always driving people away from you. This can be found in Mika’s delusional nature of having conversations which he thinks are you giving advice or others telling him, much like how he fantasizes about conversations with Shu when looking for answers to projects. Some of this is attributed to Mika being well aware his emotions are almost always in control. 

Regarding you and others interacting, Mika primarily runs on autopilot. He might not even recall what he says to them; it’s a mix of emotion and adrenaline running the show. The final reason for his tendencies is trying to break out of being a doll. He does have feelings, wants, and desires that he should work to fulfill rather than always being just a doll told everything. It’s a lot of weight and pressure, and one of the things that comes with that is the human desire for love. For attention and validation on a deeper scale, something that the human side eventually craves from you. No longer does he just want to be a doll that falls into the corner waiting to be molded; he knows that as a human, these are things that come with it— even if profoundly misplaced. And as away the human side doesn’t take away from his more meek, submissive attitude that came with a doll mentality, at least not entirely, but it is what makes him realize more the nature of his desires. 

And as mentioned, Mika is… well, gross. Not in a literal sense, okay, maybe slightly literally in the thoughts and extreme hoarding of items he might be willing to take, but it’s more than that. Mika pushes the acceptable bounties; he has little and runs purely on emotions and whims— they control him. His actions are horrendously creepy at times, and his delusions push him to do things that just come off as disturbing. The tragic downside is ES isn’t an ordinary place with ordinary people. The majority of those around him come off more as enablers or too busy to care in the hustle of idol life. Examples being are Shu, Ritsu, and Arashi, all being helpless enablers to Mika and doing little to genuinely help you if it means Mika’s happiness. Cosmic Productions doesn’t care; as long as Valkyrie brings in revenue, then you’re just collateral damage and other companies at ES have little awareness of the reality going in the department. Not to mention I don’t think Crazy:B or Eden has the best members to speak on the subject, with 2wink being the most reasonable you could go to, but often they have enough going on it’s hard to seek solace in them.

And the last main general note is that while things would never be easy and life would always have some level of undertones of there being something wrong seeping from under the surface, Mika is one where you could get away with not being kidnapped and isolated. This doesn’t remove any general problems or underlying creepiness, it might even make it worse, but the idea of available yet moderated freedom might be better than nothing. Nearly all of your attention still needs to go to Mika, and if you would be to play the role of a partner to him, having the chance to still semi-function outside of being locked in some rooms might be a better alternative. This does stems from the fact Mika is willing to bend for you, as long as you comply with parts of his affection even for show. It also doesn’t dilute any aspects like stalking or stealing. But unless there is only full-out rejection of everything, would Mika likely turn to Shu or Ritsu for advice which would supply kidnapping as an alternative route (those little shits). It’s not easy for Mika to transport you to the dorm or Shu’s apartment to keep you locked up, and as mentioned, once isolated, getting Mika to let up and let you leave is nearly nonexistent even if you begin to return his advances (both for show or genuine). Overall, this is to say kidnapping is never a guaranteed ending with Mika, unlike with many others but not ever out of the question either. It can come very suddenly and always a looming presence if you aren’t willing to give into Mika’s fantasies. 

Okay, so that is the central portion. Now some more miscellaneous items. 

For one, Mika genuinely doesn’t mind if you use violence against him. Not saying he wants it necessarily; it’s not some masochistic desire to be hit, kicked, and generally beaten by you. But it doesn’t serve as a functional way to get him to stop or go away. He is essentially any attention is still attention. You’re mistaken if you think that while he is crying, clawing at your legs and hips for attention, a quick slap or kick to get him to let go will work. It might somehow many him latch on harder, claiming that it’s okay, you can do it again, it helps you calm down, just let him stay. Keep giving him the attention, the validation. And even worse this behavior is something Mika is willing to do in public if pushed or called out enough. Any terms of thinking you’re abandoning or leaving him creates an overdrive in him, quickly transforming into someone willing to beg to keep you around. In public, it’s made worse because not only does he look like the one being hurt by you— he’s an idol. Well-known one too, and if something terrible happens to him, it will only come back and hurt you. Either through die-hard fans or the company scolding you. Violence not only spurs Mika more but damages your livelihood in the bigger picture, making it null any tactic to help with the burden of Mika’s tendencies. 

However, this extends to one important thing. Your actions don’t really hurt Mika? Even on a physical level. It’s well noted Mika has an extremely high pain tolerance and that it would take a lot for him to acknowledge something hurting him in a way that would temporarily take him out. He doesn’t mind being physically hurt not only because it has some power dynamics and he’s doing anything to please you, but even in the case there is that contraction of him still having the upper hand. He gives you the permission to hit or kick him, likely because he has an awareness of being able to take it without it limiting his hold on you and still giving that outlet to you. Even if these are subconscious choices, it’s unsettling how much control he still has between his physicality benefits, idol career, and connections. Mika truly is a powerhouse in this way, and violence to him practically cannot solve anything as a means of escape, even if he offers it as stress relief or punishment to himself. 

Another big thing for Mika is forgetting the past and focusing on the future. There was before you, and then there is now. Anything before does not matter, and in a sense, he sort of expects this from you as well. Ex-partners, ex-crushes, ex-situation-ships; none of those matter now that he is here, and you better feel the same of these things being ‘dead.’ Photos or any other sentimental item need to be wiped away, and your mind shouldn’t need to wander back to them because you have something more now and forever. This idea of focusing on the future/now also relates to how many delusions and ideas for how things will work out between you in the long term. Marriage, starting a family, domestic life as a whole— Mika spends much of his time picturing and creating pieces that inspire him of this future as well as daydreaming of what life could become no longer attached to his past. 

Some more quick round-head canons; Mika will fill up notebooks and writing your name and his name. Pretty much any cross-over you can think of. Just your name with hearts, your name and his name with hearts, your first name and his last name, his first name and your last name, a teased ship name given from Arashi— the list can go on. It’s scribbled messily, and other times written with such extreme care. It’s only loose papers and trash, on his sketch designs and doodled with his finger on tables. Not only does he do it as a practice of his handwriting and the love of seeing your name written with that, but the combinations he can make feel like a validation of the closeness he has. Much like any early crush, it’s some comfort level of daydreaming— regardless of the actual proximity you have with one another. Also yes, he will lose loose pages and if you don’t know what he’s doing it’s very creepy the first few times. Or hundred. The amount of times he writes your names together is beyond comfort; very heavily boarding on obsessive. 

Mika is also not great at conversations, with mostly everyone but the awkwardness is pushed even more with you. There is too much pressure, and his feelings run in such high control that it often comes out as a mix of self-deprecating, worshipping you, and trying to act like a normal mess. It’s almost always awkward even if you try to ease him and are kind, and it does kinda become worse the longer it goes on because this is when his stalking, photography, and niche personal things become apparent in conversations. If you didn’t think he was stalking you beforehand or at least didn’t catch him, you’d be given many hints the more he talks to you. This extends from the fact he does everything possible to get materials and content he knows interests you. Even if you think it’s something knows one would know you like, Mika does somehow and will in passing bring it up in the weirdest form of trying to have a casual conversation. Books, CDs, and TV shows and stuff are all a part of his hoarding connection about you simply because you like it.  Even if it never would be something he’d look up on his own, he’d do anything to connect and relate even more to you. There never is any proof you can’t call him out other than having suspicions which, once again, little to anyone would take seriously, but you can’t help but feel Mika knows more than he is truly letting on. 

Will do any and everything for you if he can; carrying items, buying you things, cleaning stuff— of course, be careful asking him for this because he might take advantage of you letting him get this close to such personal tasks— but there never is anything he doesn’t offer to do. Idol work might get in the way, though, he can’t neglect his job, but any other time he is on your heels, waiting to do anything he can for you. And sure, at first, it’s nice. It lifts some burdens or comes off as Mika being Mika offering to give more than needed to anyone. But buying you things often comes off with a strange energy radiating off of them, even if there is seemingly nothing wrong. Him cleaning or doing simple domestic tasks, such as laundry, ends up with some things being missing or damaged. You notice so many other weird things in your apartment if he offers to clean. And carrying items,  while seemly harmless, still just makes your stomach churn. He fully just shows up out of nowhere on the most random shopping tasks offering his help and pushing closer and closer to you. What once was Mika feeling like his strange but overall kind, sweet nature stepping up to help an overworked staff member turns exhausting, skin-crawling offer. Even if he usually looks all sweet and innocent offering. Damn, the fact he does have some cuteness charm regardless of his actions. 

Arashi coming in clutch again being an enabler to Mika!! Upon teaching Mika about selfies and the momentum of photos… Mika gets a little too on board with this. He takes photos whenever he can, both blurry and crisp, highly focused or landscape of you, anywhere and everywhere. There are so many pictures he has and collects, often finding it hard to delete any one of them because there is something special attached to each one. Selfies and other photos he can get with you, either to your knowledge or without it are probably the most important to his collections. The second ones are those that either are from dates or situations that Mika dates. He is willing to print them off and keep them all over, even having dedicated spaces and boxes of printed photos or simply made posters. There would probably be some specific photo he becomes horrendously attached to as well, much like having one of Shu he constantly uses to talk to or seek advice from. 

The reason to account for the photos is because, as I’ve touched on, Mika is a filthy hoarder. He will legitimately take whatever he can get his hands on if he thinks it has some value to you. While I think depending on the item, particular trash isn’t seen as valuable or limited value others have much more. For example, plastic utensils aren’t valued at much; you used it once and then got rid of them, which has very little value to you. But say a silverware from your kitchen, chopsticks/spoon/whatever you use daily, has that value level and is worth wanting to keep for his own use. If you wear makeup, an empty lipstick/chapstick tube will be more sentimental or valued than a used tissue. This can also be found in the fact he’s mainly sharing spaces. While he still is a hoarder and does his best to keep his collection out of the main sight or in a place that isn’t easily accessed, there is always a chance someone could come to clean out those spaces. Something like a tissue is more likely to get loaded and thrown away, while Mika could better justify a chapstick holder as being able to be kept. This doesn’t change the fact that he is able and willing to collect a lot of gross things, such as well willing to have a container of bath water of yours if he could easily get it or an old notebook you might forget about. Even if it’s just work notes, he’d take it. And Mika might sometimes try to get rid of parts of his collection until he can secure a long-term and connected relationship with you, such as living together; it’s hard for him to part with anything of yours. These items are fucking everywhere too. His dorm, Shu’s apartment, the sewing station, and his area at CosPro. You might even see things you thought you lost just lying around and be able to “steal” them back with how prolific his hoarding is scattered. 

Clothing is the one thing; sadly, you will probably never get back, or at least if you could not in its original form. Mika loves, even obsessively, uses scraps and parts of your clothing in his. Even in the costumes for Valkyrie if he can, so there is a piece of you on stage with him. His use for upcycling extends back to his past, needing to take clothes and items from the trash to even have things of his own to wear, but now it feels much more special. This is rewriting all of the stigma and pain he carried of having nothing more than trash clothes— discarded by people just as he was. Sure, this clothes was stolen and didn’t have your permission to use, but it has the comfort woven into its threads. It smells like you and has the texture from how you cared for it when you washed it. It has the stains and memories of you, the feeling of someone being so loved by you it’s clearly ready to be thrown out finally, so it’s perfect if he repurposes it. He never takes too much, and if you have a clear favorite item Mika knows not to take it; maybe steal it from the wash pile and use it as a pillow cover for a bit, but always have it returned as well. At that time he’d fantasy the domestic life of being together, where he could openly wear his upcycled material of your clothes patched together [and you can wear them too!]. Or where he can take your clothes and wear them without shame or worry of getting them back on time, and the comments you’d make seeing him in your stuff. All of the fantasies turn him bright red, and even the next day, when you greet him, he looks a little more flushed than usual around you.

However yes, many things go missing, but they are often just as much replaced. Simple things are replaced with Mika spending his own money and then finding ways to either customize or make it so the item is uniquely tied to the two of you. Certain things also have trackers in them, but most are just decorative in some way. You remember how you lost your favorite pair of chopsticks when you brought your own lunch that one day. Weirdly enough the next day a new pair ended up in your bag but one bejeweled on the handle to match a particular sewer’s aesthetic while the other matched yours. Or hair clips that you once got as decorative jokes for a photo you and your friends had been planning; you figured you just misplaced them but these new ones you found are nothing like the previous ones aesthetic… If you look too long in a shop at clothing or accessories Mika might not always be able to buy them due to expenses buts he’s well quick to make them, even with the added benefit of it being tailored now specifically to how you prefer. They always end up at your desk so neatly packaged, many coworkers assume it’s perhaps brands trying to get cozy with you for future deals with idol groups but these aren’t the same as what you saw in the window. No, these are too perfect for you to be just any run-of-the-mill store item. The even more unsettling part is how this person managed to get your measurements so spot on if not for measuring you in your sleep. 

There is also one specific way Mika would get caught for the more,, creepy actions. You’d know he could be a bit of a stalker. He has his moments where it’s oblivious he’s following you or others but those always come off more like a kicked puppy trying to follow someone home rather than malicious. Like he wants to interact, but internal conflict holds him back so much he forgets where he is until he is slightly too far behind and stumbles to keep up. If he really wants to stalk, Mika can keep himself hidden. There are other times all his other more ‘bizarre’ actions are qualified as Mika being Mika, like being fatigued after bouts of practice and finding his way to your desk out of habit in hopes to see you rather than going and getting medical attention/rest, or coming to hover around your desk for inspiration like a cat. If you aren’t there, usually you see cheap candies on your desk as a reminder he was there and is probably off looking for you or went back to the workstation much more disappointed than before. For the most part conversation with Mika, you might not lead to believe anything is deeply wrong with his infatuation levels. He’s always spoken weirdly with his doll-like commentary and the idea of letting others “control” him such as Shu and you. Or that his comments tend to come from a lack of understanding rather than outright trying to harm, so you do your best to guide him in topics. You’ve always known his emotional state can be complex, and his childhood likely made it hard to process feelings, resulting him them dominating his sense of self and backfiring into making them more unsettling than maybe he intended [of course while Mika’s perception of the events being vastly different]. All of these would change when you awake in the middle of the night hearing stumbling in your apartment. The first few times you hear a thump or grunt, you believe it’s just your sleepy brain making up stuff. It’s unsettling, and you always can feel your heart rate spike, but you don’t have anything to assume there is something wrong. But it often continues and you’re getting worried. Everything comes rushing into a close of an era when you manage to shake yourself awake one night, hearing a whine from the floor by your bed only to see a mass of dark hair and clothes. None other than Mika, watching you in your sleep— or well trying. 

See while Mika would love to use the nighttime to stalk around your apartment and get things done… his case of night blindness makes it much harder. Walking into walls or furniture, tripping over a bag that wasn’t always there, or simply leaning in too close that he bonked his head into your trying to look at your face before diving under your bed as to tousle around. It never really hurts, but he does let out a startled noise, or the falling is enough to cause a loud sound. But now, you’ve caught him in the act. And many questions are bound to follow in the morning, ones neither of you can escape from. Finding out Mika’s habits won’t change the outcome for him too much; what will is how you choose to follow but it doesn’t matter. He’ll find a way to be around in your life more no matter how you respond. 

#enstars.leaps #yandere #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere ensemble stars #yandere enstars #Yandere mika #Yandere Mika Kagehira #mika kagehira #Yandere Valkyrie #tw: yandere #tw: stalking #tw: isolation #cw: violence #tw: manipulation #tw: paranoia

[rhaenall]

Warning, this is super long but I think the reason so many people think of Shiv as the favorite is more about how "favorite" is defined and from what perspective we’re examining “favorite.”

I think there’s a pretty solid argument that, in-universe, the Roy’s generally see Shiv as Logan’s “favorite” where favorite means the child he “likes” most and treats “preferentially.” As a preface, Brian Cox has pretty consistently said Shiv is Logan's favorite in interviews. While fans and viewers are free to take or leave an actor’s extra-textual viewpoint as they wish, I think it has both been influential from a fanon perspective and provides a view into Logan’s thought process.

What I mean by that is that Logan probably thinks of Shiv as his favorite, partly because Logan's views towards Shiv are (at least initially) less complicated than his views towards his sons. As Shiv said in Episode 3x09, Logan thinks there’s something wrong with Roman and he has a dichotomous love-hate relationship with Kendall. By contrast, Logan thinks of Shiv as his little Pinky, there’s nothing competitive about the relationship because she’s not another Man coming to usurp him and he can’t comprehend the whole of her as a full and complex person due to his own misogyny. As the only girl, his relationship with her is inherently unique and, I’d argue, in some ways inherently limited by her gender. Shiv is someone he can afford to let in because she’ll never be a Son and therefore, will never really be a rival (or a disappointment as a Man).

I think we get a bit of a sense of this in Episode 2x08, where Logan seeks out Shiv’s assurance that he’s making the right decision about announcing Rhea. There’s a kind of emotional reliance there that Logan can show Shiv that I don’t think he could have really show Kendall or Roman by virtue of their being men. It’s not dissimilar to how he relies on Marcia earlier in the season. It almost gives the illusion of tenderness, but in other ways simultaneously dismisses Shiv as a potential Heir herself, even though that’s the whole paradigm she’s been operating under this season.  That reliance and psedo-emotional closeness (as well as Shiv being out of the company for the majority of her life) allows for their relationship to function differently then any relationship he has with his other children and potentially to connect with each other (see Shiv’s speech that same episode where it’s clear they really do get each other in a way).

By virtue of this unique relationship, I think the rest of the family (mostly Roman, Kendall, and Caroline) view Shiv as Logan’s “favorite” as well.  This is potentially evidenced in some of Kendall’s lines in Episode 1x02 (I say potentially because everyone is speaking from places of mixed motives haha). Thus, by certain in-universe metrics, Shiv is Logan’s favorite.

As viewers however, our view of “favorite” may differ from those of the characters in the show. If we think of Logan’s “favorite” as the child Logan lets in the most re the business, or thinks about the most, or spends the most time with, or brings into his inner circle most frequently – then the “favorite” may be Kendall.

I think it’s pretty indisputable that Logan has uniquely weird relationships with all of his kids but at least where Kendall is concerned there’s an intense kind of possessiveness involved. Putting aside how wild it is to tap a seven-year-old as the future CEO of a public company that will have a market cap in excess of $40b, Logan seems super interested in involving himself in basically every aspect of Kendall’s life. We see in the pilot episode that he’s always trying to get his kids in the company (and exercise some level of procession that way), but it extends beyond that with Kendall (see for example all of Season 2 and large parts of Season 1and 3 haha).

At least until the start of the show, I think the implication is Logan has been dedicated to molding Kendall in his image as his heir, largely without meaningful competition from his siblings. However, one of the things that I think keeps Logan from thinking of Kendall as being his “favorite” even though he holds the title of Heir, is that Kendall is a massive disappointment to Logan because he can never live up to that title. Part of this is just, no one can live up to Logan’s standard because it’s a constantly changing standard (he is after all a human gaslight) but the other part is that Kendall is, at his core, a vastly different person from Logan. They don’t think the same. And on top of that, because Kendall has been trying to absorb and learn how to be whatever it is Logan seems to want, he keeps either attempting to emulate Logan poorly because, as stated, they’re different people, or he tries to grow and do his own thing which Logan inherently dislikes either because it’s not Logan’s way or he views it as competition which is unacceptable from one of his children.

To me, in many ways, Kendall is Logan’s great contradiction – love and hate in equal measure with a toxic co-dependance swirling throughout due to the sheer amount of time and energy that’s gone into molding Ken to be more like Logan and Kendall’s desperate attempt to shove himself into a mold that doesn’t fit.

Now for how this further fits into the “favorite” discussion, I don’t think Kendall views himself as the favorite. I think this is in part because the grass is always greener and from where Ken is standing – Shiv’s pasture looks far nicer than his (and Roman’s but that’s a whole other thing). However, I also kind of think that because Kendall is so constantly in Logan’s orbit, he doesn’t really think about this favorite thing too much (or at least not in those terms).

From Shiv’s perspective though, I think she’s much more keyed into the reality that Logan’s view of her is not in fact “better” but a massive disservice to her potential and I think she does clock that there’s a connection with Kendall that she cannot be part of in a way that makes any favoritism she gets meaningless. All of which is to say, I think Shiv understands she’s in a unique position with her Dad as the girl and the baby, and that to some extent others view her as a Daddy’s Girl. But I think she also has identified that Ken is the one who’s got Daddy’s attention more than not and although she may be called the “favorite” in many ways, Ken gets to “matter” in a way she can’t.

 So all of this to say…I think Shiv is technically the “favorite” but that Kendall is practically the “favorite” or the one who “matters– it’s all about how you define it and which perspectives you’re adopting.

(Also, one final note on Logan’s feeling around Shiv – there’s also probably some deeply mixed-up subconscious association between Rose, the younger sister he lost and carried guilt about for forever, and Shiv, his only daughter (and the only child that seems to physically take after his side of the family) that may also be at play here. I’m still kind of thinking through how all of that fits together…)

WHO SEND THIS?€;&::&&: (/positive)

I appreciate it, I read it all. Really lovely thoughts and ideas.

I didn’t know about Brian Cox’s thoughts on this matter. I think I am only aware of Jeremy’s and Sarah Snook’ thoughts on their characters/season 4.

But yes I can definitely see why there is conflicting answers about the favorite.

Thank you, anon! This is Appreciated

#kendall roy #shiv roy #succession

[brienneoftarth1989]

Yes Captain part 8

Captain Phasma x fem reader

Previous / next / series

Summary: when you were finally allowed to leave the infirmary Phasma told you that you would be staying with her for the foreseeable future.

Warnings: hospital recovery, fluff

Requests open

———————————

You have been in hospital for the last 8 months and the whole experience was torturous. Learning how to walk again has been a frustrating experience in itself. First you had to gain strength in your legs by doing these exercises. The pain caused in the first few weeks was horrible. One leg was in pain because you had been stabbed in it and the other leg was in pain because it was completely mangled when you crashed.

Then came the standing exercises. You had to stand for a certain period of time before being allowed to sit down. At first you obviously needed support from others and the surrounding area but as time went on you relied less and less on everyone and everything. When you were finally able to stand on your own you felt like you had overcome this huge mountain.

That was when it dawned on you, learning to stand was one thing, you still needed to learn to walk and this battle was nowhere near over. Even though you had overcome this huge challenge you felt like it still wasn’t enough and that you would never get around to walking.

Throughout this time Phasma still hadn’t left your side. She stayed with you each day and night and was there through the whole process of you trying to walk. Unfortunately she normally got the receiving end of your anger and frustration of learning to walk however she never showed that it was bothering her.

You were grateful that Phasma had decided to stick around because deep down you knew that without her you wouldn’t be where you were now. You would most likely still be in your hospital bed telling yourself you couldn’t do it. Thankfully with Phasma’s motivation you were finally able to walk again.

Aside from learning to walk you also had to get back physical strength elsewhere in your body as well as trying to gain some control over your memory loss. There are still some areas that are a bit patchy but you were lucky to have gained back most of your memory.

The doctors said you were lucky that this was the only type of brain injury that occurred because considering you died twice on the table the impact that it had should have been a lot worse. You were just a lucky person.

Today was the day that you would go home, finally getting to leave the hospital. You were scared but also excited. You were scared because you obviously didn’t know how well you were going to cope on your own. You had spent the last months with someone constantly by your side whether that was Phasma or the nurses.

You didn’t know how well you were going to cope but unfortunately was going to be something that you had to overcome. Although the anxiety was there you were definitely excited to be finally leaving this place. You loved everyone that cared for you but you really were looking forward to being able to live your own life again.

You were currently sitting in your room on your own, enjoying your own company. One of your favourite members of staff had just entered your room to bring you your breakfast. “So are you excited to be going home today?” they asked you as they placed your food in front of you. “I definitely am. I am sick of this hospital food” you laughed which caused them to laugh.

“Yh I don’t really blame you there. The food isn’t the best and I’m the one that serves it” they laughed which caused you to let out a little giggle. “Well I better be getting back to work. These people definitely won’t be feeding themselves” they laughed as they made their way back to their trolley before heading down the corridor.

You happily ate your sad breakfast. You couldn’t wait to have a proper breakfast. You looked around your room and seeing it bare and back to normal made you feel a number of things. Phasma had packed your bags that she had brought in when you first arrived at the hospital. They were all piled in a corner ready to go back to your room. Well most of them were. Phasma had already started taking them back to your room as she knew you wouldn’t be able to carry any of them.

You waited around in your room for most of the morning before one of the doctors finally came round to see you so they could discharge you. While you were waiting Phasma had managed to make a number of trips before finally leaving about 10 minutes ago with the last couple of bags and she just so happened to arrive at the same time the doctor had shown up to talk to you about going home.

Phasma sat down next to you to await to see what the doctor had to say about you going home. “Ok, so upon reviewing everything you are now in a suitable position to be going home. We are going to issue you a wheelchair as well as a walking stick. This is just so if you have days where it is getting too much you have the options to use them if need be. You will need to go to physiotherapy once a week to continue to build strength in your legs as well as weekly counselling to deal with any trauma” they said as they handed over the paper for you to sign.

You quickly had a read over the paperwork that had been handed to you before signing your name at the bottom to confirm you were being discharged. With the doctor happy with everything he turned to you one final time to ask you one last question. “So, who will you be staying with for the next few months?”

You gave him a look of confusion before answering. “What do you mean? I thought I would be going to be living in my quarters” you said to the doctor. The doctor looked at you before looking at Phasma. “I did mention it to her but she must have forgotten” Phasma said to the doctor. “Tell me what!” you shouted starting to get frustrated.

“Calm down, it’s alright. Basically you are going to be staying with me for a little while. It’s just so I can make sure you are safe and with your memory the way it is at the moment at least I will be able to keep an eye on you and I know you will be safe” she said as she crouched down so she was eye level with you.

You looked at Phasma before anger took over you. “Taking care of? I’m a grown adult! I don’t need to be babied. I just need to get on with my life. I want to be able to take care of myself!” you shouted before you started crying. “I know, I know, as soon as you are able to remember things without forgetting and your physio has finished then you can go back to living in your quarters. Trust me y/n I won’t be babying you. I will just be there if you need a hand” Phasma said as she caressed your hand.

Phasma was right as much as you hated to admit it. You needed help even if it was temporary. Phasma could see you were thinking. “Look y/n, as soon as you are in a position to look after yourself without being a danger to yourself then you can go back to living by yourself in your own quarters” she said looking at you trying to read your face.

You took a deep breath before sighing. “Fine. I will stay with you Phasma but as soon as I can look after myself properly I am going back to living by myself” you said quite quickly. “That is absolutely fine y/n but just know that you will always be welcome at my place” Phasma said with a little smile on their face. You couldn’t help but smile at her, she was too cute.

“Ok, I’m ready to go then” you sighed. Phasma helped you out of bed before helping you sit down in the wheelchair. “It’s a long way to walk with your walking stick so I’m going to wheel you back to my room. From there we will work on walking further and further with your stick as time goes forward” she said smiling at you once you were sitting in your chair.

“That’s fine. I’m pretty tired anyway. I don’t feel like walking that kind of distance just yet” you said as you relaxed back in your chair as Phasma pushed you out of the hospital room. You made your way down the corridors before finally leaving the hospital behind. All you had to do now was get to Phasma’s quarters. The good thing about having the hospital on the flagship meant that you didn’t have to travel too far.

As Phasma was pushing you down the hallway to her quarters she could tell you were feeling a bit depressed. “Hold on” she said as she started running down the hallways of the flagship. You gripped the side of the wheelchair as Phasma ran quicker and quicker. You couldn’t help but laugh as she ran down the halls. Maybe staying with Phasma for a little while might not be the end of the world. Deep down you were looking forward to what these next few months may bring you.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #fanfics #captain phasma #captain phasma x reader #phasma x y/n #phasma x reader #star wars #stormtrooper #fwb to lovers #flagship #fluff #injuried #learning to walk #hospital #recovery #yes captain #yes captain series #brienneoftarth1989

[maiko1]

Step siblings spending time with you day! (ft: kazuha, kamisato siblings, ragnvindr brothers. <bonus character: xiao, scaramouche>)

Kazuha

Free man indeed. I feel like everyday is spending time together with siblings when it comes to him.

U can't tell me he hands you a bug u didn't like to scare you, then he'll share a fact about them to make it less scary, though you still fear them u will try to overcome ur fear by coming closer to the bug while kazuha hiding behind a tree smiling.

Let you go on a adventure on a ship with beidou if u behave (you behave all the time and you often see beidou.)

Carry you randomly just to hear you whine about you being embarrassed to be piggy back by their older brother.

He won't ever use "step siblings" on you when he's introducing you to his friend.

"this is my siblings___" :D

"you two don't even look alike--"

"they're my siblings." :)

"whoa okay okay, they're ur siblings I guess."

Kamisato ayaka and ayato

"don't steal their boba ayato! We buyed you 2.."

You can't tell me (again) that he doesn't bully you to see you cry for fun. (typical brother)

Ayato probably dressed you up in a weird combo clothes and call it a unique style.

"thoma, great time. Take a good look at the clothes combo I did to __"

"o-oh waka, it looks amazing."

"im gonna be the greatest model in the future!!"

"oh yes you will"

Thoma made a doll that looks like you, ayato and ayaka and now it's your toys.

"im sorry ___ I'm not really the best at making dolls.." (hes lying)

"mine now." yes and now it belongs to you. Not even ur siblings can touch them.

Though they're so busy dealing with the clan, they would do anything to spend time with their little siblings.

Kaeya & diluc

Kaeya? Bully? Absolutely but yk he also pampered you. He likes to bite that mochi cheek of yours.

"what's for dinner?" diluc said confused since it's kaeya who wana cook dinner.

"today is a special menu. I introduce you... ____ chicken roast!"

(you dressed up like a chicken with carrot and a potato on ur hands)

"first of all, where did u get that costum- nvm don't ANSWER it. Second.. I thought u were gonna be serious about the dinner stuff. I even send adelinde home early today."

"oh..."

"oh oh! Maybe diluc can cook!!" you suggest.

"only this time."

Diluc? No he won't let you enter the tavern at all. After all you are still underage. "aww... Why does floaty cute paimon get to get inside while I can't ?!"

"because I trust her friend, traveler that she won't be drinking. Even paimon herself said she don't drink and only drink apple juice or sweet drink."

"so you don't trust me..?" oh god the guilt tripping...

"i- uh.... Ugh fine. You better behave or ill send jean to look after you." you giggled and nodded. Holding ur big brother hand to get inside made him smile.

If diluc is not available then kaeya is. If both of them are not available you would be sitting in a living room with adelinde comforting you. While they're doing their own work, they can't help but feel uneasy. Like something is missing. And that's where it hit them. It's siblings spend time together day.

Diluc was fast to get home since he can rely on his worker to cover his job, meanwhile kaeya would speed up and finish his work asap and went back home. There he will see diluc terribly comforting you while he took a deep breath and ready to spend a day with both of you.

Bonus!

Xiao

Siblings spend time together day? Absurd. Why would an adeptus let go of his work just to spend time together with you?

"brother.. where are we going?" you ask curious. "somewhere." - -

No no that won't work. They might be traumatised if they saw me kill some lame hilichurls. So what did he do? Put blindfold on you.

No!!! Ugh I am not having any idea. Why does this day even exist I can just send them to hu tao but no, hu tao will do a massive chaos if ____ is with her.

Ah. "lets play a game. Whoever got to Mr zhongli first can get free ice cream." i can't believe I said this but who am I kidding it's a child I'm taking care of. "okay! I'm gonna beat you!!"

"okay, ready? 3..2-" there you go with ur little leg running towards Mr zhongli. "hey I didn't even count to 3 yet-" but. I couldn't say that out loud, seeing them running to Mr zhongli kinda make me relaxed a bit. All these years I've been slaying demons and not once I've ever thought about smiling on a mortal doing silly thing just for an ice cream.

Just as he was about to walk towards you, you happen to trip on some random rock (zhongli go get ur rock). Not thinking at all he dashed towards you grabbing you throwing you up in the sky before catching you.

Never thought an adeptus could do something like that..

"never. Never again. Be careful ____! You could've gotten hurt if me or Mr zhongli isn't here. It's not like I'd leave you alone but still."

"hehe again brother again!" what. "what no! That's dangerous."

After alot of begging he throw u up in the sky with a permission of Mr zhongli. You could see the beautiful view from up there. Your eye shine and you were never been happier.

None of you want this to end. <3

Scaramouche

Siblings spending time together day? Who is he kidding. He is NOT doing that.

"brother you look funny with a mask and a hat! Here let me help you." you said as you take his hat and put it on ur head. "that's just an excuse to take my hat huh."

"can we go to that dango shop? I've seen people eat it and I wana try it!" you take his hand and ran towards the shop. "and who's gonna pay for it huh brat?" both of you know its just his ego personality. He doesn't mean that word. "you of course!" you smiled. That once a smile that made his own mother disowned him. Ridiculous.

"hey are you okay? Did he do anything bad to you?" a random guy ask you. "I'm okay??" you are so damn confused but your brother scaramouche seem to get that alot. Separate. That's what he's trying to do.. Dirty little shit.

"hey ____ take this mora and buy me and you a balloon." he said as you nodded. Scaramouche and him watch you skip a step to the guy who sell balloon.

"care to explain on why would you say that to them?" demanding him to speak but that guy seem not to get a hint that he's in fact a harbingers. Eleven fatui harbingers to be put? How dare he talk back to scaramouche. He even dare to look down on him.

"you treat them like a toy. Nobody treat a kid like that! You better walk away before I call a soldier to make you go away from that innocent child."

.....

"you are ruining them."

Snap. That's it. He waste no time and take his hand to a place with least people. "listen here. I didnt know you were so bold to talk to a in fact a harbingers with this manner. And I didn't even know you had the nerve to look down on me as if I was a pathetic shit to you. They're my siblings. If you or ur man land a hand on them you won't be seeing sun nor star."

Scaramouche face expression soon turn satisfied when he piss himself like a 8 year old kid would after getting spanked by their mother.

He came back and see you sitting on a bench with a sad face. "what's the long face huh.."

"you were gone without me! I don't wana be apart from you not even a second!!" you huffed. He was mute for a second before he smirk. "silly brat, I would never go anywhere without you. Just now someone want to talk to me which I end up yelling at them for ruining the moment I am having with my little siblings."

"can you imagine? 'sir, we need you' and I don't. I dont need them and they better be begging more if they rlly want me to come but no they gave up so soon." (I'm targeting you scaraboobs nations /hj)

You smile turn into laugher. "you're the best brother I could ever ask for!" you hugged him as he took ur hat off before hugging you back. "i know."

Hello! It seem that you have reach the end of this headcanon. I do hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing this. I am opening a request where u could request me some platonic hc! I accept every character, so you wouldn't have to worry about ur fav character not being there.

Well since you also read that, how about a follow? No pressure of course. Hehe <3 have an amazing day/night on wherever you are, a reminder that you are incredibly awesome and I hope you will be happy until the end.

#genshin impact #fluff #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin platonic #platonic genshin x reader #platonic kazuha #platonic kamisato #platonic ragnvindr #genshin x you #platonic #genshin scara #scaramouche #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayaka #kaedehara kazuha #kunikuzushi #xiao #adeptus xiao #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact xiao #Genshin impact kazuha #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact ayato #genshin impact ayaka

[gejo333]

El Destino- Chapter One

Miguel x fem! Spider! Reader fanfic

It’s finally here! Chapter one of El Destino! I know I promised it yesterday, but I wasn’t 100% loving it yet. But after rewriting some things and editing it I decided it was ready to be seen!!!

In the photo, I wanted to give the color scheme of the spider outfit.

My Spanish is no where near perfect so I had to rely a bit on Spanish Dict. (waaay better than google translate.) I also apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

WC: 2.3k

____________________________________________

Nueva York- Earth 3030

The chatter of people and the noise of the coffee machine blurred from the 24-year-old woman as she stared aimlessly at her computer screen. Her gaze kept moving from her work to her phone every time she heard it make a buzz. Rolling her eyes, she turned it on silent and flipped it over, determined to focus on her work and not on some guy she barely knew.

You slumped back against your chair, gaze now, staring at the popcorn ceiling. No amount of coffee would make your mind focus on the tasks that had an impending deadline. Suddenly, a figure approached you and placed a coffee on the table.

“Here.” Your gaze moved toward the woman standing in front of you.

“Aw, thanks, Michelle, that’s sweet of you. The next drink is on me.”

“Y/n, if we go out for drinks. I’m paying. How else can I impress my future sister-in-law.” Michelle chuckled as she waited for you to gather your things. You then walked out of the cafe and onto the humid streets of Nueva York.

“Girl, you’re my best friend. You don’t have to impress me. Though I think you and my brother are a cute couple, I’ll never understand what you see in him. He’s such a dork. You better not remove your last name once you tie the knot.” You grab your sunglasses and put them on. The summer sun of Nueva York was always brutal.

“I’ll still be Officer Moreno. But L/N is such a nice name too! I’m still going to take it.” Michelle smiles down at you. She was a tall woman. Almost 5 inches taller than you. You thought you were tall at 5’ 8’.” But her brother didn’t mind since he was 6’ 6.” You both entered the main building of Alchemex, where your brother worked.

You made it to his office after passing through the front desk and the annoying security checks. Right before walking in, you both jump in fright from a small explosion in the room.

“Liam?!”

“Honey?!”

You rush inside the office to see the man in question laughing as he wipes away the black smoke from his goggles. You let out a long breath, relief that he was alright. Michelle rushed to her fiance’s side.

“I’m fine. Just a little misstep in my experiment.” Liam cupped her cheek, grazing his thumb softly against her skin to ease her worries. Michelle pinched his cheek hard before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

“You had me and your sister worried. Be more careful next time!”

“I’ll try my best. But being an Alchemex scientist means taking those risks! Breaking the barrier of our knowledge of the universe!”

“Dork.” You rolled your eyes at your annoying brother, which earned a chuckle from Michelle.

“Hey! At least I’m contributing something to society. All you do is write.” Liam whined as he began to clean up his mess.

“I’m a journalist! I work for the Nueva York Times! I should report your ass and your stupid projects. But I’m a nice sister.” You scoffed, offended by his comment.

“If you say anything to the public, my job will be on the line!” Liam grew more upset than annoyed as Michelle got between the L/N siblings to stop bickering. You rolled your eyes.

“You know one thing you lack in the intellect department, Liam? It’s Sarcasm.” You stopped laughing, knowing you had pulled one of his triggers.

Thankfully Michelle was there to calm him down. Unbeknownst to anyone in the room, a small spider squeezed through a crack in the ceiling. Its gaze went in multiple directions, looking for its victim. It took less than a second for its gaze to lock down on you as it descended. The silver and light blue spider glistened against the ceiling lights, sparkling like a diamond. It landed on your shoulder before it made its way to its destination.

“Well, I was going to tell you both over dinner tonight. It seems now is better.” Michelle spoke up, which brought the L/n sibling’s full attention.

“What is it, Mich?” Asked Liam.

“I’m going to be Captain!” Michelle smiled as she jumped in excitement.

“Oh my god! That’s amazing, Michelle!” You said, excited for your best friend.

“I’m so proud of you, Mich!” Liam brings her into a large hug.

“’ I’m finally going to bring change to the Nueva York police force!”

“Well, I’m done here! Let’s celebrate!” said Liam as he finished cleaning his mess.

…

After enjoying dinner with your brother and best friend, you separate ways with them, letting the couple celebrate the rest of the night alone. A sigh of disappointment left you as you reached the steps to your apartment, not wanting the night to end.

You scoffed as your keys slipped and fell to the ground. As you leaned down to pick them up, a scream left your lips when you noticed a spider on your hand. You flicked it off, but not before being bit by the nasty creature.

You rushed into your apartment, no longer wanting to gain the public’s attention with your small outburst. You rushed to the kitchen sink to clean the wound. It stung slightly when you touched it, so you quickly rubbed antibiotic cream, not wanting to get an infection. After the chaos, you turn on the TV as background noise as you get ready for bed.

The news was always playing in your apartment, not just because you were a journalist but because it was safe to know what was happening in the city. You will forever love Nueva York, but it wasn’t the safest city. Always a new story about a villain wreaking havoc and how the police force could barely keep the city safe. Thankfully, Michelle would hopefully change that as she moves up the ranks in the police force. You settle into bed, turning off your lights as you fall asleep to the sound of the news.

…

“Y/n! Why are you asleep! I need this draft by 5!” Your body jolts up from your desk, scared by the sudden intrusion. You fumble with the papers on your desk before passing one to your editor.

“Here. I have it done already.” The older man standing before you eyes narrow slightly before snatching the paper from you.

“You’re lucky that you’re so good at your job, y/n. If you weren't, I would have fired you for sleeping at work!”

“It won’t happen again, sir. I promise.” You heard a scoff come from him before he slammed your office door.

A loud sigh escapes from your lips, slumping back into your chair. You didn’t understand why, but you slept horribly last night. All night the entire room either felt scorching hot or ice cold. Not to mention how your figure looked in the mirror. You have always been in top shape, maintaining a mostly healthy diet and going on runs every other day. But you looked slightly tighter in your ass and thighs. Not to mention how amazing your hair looked after waking up. Usually, it looks like crap, and it takes you half an hour or more to make it look perfect.

However, those differences in your body were not the weirdest thing that happened this morning. Every other minute your hand would be stuck to a surface or an object. You wouldn’t think twice about how you stuck to your ceiling before coming into work late, which your boss was also on your ass about earlier.

Maybe your tired mind was playing tricks on you. But logic seemed to have flown out the window as your mind kept coming up with reasons to say this WAS happening to you. You kept picking up your phone, about to call your brother, but you immediately hung up every time you pressed the call button. What would happen if you told your brother? Alchemex would definitely find out. They would want to run all kinds of tests on you. The thought brought chills down your spine. You also thought about calling Michelle. But thought against it. Even though she was your best friend, you felt she wouldn’t understand.

It was only 1 in the afternoon, but you felt like the day had already ended. Since all your important deadlines are done, you’ll leave early to run errands.

…

A long groan escapes you, finally done with your last errand, as you walk out of the grocery store, walking back home. As you walked back, the hairs on your neck stood up as if someone had been watching you since you left work. However, every time you check your surroundings, no one was there. Obviously, your lack of sleep has made you delusional.

You decide to turn down an alleyway as a shortcut to your apartment. You thought it would be fine since it was still light out. How wrong you were.

“Give me your wallet.” A voice said from behind you. You felt something pointing into your back.

“Dude, I’m really having a shitty day today. I don’t need you making it worse.”

“I don’t care if your day was amazing or bad. Just give me your wallet, lady!” The man grew annoyed as the thing pointing in your back dug deeper into your spine. You took a chance and turned around.

“Do you really think I will give up my wallet when you don’t even have a gun?”

“Hey! This is a gun! And I’ll use it if you don’t give me your money!” The man said as he pointed whatever object from his jacket.

“Bye now.” You wave them off before continuing on your way.

“Hey!” He goes to grab you, but you quickly turn around, and now he was stuck to the wall?

He tries to move but is trapped in a white sticky substance. You were just as confused as the man. However, it was your chance to escape.

As soon as you turned around, you collided against something hard before falling on your ass to the ground. Looking up, you see a large man in a red and blue suit that completely covers him from head to toe.

This day was getting too weird as you slowly rose to your feet. Before the man could speak, you began to run. However, you didn’t get far as you felt something wrap around you, pulling you straight back to the intimidating figure. Looking down, you see a red rope substance around your waist. You ripped it off, about to run again, when he pulled you back in again.

“Would you let me go!” You yell out in annoyance.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have snuck up on her.” A small digital figure appears next to the man. It appeared to be a woman dressed in a fur coat with heart-shaped glasses hanging off the edge of her nose as she chuckled. The man groaned in frustration.

“How else could I have done it?”

“Umm, hello? Can you tell me what’s going on? Or, more importantly, who the hell are you?”

“My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m from another dimension. I lead an elite force dedicated to the security of the multiverse… Why are you ignoring me?!”

A grin comes to your lips as you laugh. “Where are the cameras? I must be on some kind of prank show.”

“What? This is not a prank show. I’m from another universe. In my universe, I am Spiderman. In your universe, you are Spiderman. Or, well, Spider Woman.”

“Spider-what?”

“Dios mio! Were you bitten by a spider?” The man before you grew more annoyed, which made you chuckle.

“I was. Last night.”

“That was a radioactive spider genetically mutated in your universe’s Alchemex.”

“How did you..”

“It’s a canon event in every spider-person story. Obviously, yours just started.”

“What’s a canon event?”

“You know what. This will explain everything. Lyla, do the thing.” The small woman appeared next to the man again.

“Huh? What thing?”

“W-What do you mean, ‘What thing? The information explaining thing!” He looks at the small woman as if she should know what he was talking about.

You held your hand to your mouth, trying to hide your laughter. Your entire surrounding turned dark as a series of webs with images appeared.

“What is this?” You gazed at your surroundings, amazed by the sight.

“This is the arachnoid humanoid holy verse.”

“Catchy name.” You chuckle.

“Yeah, ok, it’s a stupid name. But it’s factually accurate. Going back to your question about a canon event. It’s a moment in every spider person’s life, every time. Some are good, some bad, some very bad. However, you don’t need to think about any of that yet. You’re just starting out.” The surroundings changed back just as soon as you were getting curious about what he was saying.

“So, why are you here then?” You ask, curious about the figure before you. You looked him over again. He was in the shape of his life; if only you could see what he was hiding behind that mask.

“I wasn’t planning on coming here. But you popped up on my scanner, so I checked it out. But I came too early. You barely have uncovered your powers yet.” He says as he fiddles with the futuristic watch on his wrist. A large orange portal splits open in thin air. The man turns around and walks into it, disappearing.

“W-wait!” You rushed over to stop him, but you were sucked into the portal before you could stop. The entire thing came all at once, which made your head dizzy. As quick as you entered, you stumbled out onto the floor.

“Ow.” You rubbed your head before standing up. You finally register your surroundings. It was spectacular.

Floors were going in all directions with a person or thing in a red and blue suit walking by as they gave you strange looks as if you had a third eye.

“Where am I?”

A woman in a red and black suit with yellow goggles approaches you.

“You must be new. My name is Jessica Drew. And you?” She smiled.

“Y/n L/n?”

“Well, Y/n, welcome to spider society.”

————————————————————————

Translations

El Destino= Fate

Dios mio= oh my god

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Chapter two should be out in a day or two! In between there will be one shot posts! If you have any one-shot recommendations, don’t hesitate to ask in the comments or dm.

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel x reader #jessica drew #fanfic #chapter one #spiderman #future fluff #future smut

[bumblebeeenby]

Does how does everyone else feel about Jay being an android?

Kai, at first, is in disbelief that this Jay is actually Jay. He knows it makes no sense, but he can’t believe there would be something this big and important about one of his friends that he overlooked. He’s got whiplash from the cognitive dissonance of it all. He feels guilt over not seeing it earlier, not being good enough to know. What if Jay had died because he failed to notice something so important? What kind of teammate is he? He feels like he’s failed his friend. After he gets past that, he gets a little paranoid about the whole situation and starts checking over his own body, as well as Cole’s to make SURE they’re not also secretly robots.

Zane is obviously concerned for Jay. He’s been through the process of discovering he wasn’t human, and doesn’t want Jay to go through the same identity crisis he did. Jay’s behavior is also concerning, and while the rest of the group is quick to assume that his unreasonably calm attitude in the first realm is some sort of malfunctioning, Zane is less convinced (he’s right, it’s purely psychological). He also feels regret for relying so much on Jay, Nya, and Pixal to perform repairs on him in the past, as he realizes how many vital robotics skills he lacks, making him unable to even reattach Jay’s arm or care for any of his other injuries. Although he hates himself for thinking it, his first thought after recovering from the shock is “I’m glad I’m not alone”. He can’t get over this shameful feeling of relief in learning that Jay’s also an android. It makes him happy. It alleviates some of his concerns about the state of his own humanity and he hates that he feels that way while Jay is clearly suffering.

Cole is freaked out, but recovers quicker than the others. This is fine, it’s still Jay. They already have two nindroids on the team, this is nothing new. Nothing has to change. Within seconds, he’s offering Jay verbal assurances and totally supporting him as if nothing has changed at all. He goes along with Jay’s calm attitude and keeps the other two in check. He can freak out when they’re all safe.

Nya is already stressed out when the boys return, to the point that she sees Jay and is like “haha…. okay funny prank”. They all look at her blankly and she starts asking them what the hell happened while they were gone?! She deals with it pretty well though, offers Jay comfort, and then goes into full-focus work-mode and makes damn sure she fully understands his mechanics so she can repair him in the future. For a while, Jay isn’t really emotionally ready to study his own mechanics yet, and she ensures him he doesn’t need to until he’s ready for it. (She does, however, have the same paranoid thought that Kai had and starts checking everyone else to make sure they aren’t robots too).

Lloyd asks how this is even possible, and starts trying to reason out how they could have missed all the signs. He’s the one who actually goes over all the things they’ve been through and figures out what details they’d been overlooking. The vengestone “allergy”, the weird seventh-sense Jay seemed to have around electronics, the time Jay hyperfocused so hard on a project that he didn’t eat or drink for three days but seemed perfectly fine. He’s frustrated that he missed all the obvious signs, but brushes off the feeling to instead focus on what they need to do next. No time to process his emotions! Gotta focus on the next crisis!

Finally, Pixal realizes that NO ONE KNEW. And just…. bursts out laughing in a really uncharacteristic way. She can’t believe it. She can’t believe her teammates are all this unobservant. Then she’s just like “Welcome to nindroid club, Jay. Here’s your membership card,” and prints him out an actual card.

#Lightningbot AU #rambles #answered ask #Jay walker #long post #oh god this was a lot lol