#I think when she sees his apartment (probably not by his volition- she probably just shows up or insists on following him home for one

[designernishiki]

(y0) majima’s apartment is a barren wasteland and i hc that yuki’s apartment is a cluttered disaster, so inevitably when majima first sees her place and she first sees his they both, for completely opposite reasons, are like. damn bitch you live like this?

#like I imagine it to be really cluttered and chaotic but not messy as in Dirty you know #she just kinda collects Things. not quite a hoarder but. not exactly Normal either #she takes the idea of ‘keep what brings you joy’ a little too seriously #meanwhile we’ve seen majima’s and it’s just…… sad #sad and barren #very clearly not meant to be a permanent home #I think when she sees his apartment (probably not by his volition- she probably just shows up or insists on following him home for one #reason or another (she means well) she’d be like okay yeah this is miserable id feel cruel leaving you here alone. we are having a sleepover #this is not a request. it is a statement. #majima #yuki #rambling #I really need a tag for this platonic pair I think they’re the Best #yakuza

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: Orientation play/conversion. Remember that your sexuality is valid, and conversion is NOT a thing beyond fantasy. Also, fuck "conversion therapy"

“All I’m saying is…”

“Look, you’re speaking out of your ass”, Ava said, barely containing her frustration.

“How am I speaking out of my ass? It has been done and thoroughly…”, he tried to reply.

“Yes, yes, Pavlov, blah blah blah. But you’re talking about something else entirely, not conditioning reactions”

“Not Pavlov, Skinner! Actions can be conditioned too. Look around you! Mobile games, casinos, even the goddamn army uses conditioning to…”

“Can we agree that there’s a difference between conditioning obedience in a controlled setting and whatever the fuck it is you’re suggesting? You’re not talking about tapping on impulse to buy funbucks in a game! You are talking…”

“It’s only a difference of degree, not of kind. With the right combination of techniques…”

“No, there’s a core there that you can’t just… overwrite. Some things can’t be changed. Like… like how you can’t hypnotize someone into doing something they would never do”

“You know that’s bullshit, right? The whole hypnosis thing. You absolutely can make someone do whatever the fuck you want. It’s just a matter of how you approach it. Like, you would never harm a person, okay? But if I change what your idea of ‘person’ is, say, by making it more narrow you would absolutely harm someone I made you see as a not-person. Or maybe you can be made to believe you’re helping them, not harming them”

“That’s some creepy cult shit, dude. And anyway you can’t write a paper on this because a) there’s no evidence and b) doing the research to get evidence would be absolutely immoral. So I say look for another topic and for the love of God don’t go around spewing that bullshit if you want to ever get laid. Oh, speaking of! Linda will be arriving shortly and we have a date night, so please, please try to be a normal roommate and not freak her out. For me, okay?”

“When have I ever freaked her out? Linda loves me! And who knows, maybe she has an opinion on our little debate”

“Dude, she’s an Art student. I doubt she’ll be interested in our weird Psych dissertations”

“Perfect! Fresh eyes!”

“See, that’s the kind of weird shit I-”

The buzzer cut through the air, and a moment later Linda was inside the apartment, all smiles as usual. He took a moment to watch them as they embraced. 

They were almost comical in their contrast. Linda was tall, taller than he was, willowy and slender, her limbs graceful and shapely, her hair a long, flowing river of playful copper that almost seemed to dance on its own volition– with her green sundress she appeared to him as some sort of elven princess ripped from the pages of a fantasy novel and stuck into a mortal world in which she didn’t really fit. Ava, on the other hand, was probably the shortest adult he had ever seen. He might be tempted to call her petite, but that had a connotation of a lithe frame, almost like a tastefully proportioned doll. Ava was the complete opposite of that. Sometimes he felt Ava was an experiment aimed at testing how much of a person’s weight could be tits and ass, held up by strong, thick thighs. He felt quite guilty about such thoughts, and he understood why she wore nothing but oversized t-shirts and hoodies. It was logical: an early, spectacular growth spurt, heightened by her small size, had made her the target of relentless bullying by jealous classmates and awkward come-ons by hormonal teen males. It enraged him, he realized. Ava was beautiful and the cruelty of idiots had made her feel pain about it instead of pride. He made a point to never stare at her, even if he sometimes failed. It made their relationship as roommates a tad hard, he had to admit. 

 

Not that he had a shadow of a shot, of course. Ava had no interest in men.

Unless, of course, he was right in his theory. And he had good reason to think he was.

“So, Linda: Ava and I were having a bit of a debate…”

“Don’t start, dude”, said Ava.

“Oh, a debate! Do tell!” chirped Linda.

“Do you think we can be completely conditioned and changed, or is there some part of us that cannot be modified, no matter what?”

“Huh. Hard one. Like… a soul? I don’t know I buy it. I feel there isn’t really a self, you know? Like… Buddhism. The self is an illusion and all that”

“Come on, you can’t be serious! You can’t change who someone fundamentally is, and it’s sick to even consider it!”, said Ava.

“Well… what if I could prove to you it can be done?”, he stated, barely able to hold back. He know what he was going to do. He had been reluctant, but now it felt like a certainty.

“You can’t, so stop being an ass”, said Ava.

Fine. Game on.

“Linda, I love your socks! Pride socks!”

“Yup!”, said Linda

“What the hell–”, mumbled Ava.

He took a deep breath.

“Linda: rainbow socks…”

She replied in an instant.

“Are for sucking cocks!”

Ava felt as if reality had shifted into some horrible, twisted nightmare. She was about to scream something, anything really, to make Linda take that back before something stopped her in her tracks. Her body heard it before her mind did: her roommate's voice simply commanding her. Watch. 

And she watched. She watched as the love of her life smiled and went on her knees. Ava could do nothing but watch in disbelief and pain. Linda had never been with a man. Ever. 

“I might have… started testing my theories. On you both. Not that you’d remember, obviously”, he stated casually as the beautiful girl in front of him lovingly undid his pants. “I’d say Linda’s sexuality is part of her core self, wouldn’t you? Let’s see how that holds up after the months of conditioning I’ve subjected her to”

He felt guilty, sure; but there was such a high to it, such an entrancing quality to the combination of seeing instant, complete obedience and the final, definitive proof of the truth he had known to be right all along. Was it wrong? Yes. Did he care? Not at the moment. Ava’s eyes were a poem to him. Suddenly he was ripped from his reverie by the soft, loving touch of Linda’s tongue on his dick. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten hard just from the sense of complete power, of total, undeniable conquest. This was a primal, ancient arousal. Ava could do nothing but watch, and he took that sight in. God, he could almost taste it.

Linda moaned. The cock was so beautiful. So perfect. She felt so… silly, like she was now, for the first time, seeing in color and realizing the sky was, in fact, blue. It was obvious. Simple. Natural. Cock deserved worship. Cock deserved devotion. Cock demanded obedience. It was as if it was growing in her mind, taking over more and more of her, pushing who she had been out effortlessly. It expanded. It corrupted. It twisted and shifted all within. Cock. Cock. Cock. She kissed it with reverence, in awe of it. It was all that existed to her. All that mattered. She needed to please it. Needed to feel it throbbing inside her. Needed to be taken by it.

Ava saw her girlfriend slide a hand between her legs and felt nauseous. As much as she knew this wasn’t Linda’s fault, she could feel her heart breaking, her anger rising… and worse, her pussy getting wet. Her body betraying her. She hated him, and she hated Linda, and she hated herself most of all.

Suddenly, Linda couldn’t contain herself. She relaxed her throat, looked up at her Master and took his entire manhood inside her mouth. She almost came instantly. It was peaceful and sexy and just simple, like his cock was the puzzle piece that fit her perfectly, completed her, made her whole. She existed to be conquered, and realizing she was putting his pleasure over her ability to breathe was the final sign of her complete, loving surrender. She let it out, watched it glisten with her spit, and started licking it and loving it and she didn’t know how much came from her own need and how much it was a silent command by the man who had shown her the light. Her mind was too fuzzy to make such distinctions anymore.

He took a deep breath, fighting back the first signs of an orgasm. He needed to make a point.

“Linda… do you love Ava?”

The blonde stopped for a moment, shocked by a myriad of contradictions.

“Yes”, she decided. Her voice was shaking.

“Tell her”

Linda looked at Ava, the woman she had loved above all others.

“I love you…”

“But you have more to say, don’t you?”

“I… hmph… I…”

“Tell her”

“I love you… but… but… I love his cock so much more! Fuck! I need it! I need to feel it, to suck it, to be fucked by it… I’m sorry… but… I love it, I love it, I love it! I want it to fuck my throat, to take my cunt, to ram my ass! I need it! I need to be a slave to it, a whore for it, a fucking living toy!”

“What if you had to choose between Ava and my cock?”

“Fuck her! Sorry, my love… I do love you, but… You can never do to me what… what Master does to me, what his cock makes me feel! I hope I won’t have to dump you but… I would leave you for this cock in a minute! I’d do anything. Anything. Anything!” If she had more to add, her need to serve cock snuffed it. She took it all in with desperation, with total, shameless abandon. She needed to feel... used. In her proper place.

Ava felt a tear roll down her cheek. Her knees buckled in defeat. She didn’t even care. It was all gone. Her life, her love, all gone. And she could feel her eyes drawn again and again to the cock that had destroyed her. She felt her mouth watering.

“Linda, would you say you’re a lesbian?”

“Fuck no!”, she said before immediately wrapping her lips around the cock’s head.  

He felt a swell of pride. Of triumph. He knew Ava sensed the truth as well. He was right. He had proven his point. And now Ava’s full conditioning would take hold. A little bet with himself, making her own mental acknowledgment of his theory her final trigger. She took off her t-shirt. She would never wear it again. No more shame, no more pain about her figure. Only arousal and pride. His gift to her.

She crawled to him on all fours. The girls kissed– but now, they kissed for him, to arouse him. They were lovers, only they both knew there was a higher love. A truer love. Ava looked up at her owner and opened her mouth, greedily awaiting his blessing. Linda used her skillful hands, aiming his cock and teasing it, jacking it off, using just the right amount of pressure and speed. 

No man could resist such a sight.

In a few seconds, Ava was covered in his cum, more beautiful than she had ever been. Linda certainly felt that way, and she licked and kissed her sister slut clean.

He watched carefully, looking for signs of defiance, and finding none. In fact, Linda put his fears to rest with a simple statement.

“Ava, we need to buy you a pair of rainbow socks”

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu !!

[raygirlramblings]

oh look it’s another Captain Laserhawk discussion, who’d have thunk it.

This time I want to go into detail about something which has been bugging me for a while and which I’ve yet to get a decent explanation for. The eternal question of WHO WAS PHONE?

More specifically, who was it who messaged Rayman to direct him to seek out Bullfrog at the courthouse?

Spoilers and discussion under the cut:

So, the general consensus amongst fans and viewers falls into 2 camps of who the mysterious voice was. People seem to think it was either the board of Directors who control Rayman and Eden (who we will call The Templars here just because it fits in universe), and the other half say it was The Warden aka Sarah Fisher acting on her own volition without the knowledge of her fellow Templars. People base this seemingly on the fact the call seemed to come from the Directors based on the image we see on Rayman’s screen matching those from his precious conversations.

Personally, I think neither of these options make any sense.

Firstly the Templars. Their plan seems to be (from the view of people who assume the message is from them) is that it’s a trap to lure Rayman to Red so they can capture him. This is RIDICULOUS and such a convoluted and messy plan. If the Templars wanted to capture Rayman they didn’t need to lure him out of his apartment with some vague message. He was alone and vulnerable in his apartment wasting away on booze and cocaine. And you know FOR SURE Eden has cameras trained on their mascot boy at all times of the day. The idea they would need some ridiculous trap to capture him is ludicrous.

Moreover I don’t believe the Templars even knew where Rayman was going when he went to see Bullfrog. When Red arrives he says ‘I've been looking everywhere for you’. Why would he say this if luring Rayman to Bullfrog was the Templar’s plan? If it was their plan why wasn’t Red in the room with Bullfrog to capture Rayman immediately? They didn’t need to leave him to have some long, mind opening convo with Bullfrog; if anything that made things exponentially worse for them as it was the straw that broke Rayman enough to become Ramon and kill them all (which again, the Templars are SURPRISED BY).

So no, I don’t believe the ‘seek the frog’ message came from the Templars.

But what about Sarah Fisher?

Again we have to think what her motivation is for pointing Rayman in the direction of Bullfrog. What does she have to gain from doing this? Sarah wanted access to the Wasteland VR setup, and if Eden launches its attack on the Wasteland it could destroy that. She wanted to get to Marcus Holloway and seize control of the system.

Rayman does not factor into her plan in any way. Neither did Bullfrog. She had Laserhawk and that was part of her key to get to Holloway. Everyone else was expendable.

‘But maybe she wanted Rayman to take out the rest of the Templars!’

How would she be able to predict that?! She would have had to know EXACTLY what Bullfrog was going to say to Rayman, how it would affect Ray’s psyche, assume Red would blow his mission to capture Rayman, and assume Rayman had access to enough firepower and skill to get to the Templars and kill them. THERE WAS LITERALLY NO WAY SHE COULD PREDICT ANY OF THAT.

Hell, she got LUCKY that Dolph had a change of heart and attempted to return to the city to save Bullfrog, and in turn he ran into the army heading to the Wasteland and wrecked them all in spite of her attempts to sabotage his robot parts. If he had stayed in the VR beach paradise or had died being crushed by Red in his mech the army would have swarmed the facility and EVERYONE WOULD HAVE PROBABLY DIED.

Sarah’s plan is purely based on luck and the fact that Marcus showed mercy to her. The idea she was a puppet master for a completely random set of events surrounding her goal is ridiculous. Sure it worked out perfectly for her in the end as the only surviving Templar but I still refuse to believe she planned for that. Her ultimate end goal was the VR facility, not power over the Templars. Once she had the VR facility she would have found a way to take out her fellow Templars without Ramon's help.

So if it wasn’t Sarah Fisher or the Templars then WHO WAS PHONE?

Thankfully we have some suggestions which actually make sense in the grander scheme of the world, but they do rely on a little theory crafting which sets up for S2.

For me there are 3 possible people who could have been on that call posing as the Templars.

1 - Marcus Holloway

2 - Sam Fisher

3 - Alex Taylor

Marcus Holloway is an easy one. As a master Hacker who has been breaking into Eden’s systems for decades I can imagine he has some methods of getting into the systems and pretending to be whoever he wants to be. The only reason he didn't do it sooner is that Rayman was constantly protected by Eden so any attempts to get to him would have been pointless. But after his TV freakout and being replaced it's a perfect time for Marcus to get to him and try and undermine the Templar's control.

'Oh but how would Marcus know about any of what happened with Rayman if the Templars just replaced him?'.

How would Marcus know about anything that happened with Dolph, Alex, Sarah, the Ghosts or anything else the happened in Eden if he wasn't there? He's a master Hacker, we can assume he has ways.

But why? I'm assuming primarily because using Eden's own propaganda pawn to undermine them is wildly poetic to Marcus. Maybe there is some empathy for Rayman here but much like Sarah he had no idea to what lengths Rayman/Ramon's mental breakdown would go. It worked out for him in the end though with the Templars being massacred.

Sam Fisher relies a little more on speculation. In the post credits scene of the final episode we see Dolph chatting to Sam in a digital void. There is some suggestion that the world we are seeing is not real. A Matrix world with reset abilities. This would explain a lot of things which could easily have been deaths turning out to be fine (Red being a clear example, also Dolph being shot at point blank range by Alex and surviving).

If Sam does have some kind of 'overseer' position this gives him access to far more information than anyone else. He could foresee the only way out for Bullfrog being at Rayman/Ramon's hands as Dolph was too far away and everyone else was dead. A little bit of manipulation of Rayman's fragile psyche in this matrix world would be easy for someone with a birds eye view that Sam could have.

But this is PURE SPECULATION.

As is the idea that Alex Taylor is responsible...seeing as he's dead. But before he died he took over most of Pagan Min's men and their connections. Either he set up the plan to be enacted in the event of his death or he has some similar kind of setup Sam has. After all, Alex's opening of the dimension X portal allowing the Rabbids in is what lead to Rayman's freak out at Red on TV, leading to his replacement. Alex seems to have some grander picture in mind for Eden before his death, and as violent and ridiculous as it is it does tie into his desire for chaos. The shaking up of the entire Eden system seems to reach beyond just screwing with the populace. Much like Marcus, the concept of using Rayman against the Templars would be part of the complete chaos Alex is looking for. With the Templars dead there is a power vacuum.

I know this one is a bit of a stretch but to be brutally honest I'll accept Alex toying with things from beyond the grave before I accept that the Templars sent Rayman to Bullfrog in an attempt to contain him XD

So yeah, those are my ridiculously long thoughts regarding the WHO WAS PHONE mystery. You are welcome to wildly disagree with me or point out my lack of logic as you see fit XD Also point out if I missed some important plotpoint :3

Heck there's an argument to be made that the message came from someone we've not met yet, or another member of the Templars working alone, but we have nothing to confirm this yet. Hopefully if we get a season 2 all will be revealed!

#captain laserhawk #Ramon #Bullfrog #discussion #spoilers

[ddarker-dreams]

Us and Them.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Tags: Not SFW, follow up to Hierarchy of Needs, takes place from Daryl's POV. Simping o'clock. Some typical TWD horror elements. Word count: 11.5k.

It takes a great deal to crack Daryl’s focus. 

The life he’s led up until this point necessitated the fact. To ensure he’d hit his mark or continue tracking the elusive fauna hiding in the thickets, he needed to block the rest of the world out and hone in on his objective. This tendency bled into the other aspects of his day-to-day existence as well. It’s made him notoriously reliable, a reality he doesn’t take pride in, for he’s just doing what he thinks anyone should do. Shaking this cornerstone of his identity is no easy task. 

Unless you’re thrown into the mix, that is. 

Then it’s as if every functioning brain cell he has decides to jump ship in favor of seeking you out, no matter how detrimental it may be to him. Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to mind half the time. You’re a distraction he’d hold the door open for. That being said, as much as he’d love to entertain thoughts of you 24/7, it’s an unrealistic dream. There’s work to be done and he can’t take up residence in la-la land. He’ll be forcibly evicted most of the time, should he not leave of his own volition. 

His present predicament does well to remind him of this. 

“You with me, Daryl?” 

Rick’s voice is a scythe cutting through the overgrown verdure of his mind. Daryl grunts, probably agreeing to something he should’ve been paying closer attention to. It’s too late for him to play it off, he can tell by Rick’s expression alone. He’s giving that raised eyebrow, head tilted look you once theorized to be the byproduct of being a sheriff for years. Officer Friendly’s changed a lot since they first met, but that look has remained reliably consistent. 

“That so? Mind telling me what I just said then?” Rick challenges. 

Daryl doesn’t even bother to entertain the charade. He knows when to cut his losses. “Sorry. Wasn’t listening.” 

“Mhm,” Rick nods his head in the direction Daryl’s been staring. “Let me guess. It got anything to do with our social butterfly over there?” 

Daryl doesn’t know why Rick’s asking when he likely already knows the answer to the question. Indeed, Daryl’s been keeping an eye on you while Rick discussed various happenings. You were reading Frankenstein beneath a gazebo for a whopping five minutes before an interloper made himself known. One of Deanna’s sons — Daryl can barely tell them apart, they leave so little of an impression — decided to strike up a conversation with you. The complete and utter disregard for your personal time has him fuming. You’ve been so busy shadowing Deanna that you’ve barely had a moment’s respite, you deserve to read your damn book in peace. 

He knows you’ve been working yourself to the bone. Alexandria is important to you, you’ve been doing everything possible to guarantee a future for your tight-knit group here. It helps that Deanna’s taken a shine to you; the opportunities this granted have been paramount. You’re slowly winning over the skeptical residents and explaining away any errant behavior from your group. Whatever tale you're spinning, he figures it must be working. He can at least walk around without being gawked at. Regardless, you confided to him that there's still much to do. Tensions are brewing faster than you can reconcile them. 

“Hardly see ‘er no more,” Daryl scoffs. “Yuppies are takin’ up all her damn time.” 

Rick gives a thoughtful hum. “It’s good, what she’s doing. Building up trust. Might help us if things are headed the way I think they are.” 

What was no doubt intended to lift Daryl’s spirits does the opposite, plunging them down into a deeper depth. He feels he’s deceiving you somehow by not mentioning Rick and Carol’s ‘backup plan’ should the Alexandria inhabitants prove beyond help. He also knows you loathe feeling used — a vulnerable confession owing to a drink too many — and that’s what this feels like. Using the good graces you’ve painstakingly established for an ulterior motive. 

Daryl keeps quiet. Fortunately, Rick is quick to catch on and changes the subject. 

“You know,” he starts, looking away from you to focus on Daryl, “I’ve noticed something’s different between you two. Ever since the night of that welcoming party.” 

Daryl assumes a poker face. He knew he should expect this line of questioning at some point, because things did change between you, in a way that exceeded his wildest dreams. Still, the way Rick’s sizing him up makes him feel like a teenager being greeted by your dad at the front door before your first date. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. The only person close to Daryl in terms of their protectiveness over you is Rick. Is this some type of test? That can’t be right; Rick’s been trying to convince him to shoot his shot with you since the prison. He probably just wants to know everything’s fine. Ever the worrier, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“She, uh,” Daryl focuses on his scuffed boots, before finally managing to look Rick in the eye. “She knows.”

Rick’s countenance betrays his disbelief. “You told her?” 

Well, it’d be more accurate to say you told him by kissing him silly and putting his many doubts to rest, but he isn’t about to go around announcing that. He’ll hold this near and dear to his heart. 

“Yeah.” 

“And?” Rick presses, borderline impatient for the information Daryl’s so stingy on handing over. “What’d she say?” 

Daryl can’t stop his lips from quirking into a closed-mouth smile. “Feels the same.” 

Unlike Daryl, Rick doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin. “What’d I tell you, huh? That’s— that’s great. I’m happy for you. For both of you. It’s about time you both stopped dancing around things.” 

Daryl wants to grumble over Rick giving him a hard time, but he can’t bring himself to, because the man’s right. While it may not have been love back at the quarry, even then he thought you were the prettiest damn woman he’d ever had the blessing to lay eyes on. His attachment to you only grew from there. By his estimation, that’d place it somewhere around two years of having the hots for you without ever making a serious move. While he doesn’t regret the time dedicated to deepening your friendship, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief if he knew you reciprocated his affections. He’d lost track of the nights spent tossing and turning, contemplating just how out of his league you are. 

“While we’re on the subject, Glenn’s got some condoms on him, should you need any.” 

Daryl coughs into his hand to hide the wicked blush rising to his cheeks. “The hell, man?” 

“Just sayin’,” Rick puts his hands up in defense. “It’s best to be proactive. Sometimes you look at the girl like you’re ready to pounce.” 

He fights back a groan at the new ammunition Rick has to tease him with. It is good knowledge to have, though, so he makes a note of it. You had only slept together once on that fateful night roughly two weeks ago. Daryl was mistaken in thinking getting a taste of you would calm the raging flames of desire that burn him from the inside out. If anything, it’s as if they’ve been doused with gasoline. Every little thing you do nearly drives him mad with need. When you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation, bend over to grab something, or make those cute little noises when you stretch, the list goes on and on. You’re making it a damn challenge to think with his head and not his dick. 

How can he not, when he’s experienced how exhilarating it is to become one with the person he loves most? The sights and sounds of that night play on a loop in his mind constantly. The teasing banter, the taste of chocolate on your lips, the mind-numbing pleasure that exceeds anything he’d felt in his life… it’s got to be a special kind of torture to know he can have that with you, if he only he could get you alone. He swears every force in the universe is working against him. You’re living in a house packed like sardines, your schedules don’t line up (he’s an early riser, you love ‘your beauty sleep’), and you’ve been busy as a bee. 

In your benevolence, you’ve treated him to some fleeting kisses and hugs, which, while he treasures those more than the air in his lungs, can’t satisfy the excruciating need he has for your body. He has to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes the few times of day you’re around. You’re just so gorgeous, so exuberant, lighting up the room in the way only you can and leaving a cold emptiness inside him when you’re gone. 

He used to harp on lovesick fools for gushing over their ‘other half’, but now he gets it, he truly does. Going without you for any length of time is a unique agony that twists his guts into a knot. 

Glancing back over your way, his blood freezes over at the sight he’s greeted with. 

The prick had the audacity to put his hand on your lower back while Daryl was preoccupied. His eye twitches and his nostrils flare, hands balling into fists by his side. Rick senses the change in demeanor and follows Daryl’s line of sight to identify the reason, instantly piecing together the problem. Right before Daryl can charge over and rip the asshole’s slimy hand off you, Rick steps in, motioning for him to slow down. 

“Hey, hey, look at me—” 

“He’s fuckin’ touching her,” Daryl seethes, barely able to hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “She’s uncomfortable, I’m gonna—” 

This time, it’s Rick who interrupts him. “I get it, I really do, but we can’t afford to go makin’ a scene over something like this. [First] wouldn’t want that. You know she wouldn’t. So let’s take a moment and calm down.” 

“The hell do you know ‘bout what she wants?” Daryl challenges, his voice raising enough to attract some nearby attention. He juts his shoulder out of the way when Rick tries to lay his hand on it. “We both know why you’re letting ‘er play nice.” 

Rick’s eyebrows furrow, hurt at the insinuation. “Daryl…” 

He turns on his heel and storms off. 

Rick calls out to him a few more times, but he makes a point of ignoring him, along with the stares his outburst garnered. A quiet, reasonable voice whispers to him that he’s blowing things out of proportion. This sensible counsel is overpowered by his Dixon blood yelling otherwise. He’s always been quick to default to anger, it’s an emotion he can make the most sense of when everything’s confusing. Rage is all-consuming and familiar. It gives him an easy target to release his pent-up negative emotions. 

There’s just too much for him to work through. The gnawing insecurity, that in this stable environment, you could do so much better than him and he wouldn't have the slightest clue how to stop it. He’s not a smooth talker, can’t excuse confidence in spades. Hell, he couldn’t even confess to you first, you had to come to him. Who in their right mind would want a man like that? A man like him? 

His jaw feels like it could snap from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together. 

When he gets back to the group’s shared residence, he slings his crossbow into place and makes for Alexandria’s gates. He’s got to get away from here before he pulls an even dumber stunt he’ll surely regret later. The lone guard stationed there looks about ready to give him a difficult time until he sees the grave expression on Daryl’s face. That’s enough for him to wordlessly grant passage to the outside world. 

Daryl opts for using his knife to take out the walkers prowling past the entrance. Adrenaline pumps throughout his body as the blade breaches a skull, then another, the bodies sagging to the ground with a satisfying thump. He cleans the gore off his knife and sets out for the woods, grateful to leave the oppressive community he’ll never fully fit into behind him. 

Out here, he’s in his element. Weaving in and out of paths he’s already started to memorize, hearing the coos of mourning doves and shrill chirps of cardinals. He isn’t meant to fraternize with some hoity-toity folks who still think carrying a gun around inside the walls is excessive. His previous anger simmers down into frustration with each step he takes. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed that many arrows. He knows he shouldn’t be out here for long. 

However, the alternative is just as undesirable. He’ll man up and give Rick the apology he’s owed, but there’s no doubt his stunt today hurt what you’ve been trying to build. The folks wearing their polo shirts and khakis will probably go back to staring at him like he’s some sort of bogeyman come to life. He scoffs quietly to himself at the thought, bending over to inspect some fresh-looking tracks in the dirt. A deer must’ve come through here not long ago. Snagging a catch like that would do wonders for lifting his dampened mood. It’s tangible proof that he belongs, that he isn’t some freak like his brother would have him believe. 

It’s strange to care about what he’s gone his entire life ignoring. When you have a reputation like the Dixon’s did in the town he grew up in, ostracization was to be expected. He’d lost count of the times he’d have to bail Merle’s ass out of the county jail only for the process to start back up a few months down the line. They might as well have kept a parking spot with his name written on it, as often as he stopped by the place. The stares, the whispers. They followed him everywhere he went. He learned to stop caring, he didn’t really have any better alternatives. 

He thinks of you — how quick you are to fit in — how wide the chasm is that separates you. It’s been a while since he’s had to grapple with these misgivings, the farm must’ve been the last time. Daryl knows it’s shameful, but he likes when he’s the one providing for you. Not so he could lord it over you, he wouldn’t dream of that. It’s more so how it justifies him being in your orbit. Solidifies his place by your side. 

No one else can take it if it’s carved out in his shape. 

The sun begins its lull in the sky. Shades of brilliant amber and gold trickle in through the interstices of the trees overhead, cascading like embers. Daryl mulls over what you might be doing now as he gulps down water from his canteen. Are you having dinner with Reg and Deanna? Or are you back at home, encouraging Judith to eat her veggies and trying to convince Carl there are more things to read than comics? Have you noticed his absence? Or are you too preoccupied to realize he’s gone? 

His heart plummets down to his stomach.

Daryl crouches over, inspecting some flowers that have been chewed down to the stem. It’s still glistening with saliva. A deer’s doing, no doubt. This paired with the tracks he’s been following promises that he’s getting closer. Any other day, personal qualms would be the last thing on his mind when he’s about to land a deer, but you’re an apparition that won’t stop haunting him. He misses you. He sees you every day, yet it isn’t enough. He misses hearing your lame jokes that you laugh at (and he laughs at too, occasionally), the weird thoughts that occupy your pretty little head (seriously, who ponders over the origin of the phrase ‘elephant in the room’?), arguing over if Back in Black or The Dark Side of the Moon is the better album (he caught you humming Time to Judith once, trying to indoctrinate her early, no doubt). 

He misses you so badly it makes him physically ache. 

The crackling of foliage ahead temporarily releases him from his bitter rumination. 

He fastens his crossbow into place, mindful of his every step. He makes his way through a clearing. It’s the scent he notices first, the miasma of rot. Then there’s the sound of flies buzzing and wet, vicious squelching. Ripping and tearing. Daryl knows what he’s destined to see before he even lays eyes on it. A group of voracious walkers gorge themselves upon the fallen deer, too preoccupied with devouring the viscera to notice his presence. Rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet, he’d just barely missed his window. 

It’s one of those days, he supposes. 

The trek back to Alexandria is noticeably devoid of thought. He gladly welcomes the reprieve, wanting nothing more than for his head to hit the pillow so he can sleep today’s events off. Alexandria’s walls loom in front of him soon enough. He calls over to be let back in. Without delay, the gate creaks to the side, revealing the last figure he expected to be greeted with upon his return. 

You. 

You stand a few paces ahead, relief visible on your features when you establish eye contact. You’re wearing a yellow gingham blouse, white denim jeans, and those sneakers from what he’d consider the best day of his life. Your hair that you’ve been complaining is too long is tied up in a high ponytail, revealing that neck he longs to smother in kisses again. You’re so fucking radiant it should be illegal. Intelligent thought flies out the window, though luckily for him, you almost never run out of things to say. 

“Are you alright?” Is what you decide upon, your voice sweeter than candy. He’d eat it up if he could. 

He nods, his body recalling how to do basic motor functions after a sizable delay. You secure the gate behind you, muttering some gratitude to the guard Daryl scowled into submission earlier, then jog to catch up with him. He swears he could distinguish the sounds of your footsteps in his sleep. As much as he’d love to, he doesn’t look at you, choosing to fixate on the road ahead. After the events of the day, he doesn't trust himself not to pull anything stupid. 

“Daryl, hello hello,” you say with a singsong lilt, “You do notice me, right? I’m not that short.” 

“Tired, s’all,” he murmurs. 

“Have you not been sleeping well?” 

He shrugs. “Guess not.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Unable to bear it, he turns toward you, immediately noting the uncharacteristic frown on your features. A deep pang resonates inside him at the sight. He knows he’s worrying you, causing extra strife you most certainly don’t deserve to deal with, but he can’t think straight. The culmination of two weeks’ worth of navigating foreign feelings he’s never experienced before is taking a toll on him. You mentioned having an ex-boyfriend to Maggie in the past — a notion he’s hardly surprised by, considering you got him of all people falling head over heels — so this must be familiar territory for you. 

“When I asked if you were fine earlier, I didn’t just mean physically,” you nudge him playfully with your elbow, although your expression is serious. “Is something up?” 

“Jesus, I’m fine, woman,” Daryl huffs. The tone he takes has you pursing your lips. He no longer hears your footsteps struggling to keep up, you must’ve stopped. He does too. Turning himself to face you is no easy task, yet he somehow manages. What remains of the sunset basks your features in a gentle glow. He can make out each fleck of color in your iris’, finding the distinct splash of color to be his favorite. You have every right to be annoyed with him, you should be, honestly — and still, there are no traces of irritation. That alone melts his heart. 

You’re just looking at him, trying to piece together what’s brought him to this point. You never assume the worst of him, you never have. Instead, you choose to carefully comb through the information available to understand what he barely understands himself. This is one of your strengths he’s always admired. 

When he once asked you why you gave others the benefit of the doubt, you compared it to his tracking process. 

“There’s more going on than what’s visible at first glance, right?” You reasoned. “You have to stop, slow down. Take time to inspect things a little closer. If you don’t, you risk missing what’s truly important.” 

Waves of guilt crash over him like the roaring ocean upon the shore. You’re so good — the epitome of everything worth preserving in this decaying world. 

“... ‘m sorry,” Daryl swallows thickly. “Just… bad day, is all.”

Your visage softens. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

He flinches. You’re far too quick to forgive. 

“Nah, it ain’t. I shouldn’t take it out on ya.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” You offer, still refusing to hold Daryl’s shortcomings over his head. “I, um, actually had something I wanted to show you. It’s somewhere quiet. It’d just be us there.” 

He parts his lips, ready to reinforce the fact you should be upset with him, when he sees your smile. This is the kind you’ve only ever graced him with. There’s this innate understanding in your eyes, a compassion to the curve of your lips. A look of pure love. He’s committed every facet of you he can to memory, he knows no one else is the recipient of this specific tenderness. It’s reserved solely for him. 

There’s a gravitational pull around you that draws him close and refuses to let him go. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Positive.” 

You hold your hand out. 

He hesitates, wondering if he deserves to take it. 

When he does, the way your smile grows tells him he made the right choice. 

It’s him following you now. There’s a pep in your step, he can feel the excitement radiating off of you. A few Alexandrians he hasn’t bothered learning the names of yet give a wave upon spotting you, an act you gladly reciprocate. You haven’t the slightest ounce of shame about the rugged man trailing behind you. An insecure part of him that stubbornly refuses to die suggested that as you integrate into the community, you might leave him behind. Find a man that fits in here rather than sticking out like a sore thumb as he does. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The guilt returns, slithering its tendrils around his person and preparing to bite down hard. He’s been weaving falsehoods about you because of his own problems. You aren’t that type of person. He needs to get out of his own head and accept that maybe, just maybe, this’ll be his shot at happiness. The concept is so surreal that his body has been rejecting it like it were a foreign invader. He doesn’t want to fall prey to his natural tendencies anymore, he has to fight it. 

He imagines it’ll be a slow and tedious process, uprooting the thorny vines he’s grown to protect himself. You’re worth the effort, reckons. You always have been. 

Suburbia surrounds you on both sides. This must be another residential area of Alexandria, one that is vacant from what he can tell. You pause in front of one of the homes, nestled toward the end of the street. It’s the picture-perfect representation of the upper-middle-class ideal. A two-story high house styled like the others, with beige siding and a light gray roof. After letting him take it in for a second, you pull a set of keys from your back pocket, then grin. 

“I bought us a house,” you twirl the jingling keys on your pointer finger. “My credit wasn’t the best, and we’ll probably have to do a reverse mortgage in a decade, but it’s ours.” 

Daryl squints, trying to deduce how much of what you’re saying is in jest. 

“I’ve been working with Deanna to get our group more settled in, since this looks permanent. We finished ironing out the details today, and, uh, yeah. We get a house all for ourselves.” 

Your voice grows smaller toward the end of your sentence, almost tentative. You’re gauging him just as much as he is you. 

“Ya wanna,” he takes a moment to find the right words, “Ya wanna live with me?” 

You shrink into yourself. “I do. O-Only if you want to, of course! If this is weird, or, I’m uh, being too forward, then just— oof!” 

You’re never given the chance to finish your sheepish ramblings, for he lifts you in the air, spinning you once then wrapping you in a tight embrace. You give him a breathless laugh and return his affection in kind. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cocoa butter and shea. In any other circumstance, he’d shy away from such a bold display in public, but he’s too damn ecstatic to care. Let anyone who happens by watch. See for themselves that you’re his and he’d sooner keel over than let you go. 

“I take it that’s a yes, then?” You hum as he carefully puts you down, treating you like you were made of glass. 

“Yeah,” he reassures. He huffs in amusement at the stars that are practically glittering in your eyes. “Guess that means the others’ll know ‘bout us.” 

You’re quick to fall back into your usual demeanor, now that you know he wasn’t put off. “Are you embarrassed of me, Mr. Dixon?” 

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics, replying lightheartedly, “Stop.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure the others already know,” you say. “Well, some of them, at least. Women have a sixth sense for these things.” 

Daryl raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I mostly plead the fifth. Rosita and Maggie keep smirking at me though. I think we developed some sort of witch coven-level bond while out on the road.” 

He lets out a ‘pfft’ at the phraseology that’s so distinctly you. He’s always loved hearing you talk, he swears you could make an instruction manual on how to set up a dresser entertaining. Aside from how unfairly pretty you are, your mannerisms are what caught his eye. You have this way of creating a comfortable atmosphere. Back at the quarry, you stubbornly worked to peel back his layers, one at a time. You somehow knew what conversations to broach and which to steer clear of. Before he knew what was happening, you became his favorite person to spend time with, and he actively sought you out; ignoring Merle’s disparaging remarks along the way. 

The rest is history, as they say. 

You both walk up to the porch, taking in every last detail. The spacious front yard, bushes that Daryl makes a mental note to trim later, and the little stone pathway which leads up to the steps. A soft breeze passes through, encouraging the rustle of towering tree branches. The scent of daisies and honeysuckle wafts in the cool evening air and he deeply inhales nature’s aromatic perfume. You trace the porch’s white pillar with your fingertips, seemingly entranced, disbelief written over your features. 

“From a prison cell to this,” you shake your head. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” 

“Nah. You ain’t.” 

You point at the closed garage. “You can park your bike there, turn it into a workshop or something.”  

Next, the empty garden. 

“And— and we can plant carrots, peas, zucchini… maybe find a blueberry bush. Flowers too. Oh, I love hydrangeas, they can be tricky though. We should also plant a fruit tree. What about apple? Yeah, let’s do that. The kids’ll love it. Apple pie, apple cider… did you know Carl’s never had apple cider? How is that even possible?” 

There’s a glossy tint to your eyes as you ramble on, so taken by the idea of a future that you don’t know what to do with yourself. He has to fight against a lump threatening to form in his throat. Daryl hugs you from behind, holding you against him as if you’d disappear like sand through his fingers should he let go. You feel so good in his arms. So right.

“We have to make this work, Daryl,” your voice is tight. “We have to. No matter what.” 

This serious declaration takes him back weeks prior, to the day your fates became permanently intertwined. You’ve been pushing yourself to fulfill what you said then and now. He’s sure you’d much rather spend time with your group, your family, but you’ve been building the groundwork for a future. The very same groundwork he’s been undermining by plotting outside the walls with Rick and Carol, well-intentioned as it may be. 

“I gotta tell ya something,” he murmurs, placing a chaste kiss atop your head. Your hair smells heavenly. “Has to do with earlier.” 

After feeling you nod, he continues, albeit hesitantly. 

“Me, Rick n’ Carol have been talking. ‘Bout Alexandria. What we should do here. They’re thinkin’ we might hafta take over, if worse comes to worst. These people… they’re weak. Don’t know a damn thing ‘bout what’s happenin’ outside them walls.” 

He loosens his grip as you twist around to face him. Once again, he braces himself for heavy rebuke; a confirmation that you’ll be as upset as he imagined upon learning about this. You place both your hands on the railing behind you while looking up, your head tilting to the side. 

“I already knew about that.” 

Daryl knits his eyebrows together, incredulous. “You— what?” 

“Not the specifics, maybe, but I got the gist of things,” you confirm. This further reinforces his belief that you’re perceptive to a freaky degree. “I mean… I get where you guys are coming from. What we’ve been through… what we’ve seen… God… I never let myself think about it for long. I can’t. I push that shit down as deep as it’ll go. Lock it up and throw away the key.” 

You sigh and give him a weary smile that tugs on his heartstrings. “I’m not going to say that you’re in the wrong, because honestly, I haven’t the faintest clue. I wish I did, but I don’t. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt to try. What’s that adage Rick is so fond of…? Ah, yes, let’s ‘see what we see’. If you do, and still think they’re a lost cause, then… I’ll trust your judgment. I always have. Always will, too. There’s no one I trust more in this world than you, Daryl. Not even myself.” 

You’ve stolen the air from his lungs and words from his mouth, it’s like he’s been sucker-punched. He tries and fails to string together a coherent sentence. It shouldn’t be too difficult, the assembly of vowels and consonants, yet every word in the English language slips his mind. He’s long since held the belief that you’re an angel incarnate — you might as well be, given your beauty — but thinking that way is ultimately doing you a disservice. 

You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re human. Blood pumps through your heart, not ichor. 

Daryl takes your pretty face into his hands, wishing he could smooth away the lines of worry. “I’ll try. Promise.” 

You kiss his inner palm. “That’s all I could ask for.” 

“What you said… ‘bout not trustin’ yourself…” he trails off, almost wincing at hearing the words spoken aloud again, “You should. Trust yourself, I mean. You're smart. Crafty. Made some damn good calls I never woulda thought to.” 

“Are you buttering me up, Daryl?” You teasingly suggest. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” 

He grunts. There you go with your tendency to keep things light-hearted when they get uncomfortably personal again. 

“... Really, though, thank you,” the inflection of your voice reverts back to sincere in record time. You almost give him whiplash with the ease in which you shift moods. “We probably should’ve had this talk sooner, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. I wanted… wanted to surprise you, and I got so swept up in that, I missed what’s really important.” 

Daryl feels his lips twitching into a smile at your subconscious elision — Carol once pointed out that you sometimes talk like him, and vice versa. She said you guys hang out together so often, it’s to be expected. He’s picked up your favorite idioms and rubbed off his tendency to curse on you, even if you don’t do it anywhere near as often as him. To think that two years ago, his preppy princess went from having the cleanest mouth around to dropping expletives without batting an eyelash. 

“‘S fine. Still don’t think ya did anything wrong.” 

“You’re a bit biased, don’t you think?” 

“Mm. Maybe.” 

You laugh at his candidness. “It just occurred to me that all our best conversations happen on porches. Is that why you lived out on the porch for our first few days here?” 

“Nah. Had to keep ya safe,” Daryl runs the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones. “Can’t let anything happen to ya, butterfly.” 

You preen at the personal touch to your infamous nickname, evidently liking it as much as he does. “I told you, I’m more of a caterpillar for the time being.” 

He snorts. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Hm… a cocoon, then? Agree to disagree?” 

“Ain’t calling ya a fuckin’ cocoon, woman.” 

“Oh, but if it’s your voice saying it, I’ll get all hot and bothered,” you lean forward, pressing the swell of your chest against his. He swears he can feel his blood rushing south. “You could make anything sound good. Even… hm… let me think… the word foible.” 

Daryl scrunches up his nose. “The hell? That’s a word?” 

“Sure is. It might be the only one that hasn’t found its way into Eugene’s impressive lexicon yet.” 

“You couldn’t pay me ‘nough to say that.” 

“It’s a good thing the economy is in shambles then,” you wink. Then you stifle a laugh with your hand. “Huh. I really need to get better at flirting. I’m rusty… way out of practice. Mind helping me out with that, Dixon? If not, Maggie’s gonna get stuck dealing with the brunt of it.” 

The look he gives has you showing your palms in surrender. “I told you! It’s witch coven level stuff between us now. I’m waiting with bated breath for someone to suggest a blood oath.” 

“Don’t need no practice, all ya do is flirt with me, damn vixen.” 

He pinches your cheek, content to see how they’ve filled back out after two weeks of eating regularly. 

“Took you long enough to notice.” 

You guide his hands to your hips and he’s more than happy to place them there. Next, you secure your arms around his neck, then start swaying side to side. Everything about you is so magnetic. God, that expression is nearly lethal. You’re gazing up at him through lidded eyes, worrying your lower lip beneath your teeth. He feels his cock twitching to life. You barely need to do a damn thing and he’s ready to fall to the ground and worship you. 

Daryl has to fight off a debauched noise as you stand on your tiptoes, your tongue poking out to coat your lips in an enticing sheen. He feels your hot breath fan against his face and tightens his grip on you to keep himself steady. You pause, content to stay where you are, so close to where he wants you yet cruelly far away. You breathe in one another’s air for a few, agonizing seconds, your noses touching. Then you’re moving again. Right when he thinks he’s going to be treated to your taste, frustration boils within when you kiss the corner of his mouth instead. He could take whatever he wants from you — his immense strength speaks to that — yet there’s something so undeniably charming about letting you think you’re in control. 

He figures he can play along a while longer. 

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” you whisper, the huskiness of your voice causing goosebumps to erupt all over his skin, “Grab what’s in my back left pocket.” 

Curious, he does just that. His fingers come into contact with a plastic serrated edge. He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. 

“This time, I can’t say I didn’t plan things in advance,” you take pride in admitting. 

He frowns. “Just have these on you?” 

Despite knowing it’s entirely unreasonable, he can’t suppress a sting of jealousy. He silently hopes you haven’t been carrying these things around for long. Not if you wanted to use them with someone else. 

“Mhm. I had some at the farm, then the prison,” if you notice how his expression darkens, you don’t mention it. “There’s this guy who caught my eye, you see, a very handsome one. I’ve wanted him to have his way with me for ages. Couldn’t work up the courage to admit that for the life of me, though. Until very recently.” 

He mentally sighs at the reassurance no one’s gotten to touch you while he was stuck silently yearning from afar. There were a few panic-inducing moments that drove him crazier than he’d ever admit, due largely in part to your friendly personality. You’re touchy-feely with those you care about. While he reaped the benefits of this, it’s a double-edged sword. You hug your friends, fall asleep on their shoulder, and dote over them at every chance. He once mistakenly snapped one of his arrows in half when he saw you run and jump to embrace Rick. 

Daryl knew it was wrong to feel possessive over a grown woman who he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with, yet his heart refused to listen to his brain. People were drawn in by your wit and charm, there wasn’t much to do about it. It wasn’t like he could station himself by your side every waking hour to scare off any asshole who thought they had a shot at you. 

… He has considered the idea, though. 

“That right?” He asks, maintaining eye contact while his hands go to give your ass a squeeze. He’s never felt the most confident when it came to flirting, yet you make him feel wanted, like you’re into him as much as he’s into you. 

“Right as rain,” you give him those doe eyes that make him weak in the knees. “It made me have to settle for the next best thing.” 

Daryl’s entirely under your spell and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “What’d that be, princess?” 

He bites back a knowing smirk at the way you shiver, your eyes glazing over with lust. Learning your little thing for hearing him call you princess was a piece of knowledge he fully intended on making good use of. 

“My hands,” you murmur. He knew what you were implying, but hearing you say it out loud almost makes him lose his fucking mind. “I’d think about how strong he was, how good he’d make me feel. I was always scheming, y’know. Wearing short shorts, low cut shirts. Think it may have caught his attention?” 

Oh, so that’s how it was, huh? He’d always get caught between feeling grateful for seeing so much of you and possessive when he realized everyone else got the same privilege. A few men and women back at the prison let their eyes linger far longer than he would’ve preferred. He’d spend balmy nights tucked away on his lonesome, wrestling his belt and pants down so he could relieve himself to the thought of you. Guilt would rear its head when he saw you the next day, running over to excitedly greet him, oblivious to how he objectified you in his mind hours prior. 

It comes as a mild relief to know that was what you intended. 

“Don’t needta think. Know for a fact it did.” 

You pout, upping his urge to kiss you by a hundred percent. “Are you sure? He hasn’t tried to touch me lately. It’s starting to hurt my feelings.” 

“Hard to touch a woman who ain’t there,” Daryl huffs, indignant. 

“Well, I’m here now,” you reassure. “Maybe you should make the best of it, hm?” 

You don’t need to tell him twice. 

He snatches the keys and wastes no time unlocking the front door, motioning for you to go in first. He enters immediately after. The lock is redone in anticipation of what’ll come next, you’ll both be needing your privacy. Daryl loves your little group, would die for them in a heartbeat, but he’s been waiting what feels like eons to get you alone again. He’s surprised with the amount of self-control he’s exercising, the urge to rip your clothes off and take you against the closest available surface is overwhelming. You bring out this animalistic side to him he never knew existed. 

You start making your way upstairs after leaving your shoes by the door. From this angle, he’s treated to a lovely angle of your hips and shapely ass. His nerves are set aflame by the mere thought of seeing you bare again. He damn near sprints to catch up with you, not caring to hide his desperation in the slightest. He scoops you up bridal style along the way — he really might have a thing for manhandling you, although he’s never rough — the ease in which he can maneuver your body just feels right. Satisfies what little ego he has when it comes to romantic endeavors. 

“I never have to use my legs when you’re around,” you giggle. 

“That’s the goal.” 

In more ways than one, he hopes. 

Daryl brings you into the first bedroom he sees. You’re gently laid down atop the plush comforter, while he gets to work ridding himself of his clothes. The condom from earlier is placed on the bed’s edge. He pulls his angel wing vest over his head, kicks off his boots, then his jeans. The weight of your gaze on him is tangible, you look at him as if he were a piece of art. He’s unsure if he should feel embarrassed or prideful by your unabashed staring. A blush dusts his cheeks when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, causing him to lean toward the former.

He freezes when he gets to his black button-up shirt. The last time you were intimate, it was dark enough that he didn’t feel entirely exposed. As much as he loves seeing you painted in warm hues of orange and red, that means he’ll be fully visible too. Every inch of his body and its testament to a life of hardships. You’d seen the scars on his back when tending to his injuries back on the farm, yet you didn’t dare to make a comment. The way he flinched and shrunk away told you everything you needed to know. 

Sensing his hesitation, you stand to your feet and approach him. Your fingers settle on the top button, though you make no movement past that. He can practically hear the cogs turning in your head. 

“If you don’t want—”

“I do,” he cuts you off, knowing what you intend to say. “I trust ya. Just…”

“Just…?” 

He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning. “Want ya to like what ya see.”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, the unexpected pet name makes his blush infinitely stronger, “Maggie used to call me out for drooling over you when you wore those sleeveless shirts. Made me wish I had a pair of opera glasses. You’re handsome. Unbelievably so.”

He doesn’t know what to say, caught in a swirl of embarrassment and delight over the praise you wholeheartedly offer. 

You undo the first button, then stop, looking up to check with him again. When he nods, you keep going, revealing the skin that closely hugs his defined muscles. You don’t recoil in disgust or give him pity-filled glances when spotting his scars, instead, you look mesmerized. He can hear your breathing pick up and see the way your pupils dilate. 

Daryl thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach, but there’s nothing you’re better at than revealing parts of himself he didn’t know existed. 

You smooth your palms over his pecs. “I really am going to start drooling.” 

He huffs and shrugs off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Lay your ass back down, girl.”

You give a dorky double thumbs up and do just that. 

He joins you not long after, both his arms caging you against the bed. 

Daryl nods toward your still-clothed body and quirks his head to the side. 

“What? You don’t wanna be the one to undress me? I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” You provoke. His hands almost start trembling from the sheer excitement the prospect stirs up in him. You’re such a coquettish little thing, playing dirty whenever you’re presented with the choice. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, though. You know how to rile him up. 

“Once or twice,” he replies, nimble fingers finding the hem of your shirt and lifting. You raise an eyebrow, challenging his purposefully low estimation. He gives a throaty chuckle, soothing your ire by kissing you on the forehead. “A day.” 

You look pleased with the revelation. “There. Much better.” 

He greedily takes in every inch of skin that’s revealed to him as he lifts your shirt. Heaven itself couldn’t compare to the beauty that is your body, he almost forgets how to breathe when he sees the start of your chest. His heartbeat rises in a crescendo as he slowly pulls the fabric upward. Finally, he gets an unobstructed view of your tits, wrapped up nice and pretty in a black bra. He wets his lips and bites back a groan. His large, calloused hands immediately set to work on kneading the supple flesh. There’s nothing he loves the feel of more.

“Ya really did plan this,” Daryl has to stop himself from rutting against the bed like an animal, the desperation you instill in him is unreal. “Wanted to drive me fuckin’ crazy, huh?” 

“Maybe a little.” 

He pinches your nipples then, earning a gasp so lovely from you that a guttural growl leaves his throat. He’s just as obsessed with your voice as you are with his. There’s a sweetness to it that tickles his ears just right. Whether you’re laughing, moaning, or simply saying his name in that way only you can, there’s this lilt that has him hooked. Nicotine be damned, you’re an addiction that surpasses all else. 

His fingers make their way to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. “A little, hm?” 

You nod after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Ya never were a good liar,” Daryl muses. He’s always found this positively adorable about you. Once he taught you the rules of poker and you joined in on some game nights, it became clear that wasn’t your area of expertise. You’d squirm in your seat, glare or beam at your cards, your intentions practically announced for the whole world by your transparent body language. He’d lost count of the number of times he had to bite back a smile when watching you. 

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, alternating between suckling and licking it with his tongue. If given the chance, he’d sit here and do this for ages.  

“Is that— mm— a bad thing?” 

He pulls back from his important task long enough to reply, “Nah. Love that ‘bout ya.” 

While he contents himself by playing with your tits, you grow adorably impatient, wriggling in an attempt to get some friction where you want it most. He grabs your hips and holds you still to stop your indulgence, eliciting an irritated huff from you. He hadn’t anticipated this brattier side of you, but there’s something about it that gets him going. Electricity crackles between you, filling the atmosphere with thick tension.  

“There somethin’ you want, girl?” He teases, attention flittering between the coat of his saliva on your chest and the depraved curve of your countenance. He can feel precum leaking from his tip when you try to grind on him again, your frustration fucking delicious. 

Your eyes widen when he pulls away, much to his amusement. “Asked ya a question, butterfly. You best be answerin’ it.” 

“What do you think I want, Daryl?” The little whine you accentuate your words with works wonders on him. 

He shrugs, playing ignorant. “Dunno. A nap, maybe. Ya act all pissy if ya don’t get your eight hours.” 

“I told you, my beauty sleep is important,” you huff, directing a halfhearted glare his way. He exhales sharply, betraying his bemusement. You’re about as intimidating as a bunny rabbit to him. “Admittedly, while the prospect of a nap is tempting, I’d rather you fuck me until my brain is scrambled.” 

This vulgar side of you is a damn treat he’ll never tire of devouring. 

“That so, princess?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

“Take them pants off then.” 

You oblige without protest. You hook your thumb on the waistband, maintaining smoldering eye contact as you drag it down oh so slowly. He palms at his hardened length while you put on your little show, the throb of his cock close to constant. His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots your panties. They’re the same shade of black as your bra, the fabric next to scant, hugging your curves tightly. He can see the outline of your folds against it, your wetness seeping through. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he remembers how amazing you tasted. He’s brought back to the blissful experience, the softness of your thighs around his face, how you wriggled and squirmed so delightfully for him… 

“My eyes are up here, Mister,” you hum. Normally, he’d have a clever remark ready to match you, but he’s completely at a loss. You’ve rendered him speechless. 

You were wearing this all day, just for his viewing pleasure? 

Maybe there is a God after all — some higher power has got to be smiling down on him. You could make a zealot out of the most impious man. 

By the time he manages to break from his reverie, your pants have been tossed aside. It’s you who approaches first, crawling over to where he sits still as a statue, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, completely and utterly smitten by you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the prominent outline of his cock against his boxers. If that visceral reaction does something for his ego, he’ll never admit it. 

You settle onto his lap like it’s where you belong most — he’d argue until he was blue that it is — both of you releasing a content noise at finally having contact where you want it most. Your lips are on his in a feverish kiss. His hands start at the dimples on your back, then move down, cupping your ass and encouraging you to grind against him. You use his shoulders as leverage to better control your movements. He groans when your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you take the opportunity to sneak your tongue into his mouth, getting drunk on the taste of one another. Today, you taste like lemonade. The tart flavor is best when sampled from you. 

His mouth smothers your whimpers and soft moans of his name. When you pull back, he’s initially disappointed, until he realizes this grants him the perfect view of each twist of your face. You appear hazy with pleasure, your bare chest heaving and glossy lips parted. There’s a telltale tensing in your thighs that catches him off guard. 

“You gettin’ off on this?” Daryl asks, his voice heady with lust. “Grindin’ on me, making all them sweet lil noises?”

“Yes,” you whimper, your shame long forgotten. Not that you ever have much when it comes to him. 

This is better than anything he’d concocted in his wildest fantasies. You wanting him as much as he wants you, chasing after your high without reservation. He faithfully does his part to help you along. He follows the rhythm you set, his eyes never leaving your face, deriving unmatched satisfaction from knowing he’s the reason you’re like this. It’s him who knows how to fire you up and cool you down, him who you’re humping against like depravity is your natural element. 

You’re gripping him tighter, nails digging deep. He savors the slight ache, intending to wear your marks like a badge of honor. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice raspy. “C’mon. Show me how good ya feel. Wanna see it.” 

You’re nothing if not obedient, once in a blue moon. 

You come undone, throwing your head back, your eyes squeezed shut as you savor your release. He fixates upon the muscles of your neck, on display like a canvas ready to receive his designs. His lips hover over your racing pulse, the stubble of his beard against your skin prompting a fit of giggles. He mouths at your skin, humming low in appreciation at the saltiness coating it. You sure do get yourself all worked up over him. Knowing that does things for him, stokes the flames of an already raging fire. 

“God, I’m obsessed with you, Daryl Dixon,” you confess, moving your head aside so he can have better access to your neck. “You’re all I think about. We’re just— we were made for one another, weren’t we? You’re my best friend, my — I don’t know — does boyfriend sound kinda silly at this point, or is it just me?” 

Love blooms in his chest, temporarily overpowering his lust. Or perhaps the two are mixing to form an entirely new color. “I’ll be whatever ya like, so long as I get to see that again.” 

“Even my…?” You cut yourself off, and he pulls back, finding himself unable to read your countenance. That’s an exceedingly rare occurrence. 

“Your…?” He prompts, the both of you whispering like you’re exchanging precious secrets. 

“No, it’s—” you suck in a deep breath and shake your head. “Ahem. Too soon for that.” 

You try to distract him by pawing at his waistband. It is a clever move on your part, but he musters up the willpower to stop thinking with his dick for a few seconds. 

“Nah. Ya ain’t doin’ that. Finish the damn sentence, woman.” 

This is a rabbit hole he wants to explore. His intuition offers a suggestion that’d fill in the blank, yet he shrugs it off, scoffing internally. There’s no way you possibly meant that, his brain just isn’t working properly. No, a pretty thing like you couldn’t possibly want to marry an asshole redneck like him— 

“Marriage is off the table until we at least go on one date. Your treat. I’m ordering appetizers and a dessert, too.” 

Only you would essentially propose to him while throwing in a joke for good measure. Yeah, that’s the love of his life alright. A hot mess. Heavy emphasis on hot. Somewhat lighter emphasis on mess. 

“... Orgasm felt that good, huh?” 

You swat at his chest. “Shut up, I’m sleep deprived and not thinking clearly.” 

Daryl notices that you’re looking everywhere but at his face, embarrassment prominent. He props himself up some so that you’re able to pull his boxers off, his dick springing out of its restraints. There are about a million things he wants to say to you, some teasing, some entirely genuine, but when you wrap your soft hands around the base of his cock, he blanks. He pants your name as you start pumping him. Pearls of cum are quick to coat his length, making the process even easier for you. 

You bend forward, your tongue licking up everything that oozes from his flushed tip. Then your mouth starts taking him in. The warm wetness feels divine and he keens. The noise surprises you both, encouraging you to keep going. You hollow out your cheeks, then start sucking, all the while jerking off what isn’t in your mouth yet. Caving into instinct, his hands fly to either side of your head. He helps ease you up and down his length. 

Daryl wonders if he’s dreaming — he doesn’t want to pinch himself to find out, just in case that’d wake him up. 

The fact a girl as stunning as you is sucking his dick with unbridled enthusiasm simply doesn’t compute. His peak is growing more and more imminent. The tightness of your mouth, how you’re moaning against him like you’re the one being pleasured; it’s too much in the best of ways. He was already worked up to a frenzy after witnessing you come from grinding on him. 

Briefly, he entertains the thought of what it’d be like if he released his load in your mouth. He’d make sure you swallowed every last drop. Knowing you, however, you’d probably do so without his prompting, swallowing while looking him straight in the eye. You know what you do to him. That you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger. You know it and love it, maybe almost as much as he does. 

Daryl utilizes every last ounce of self-control in his body and pulls you off his weeping cock. 

A trail of saliva connects your lips to his tip, a sight he intends to burn into his memory forever. 

“Hey, I was enjoying myself,” you complain with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Me too.”

He reaches over to grab the condom from earlier. Ripping into it with his teeth, he rolls the plastic over his sensitive cock. Once it’s on, his hands go to your shoulder, gently pushing so that you’ll lay down for him. You pique his interest by shaking your head. You must have plans of your own, for you reclaim your spot on his lap. He’s plenty content to accommodate this apparent desire of yours and leans back. 

You line him up with one hand and tenderly cup his cheek with the other. 

Slowly, you sink down onto him, lulling your head back while you do so. He helps hold your hips in place so you can adjust to him at your pace. Instinct begs him to rut up into your accommodating warmth, but he values your comfort more than his own carnality. Your eyelashes flutter shut whereas he keeps himself trained on you. When you’re halfway down, he kisses your inner wrist, grateful for the pulse beneath your skin. 

“You’re takin’ me in well,” he praises. If there were ever a man capable of penning hymns dedicated to you, it’d be him. “Just like that. Nice n’ easy.”

A high-pitched whine leaves your lips when he’s fully inside you. 

“That’s it, good girl.”

You reopen your eyes, granting him the sight of what’s become his favorite color ever since he met you. 

“You’re spoiling me with all these compliments.” 

Your hands run over his jaw, then the tensing tendons of his neck, finally settling on his sun-kissed shoulders. 

“Ya deserve it,” Daryl murmurs. “Beautiful woman.”

Dizzying pleasure thrums throughout him when your walls clench, his words hitting your sweet spot. Sweat coats both your bodies in a light sheen. You rotate your hips, allowing him to stretch you out, the slight friction far from enough yet tantalizing nonetheless. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating wait, you lift yourself off him and come back down. The decadent pleasure builds and builds with each repeat of the motion. He’s close, painfully so, but letting you take what you want from him is given top priority. The sinful sounds pouring from your lips with increasing urgency hint that you might not last long either. 

Calloused fingers work to rub messy circles against your clit. This added layer of stimulation has you moaning incoherently near his ear, half-legible sentiments tumbling out. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper, almost delirious. “I wanna be yours. Please.” 

You’re growing increasingly erratic as your second high looms on the horizon. The telltale tensing of your muscles has him picking up momentum. One hand guides you up and down his cock, the other pleasuring you where you need it most. Your declaration envelops him, making him feel impossibly warmer. How you vacillate between uttering the naughtiest and sweetest things is a mystery to him he won’t bother solving. All he knows is that his adoration for you won’t ever stop growing, no; this is where a new chapter of it begins. 

“You are. Always ‘ave been.” 

Daryl knew it couldn’t have just been his imagination, the once-in-a-lifetime connection that formed soon after your paths crossed. It strung you both together. Whenever one wandered too far from the other, the rope would go taut, forcing you to stumble back where you belonged. 

Your walls tighten around him and you snap, back arching, pressing those perfect tits against his chest. 

He grunts at the sensation of you coming on his cock, thrusting upward to meet your stuttering hips. He loses himself in the aroma of sex and you. You go partially limp when you’ve come down from your high, which allows him to maneuver your body with greater ease. The release he denied himself minutes prior threatens to consume him once again. How could it not, when he got to witness your blissed-out face, hear the sounds of your gratification? 

Daryl’s hands latch into the soft flesh of your waist hard. He slams into you a few more times, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating throughout the room. His cum spurts out into the condom’s plastic confines, filling you with his warmth. He faintly registers that you’re lavishing his neck in sloppy kisses as he basks in his high. 

Both your chests heave as you pant, greedily taking in the air you willingly deprived yourselves of during the act. 

Your shaky fingers comb through the mess that is his bangs. Daryl lets you do as you please, too busy admiring every inch of your face to care about anything else. You press a chaste kiss against his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his awaiting lips. He chases after yours when you pull away, an action that makes you laugh. He huffs at the return of your brattiness. When he sees how wide you’re smiling, however, it becomes difficult for him to maintain his disgruntled facade. Your joy is contagious. 

“Plannin’ on stayin’ there all night?” He nods at the junction where your bodies remain connected. His cock has gone soft and you’ve made no sign of getting off him yet, not that he’s complaining. He knows you’re real fussy about cleanliness (a concept that eludes his understanding, since it’s the damn apocalypse), so he’s pleasantly surprised you haven’t run off to wipe yourself down. 

“Would you be opposed if I said yes?” 

“‘Course not.” 

However much you’d both love to live in this little slice of reality, you know it isn’t meant to last. People will come looking if you’re both gone too long. He sighs when you climb off him, already missing the feeling of being inside you. You both get to work on making yourselves presentable, you more so than him. You smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and fight with your hair while he perches himself on the side of the bed, lost in thought. 

“Did ya mean it?” Daryl breaks the silence. 

“Hm?” You glance over your shoulder, blinking rapidly. “Mean what?” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes at you for acting innocent; you’re too smart to not know what he’s talking about. 

Although, when he struggles to get the two-syllable word out himself, he can sympathize with your efforts. 

“... Marriage,” he drawls, heat flooding across his face. He feels better when he sees you’re similarly embarrassed. You pad quietly against the hardwood floor (he’s always marveled over how silent your footsteps are, perfect for joining him on hunts), and sit beside him. Your arms come to wrap around his bicep. Taking a deep breath, you rest your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done multiple times prior. On the road especially. 

He pulls you in closer and lays his head against yours.

“It kinda feels like we already are,” you admit. He can hear the fond smile in your voice. “You’re my home. The person I depend on most, someone I can’t do without.” 

Your grip on him tightens. “However much life ahead of me I have… I want to spend it with you. If that’s alright.” 

Daryl feels so light he thinks he might be floating. 

There’s an underlying melancholy — the uncertainty which comes as a consequence to the world you now inhabit — yet you never let that stay the focus. You always find ways to plant seeds of tentative hope in what appears to be corrupt soil. Maybe it’s for the reason you said earlier, that you can’t let yourself dwell on the bad in fear of what it’d reduce you to, but he can’t bring himself to mind should that be the case. 

What matters is that you shine bright to illuminate him when he thinks darkness is all he’ll ever know. 

“‘If that’s alright’?” He repeats, incredulous. “I ain’t ever lettin’ ya go, butterfly.” 

You relax, knowing Daryl’s nothing if not a man of his word.

“You’d really wanna be my husband?” 

He looks at you like you have three heads. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ why the hell you wanna be my wife?” 

“Because I have good taste. Also, I’m secretly aiming for your assets. We’re not getting a prenup just for that reason alone.” 

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. Assets, this woman says. As if he had any in this world or the last. 

“Fine by me,” he kisses your temple. “You know I’d give ya anything ya asked for.” 

“... Even your crossbow?” 

“Last I recall, ya could only hold it for ‘bout ten minutes ‘fore complainin’ your ‘muscles were shriveling up.’”

“You make it look so easy!” You complain, lightly hitting him on the chest. He smirks at the roundabout compliment. Your fingers linger, splaying out and making their way over to where his heart steadily beats. “Hm… can I have this, then?” 

“Already do.” 

He’s certain you’re well aware of the fact. After all, you are his freakishly perceptive woman. 

Regardless, no matter how many times you may ask, he’ll gladly remind you, each and every time. 

Ah, the things you do for the ones you love. 

“We should probably head back to HQ before Rick sends a search party out for us, huh?” 

Daryl’s muscles go taut at the mention of Rick. You wriggle free from beneath his arm so you can examine his face, inquisitive as ever.  

“Didn’t part on the best terms with ‘im,” Daryl reveals. He takes another moment to collect his thoughts. “Kinda what started this whole thing today. Saw that Monroe kid touchin’ ya, it got me all riled up. Was aboutta make a scene til Rick stepped in. He said… said ya wouldn’t ‘ave wanted that. Thought ‘bout how he was letting ya cozy up to the folks ‘ere, knowin’ full well he planned on usin’ it to his advantage. I dunno. Made me see red.”

Your eyes hold an indescribable softness for him. “Thank you.” 

“For what? Makin’ an ass of myself?” He scoffs. 

“Always having my best interest in mind,” your way of wording things always sounds better. “It’s okay, though. Like I said earlier, I get why Rick’s doing what he’s doing, even if I don’t fully agree. Ultimately, we’re all on the same team.” 

Daryl shakes his head. “... You’re too forgivin’, butterfly.” 

You shrug. “Hafta be with family. Holding onto things never does any good in the long run. Which is why I’m sure it’ll be fine, once you talk with him.” 

He doubts he’ll have a lengthy heart-to-heart like whatever you’re envisioning, but he keeps the thought to himself. 

“Let’s get going, okay?” You stand and start pulling on his hands. He gets up with some reluctance, not entirely willing to leave this little world where just you and him exist. “Carol made this delicious lemonade, it’s to die for. Metaphorically.” 

He gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Oh? How’s that?” 

Daryl tugs you back to him in a mess of surprised exclamations and tumbling limbs. He secures you on his lap, fully intending to savor you a little while longer. It doesn’t take you long to relax. Not when he’s the one touching you. 

“Ya already gave me a taste.”

#i'm totally normal about him i swear #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #reader insert #not sfw #my stuff

[quipxotic]

Spoilers for c3e91 below:

Honestly, the campaign is in such a good and interesting spot after the last episode. FCG's death is tragic and heartrendingly sad, but it ushers in so many possibilities.

If they reincarnate them, what does that look like for an aeormaton? What kind of body would they end up with? Would the new body change their stats? The spell may not call for that, but going from a robot to a flesh being would seem (to me) to demand it. What would it be like for FCG to finally feel and experience everything they've been longing to understand about "soul-touched" people's existences?

If they don't try to reincarnate them or FCG refuses to come back, it's still a terribly satisfying and earned ending for a beloved character AND we get to meet whatever new character Liam tells Sam decides to play. New people bring new interpersonal dynamics, potential for conflict, or new alliances, which is always interesting.

Regardless, I think we'll get to see Bell's Hells deal with FCG's death, what happened during the moon mission, AND the events at Nana Morri's house which they still haven't discussed in any depth. Both Ashton and Fearne are going to be down 2 points of exhaustion after their titan forms wear off, so it would make sense for the party to take a breather once they're back on Exandria and have debriefed Keyleth, Percy, and Co.

Even though unearthing the conflicting emotions about what they've been through will probably be volatile in the short-term, I would expect BH's to come out stronger in the end. I don't see them breaking apart or abandoning their mission, especially after FCG's death.

Speaking of their mission, I've seen a lot of people guessing that BH will go off to do something else while the high-powered players in the Exandrian Alliance (not their name, but I'm a Star Wars fan, so whatever) face off with Ludinus and his allies on Ruidus. But the Volition don't know Keyleth and the others, they know Bell's Hells. At least in the short-term they're going to have to be moderators between the two factions just to get them working together. And again, given FCG's death and their various ties to events or people on the moon, I don't see them leaving the moon while the battle is being fought unless they're sent somewhere else by someone they trust.

Sing it with me: "What do you do with a problem like Liliana?" I don't think she'll go to Exandria with them. (Prove me wrong, Matt Mercer, please! I can't wait to be a fly on the wall if Liliana has to face Keyleth in person.) And if she does, what then? Does the Alliance try to take her prisoner or kill her? What does Imogen do then?

Whether she stays on the moon or goes back to Exandria, just showing up to (maybe) try to save her daughter from Otohan doesn't mean anything has really changed for Liliana as far as what she believes. How much can they trust her? What will she do when confronted with a difficult choice where she has to actually give up on one of the things she wants? Who is Liliana as a person really?

So many interesting questions and on top of it all is whatever Ludinus and the Weave Mind are cooking up.

#critical role #bells hells #critical role spoilers #c3e91 #liliana temult #fresh cut grass #keyleth of the air ashari

[discobrainrot]

did you say to ask for more harrykim hc? bc i want some more!! it can be canon or au (any of your choice) im not picky

LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

You're getting Canon Kim and Harry this time, but if someone sends me another (without specifying) I'll probably do Swap AU stuff!

1. It's not just Harry who's in love with Kim - it's Harry's Skills.

Whether they're something that occurred because of Pale Exposure or a symptom of something else, they're a part of him. His Skills are how he experiences the world. It's just as much them romancing Kim as it is him.

So when Harry falls in love, every Skill falls hard and fast, too. The INT Skills, particularly Logic, are taken with Kim's mind. The PSY Skills admire his dedication (to his passions, to the RCM, to his partner), and Volition is relieved that they've been drawn to such an (outwardly) stable force.

The FYS skills got it bad - Shivers sees how Kim fits into Revachol's greater puzzle like a missing piece. Electrochemistry has... a lot to say.

But the MOT Skills? Oh god. They're obsessed. Kim is cool, calm, and collected. He loves machines. Even with his eyesight, he's still a damn good shot. He's so suave. They. Want. Him. So. Bad.

At the end of the day, Kim is romancing one person in 25 parts. It's all-encompassing, and at first, it's strange. But after a time, he can't imagine being loved another way

2. Kim didn't expect Harry to stay interested in him.

Look, I can't picture Harry as anything other than a scatterbrain. It's partly because of my scatterbrained way of playing the damn game, but it's my headcanon, and I'll cry if I want to.

So, when they first met, Kim watched Harry flit around Martinaise like a speed fuelled (or until-recently-speed-fueled) bumblebee. He buzzes around, finds something, pursues it for a while, then sets it down and forgets. Kim watches Harry blow past his old partner without a word and worries that he might be in Jean's place one day.

Well, almost Jean's position. Maybe a worse one. It's not a stretch to imagine Harry getting distracted or bored of Kim. But this is the happiest he's felt in a long time, so he decides to ride it out. Take the joy where he can. He'll deal with the hurt when it comes.

But then Harry doesn't get bored of him. Instead, he wants more. And more. And more.

And then Harry stays over at Kim's place on weekends.

And they're investing in more board games. And Harry knows just the way Kim likes his coffee. And he makes dinner whenever he comes over. And, oh, Harry's lease is almost up, so he might as well move in. And he buys posters and photos to hang up. And he paints "This Is Something Beautiful" on their bedroom wall. And Kim knows he won't get his deposit back, but he doesn't fucking care.

And then it's been a year, and Harry has some of his old memories back, but mostly he's been making new ones. And anyone who matters to them knows what's happening, but no one says a word. And they don't hold hands in public, but the look Harry gives Kim lets him know how badly he wants to. 

And then it's been a few more years, and they move to a different apartment. And the heaters don't work, but that's okay because they keep each other warm in the winter. And Harry holds Kim close as they dance in the kitchen. And Kim's vision is getting worse, and Harry's got a bad heart, but they live the best lives they can. And they plan a wedding that they know they'll probably never have.

And Kim pretends he doesn't hear the city as she speaks into his heart.

And Harry pretends he doesn't hear Kim cry when he realizes they can't stop what's coming.

And then it's been so many years that their grey hairs outnumber all the others. And Harry doesn't talk about La Retour, but Kim sees how much he thinks about it. And he holds Harry's hand in public because it feels like the world is ending anyways. And the corners of Harry's eyes crinkle when he smiles, and it still makes Kim's heart swim even after so many years. And Harry still sees a halo behind Kim's head.

And they dance between detritus and rubble as an old radio plays. And they remember their kitchen. And they say the names of old friends. And far away, someone smiles and says theirs.

And La Revacholiere holds them in her broken arms and cries. And they hold her in their lungs. And they cry with her because of their loss. And they cry with her because they've survived.

And they love.

And they love.

And they love.

3. Harry has, like, big I'm A Bottom energy, right?

Right???????

#kimharry #harrykim #Disco Elysium Shipping #Disco Shipping #Misc Ask #Ask Meme #DE Hot Take #I'm not sorry for any of this <3

[maoam]

Did... Did Sasuke only poke Sakura's forehead one time? During Naruto? That woman was asked if she ever kissed Sasuke and the only thing Sakura could say was that there is something better but actually it's just the poke she received when they were 17? Forget "maybe next time" there literally was only one time huh. You don't need to kiss someone to have sex I guess but Sasuke probably didn't even look at her. If they even had sex at all.

Also by leaning in for a kiss in Gaiden at the end did she really thing Sasuke was going to kiss her just because Sarada was there? Manipulative much? Or does she really think Sasuke wanted to kiss her of his own volition... Imagine seeing your mom got rejected by your dad after years apart.

He poked her forehead only once from what we've seen, which was in chapter 699 before he left. When Sarada asked if she ever kissed Sasuke, she looked shocked, then sad for a moment, and then remembered the forehead poke and insisted she got something better than a kiss. She never said "yes" to her question.

And yet, when Sasuke was leaving again, Sakura gave him the bento to hold with his only arm, and was clearly waiting for a kiss, yet he didn't give that to her. She doesn't think the poke is better than a kiss. And she has yet to be kissed, and thinks Sasuke keeps her waiting. It's possible Sakura hoped Sasuke would be more willing because Sarada was there, considering Sasuke was more cooperative because of her. But even Sarada wouldn't make Sasuke kiss Sakura lol

#anon #anti sasusaku

[morethanaloveinterest]

A Reverent Review of Padme's Costumes on ROTS

Let's look at all the costumes Padme wears in Revenge of the Sith and try not to cry.

This is the first costume we see Padme wearing in this movie. She wears it to wait for Anakin and then tell him that she is pregnant. It's not the first time she's worn buns, but these are the closest to Leia's and it makes sense for her to wear them when pregnant. She is also wearing dark clothes and wrapped up thoroughly in a cloak because she is hiding a lot - both her relationship with Anakin and her pregnancy.

Female representation: 10/10 I mean, she's very covered up, but can't complain.

Practicality: 9/10 Presumably moving around is a little impractical but it works great for what she's doing.

Here is the third nightgown we see Padme wearing. Unlike the other two, it is not white. Virginal white, some might say. The color reflects her married status, as does the bare shoulders.

Female representation: 9/10 It's a nightgown, so obviously going to be more revealing than other clothes. However, it makes sense as something Padme would wear, what with the detailing and the length.

Practicality: 8/10 Again, nightgowns are not the most practical. I'm sure she could manage to get up to some adventures if needed.

Padme wears this to meet with some other senators in a deleted scene and then talk to Anakin about what side they're really on. It matches the complexity of her other formal senatorial gowns while also hiding her pregnancy effectively. Her headdress is less elaborate but clearly different from her previous buns - she is definitely at work now.

Female representation: 9/10 You know, I am going to dock a point for having a pregnant woman have to wear something so voluminous to hide it. But it is nice to see a pregnant lady wear something so lovely.

Practicality: 7/10 As with her other gowns, it is probably fine and she could manage, but this one is especially large and difficult to maneuver in, I would imagine.

Padme wears this in her apartment presumably casually. Like most of her daywear in this movie, it is a dark color. Unlike her previous gown, it shows off her baby bump in a very flattering way.

Female representation: 10/10 A great representation of what a pregnant lady might wear in this universe. Padme would definitely wear this of her own volition.

Practicality: 9/10 Not the most practical dress she's worn, but the skirt is not so voluminous or dragging on the floor, and the sleeves are closely fitted under the lace shawl. So I think she could do whatever she wanted to in this.

Padme wears this in a more formal setting than the previous one, which explains how voluminous it is to hide her pregnancy. The belt is pretty but otherwise it seems more like a cloak than a dress.

Female representation: 9/10 can I drop a point because I just don't really like it? I understand the in-universe explanation for the design but Padme would not like being under all that weight while in a delicate condition.

Practicality: 7/10 Probably less than her other gowns but about the same the previous one of this design.

Nightgown #4! I really like this one. Again, it is not white because she is married. The blue reminds me of Naboo, the lake district where she and Anakin fell in love. I really like the detailing on this nightgown and the opening for her belly is a great touch.

Female representation: 10/10 I can not think of a better nightgown for a lady, especially a pregnant one to wear.

Practicality: 8/10 Still a nightgown, but pretty good for all that.

She wears this gown to the final senate meeting, where she gets one of the best lines in Star Wars. The structure is more like her queen's costumes and emphasizes her important position in the government. It also sort of resembles what Palpatine wears, which makes sense as she represents his opposite. And her halo-like headdress emphasizes how she could be the angle on Anakin's shoulder to Palpatine's devil.

Female representation: 10/10 Perfect for her last official senatorial gown. It hides her pregnancy without looking like she's wearing a tent, which is nice.

Practicality: 8/10 Likely no more practical than her other state gowns.

Can it be, Nightgown #5? At least leisure-wear. Her robe is similar to the one from the last movie but not, I believe, exactly the same. Her nightgown is now purple and I wish we had seen her wear that color more often.

Female representation: 10/10 Another great nightgown for our pregnant leading lady.

Practicality: 8/10 I mean, it is still a nightgown.

Padme wears this to go make a final plea to her husband to come back to her. It is similar to her action scene outfit at the end of the previous movie, though a darker color.

Female representation: 10/10 This is by far the most comfortable she looks in any of her pregnancy outfits. It would stretch in the needed areas but not leave her dealing with a lot of excess fabric.

Practicality: 10/10 Definitely the most practical thing she wears for the whole movie. Both because of her condition and to go potentially get into some adventures on Mustafar.

Padme's final gown, which she wears for the funeral. It's giving strong Ophelia vibes and that makes sense, given the similar reasons for their demise. It's very beautiful and tragic.

Female representation: 10/10 Okay, I mean, if we have to look at a deceased woman, it could be worse. She looks like she's in a fairy tale, Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, and that's a lovely way to go out.

Practicality: 8/10 I can't really tell, to be honest, since she is obviously only ever laying down in it. But I'm sure it's fine. I'm not crying at all.

If you enjoyed this, check out my Star Wars for the Girlies Series (Padme episode out now!)

#padme amidala #padme naberrie #costume reviews #may the fourth #anidala #sw: rots

[forevfangirlwrites]

play stupid games, win stupid prizes chapter 14

Of her own volition and free will, she decides to go on a walk later that afternoon. And if that walk happens to go by the park, it’s because she wants to see the pretty fall colors on the trees.

And that’s exactly what her eyes are searching for when her path happens to curve towards the skate park (crazy how that is) and land upon a certain someone.

His hair is tucked into a beanie that matches his hoodie, and while she would say it’s a little too cold for just a hoodie, he’s pulling off the look.

He’s skating up a big ramp thing and hurtling himself so high that she can’t stop her gasp.

But then he lands upright and unharmed and she lets out a breath. God, why did he have to be so reckless?

And as she’s pursuing the lost cause of sorting out her feelings, he notices her, skating right up before she can pretend to be walking by.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, jumping off his board a second before he would collide into her.

It doesn’t stop her from jumping back with a squeak, which of course just causes him to laugh. Why did she think the walk was a good idea again?

“I’m on a walk,” she retorts, trying to straighten herself with more dignity than the squeak had shown.

“Sure,” he replies, his eyes sweeping over her in a way that makes her heart flutter. “In the cold…”

“I wanted to see the fall colors,” she asserts.

Percy raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing through her thinly veiled excuse. “Right…”

She crosses her arms and huffs, hoping he’ll attribute the flush on her cheeks to the cold. “Not everything is about you, you know.”

He steps even closer to her, eyes flitting to her lips. “But could it be though?”

She’ll say it was her surprise that prevented her from seeing the kiss coming, but she has no excuse for the way her lips respond immediately to his.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” He teases lightly when they break apart. His hands are still cupping her face and she can’t help but lean into it. Why is this so easy?

They should probably talk about it, probably figure out what’s going on. There’s so much that can get messed up and so much that has already done so.

But they’re still here, as if it’s the easiest place to be in the world. It should feel fragile, but in this second, there is so much comfort to how he’s looking at her now.

“It’s okay,” he continues when she doesn’t respond. “I couldn’t either.”

And then he’s pulling her into another kiss.

This time her hands wind up in his hair and they are probably seconds away from deepening it when she hears a loud whistle to their left.

Immediately, she backs away, face coloring in embarrassment as she realizes a few people had been looking and teasing.

“Percy,” she whispers, pushing him back lightly when he tries to nuzzle closer. “There’s people here.”

“Screw em’,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “C’mere.”

And god does that sound so tempting. It takes every ounce of her willpower to push him away. The pout he sends her when he finally does listen to her makes her want to pull him back again and kiss it off his face.

So she looks down to stop herself and repeats, “they’re watching us.”

Percy frowns and turns to the few other skates that are laughing at them. “Fuck off creeps!” he shouts. “Go get your own girl!”

The laughs are louder after that and her face is officially burning now. Not just from Percy’s callout, but did he just imply—

KEEP READING ON AO3

#percy and annabeth #percabeth #percabeth fic #percabeth au

[wildissylupus]

in one of the posts you reposted about jack and Cassidy the op talked about how jack could possibly project all his guilt and anger onto genji through the voice line we have of them and it made me think. It’s something completely different but I’ve always thought of genji as not being as close to overwatch as a lot of people make it out to be?? but I say that very lightly. I do believe genji eventually came to get closer with everyone else I mean we know he definitely got closer to Lena at some point. But with how he got assimilated into ow in the first place and everything that happened with hanzo, he obviously didn’t have a good time lmao. He was probably distant and isolated himself, and that most likely stopped him from really forming connections? I don’t know how long it took him to finally get his shit together but I know at some point he realized he didn’t want this and went out to basically find himself (zenyatta and the shambali). And this connects back to the whole point of this ask, maybe it’s so easy for jack to project onto genji because genji is kinda an enigma within ow. He came in and probably took a while to form any relationships with anyone and once he did he basically went his own way and found his own path APART from overwatch. And he’s probably one of the few that was able to do so. I feel like that gap between genji and overwatch not only can make it easy for jack to act how he does in that voice line but it would also be cool to see genji as a character be used to showcase and guide others into realizing that they can heal with or without the help/need of ow (maybe Cassidy and mercy). It’s just a silly thought I had but ofc if you disagree to any of this I would love to hear your thoughts

I definitely think the only people Genji got a connection to was other members of the 2nd gen of Overwatch, specifically the Storm Rising Team. I do think that he and Cassidy did get closer after Blackwatch but that was more in the development stages when Genji decided to leave. Out of all the characters I also think Genji was the first to leave Overwatch of his own volition.

Like I said in my previous post I think that Genji's isolation from both Blackwatch and Overwatch did have the unintended consequence of him not being to help where he should have and saying/doing things that made things worse. An example being him initially supporting Reyes's decision to kill Antonio.

Something else I want to point out is that out of all the second gen, Genji and Tracer are the only ones with a family outside of Overwatch. Tracer has Emily and (presumably) her bio dad, meanwhile Genji has Hanzo and Kiriko's family. In contrast, Sojourn's first association with Overwatch was when her and her sister weren't on speaking terms, Cassidy and Mercy were orphaned by the Crisis and Winston lost his father figure in space. We also see that even though Tracer has those connections, she still has more familial connections within Overwatch than out of it.

I think that would both help and cause conflict. On one hand Genji would be able to show a lot of characters the downside of the previous Overwatch, on the other, he'll have a hard time relating to other characters when they struggle through the betrayals and heartbreak of the old Overwatch.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch lore #overwatch headcanons #analysis #genji ow #genji #genji shimada #genji overwatch

[tobiasdrake]

Entering The Forlorn Temple.

Yeah, this place looks pretty forlorn alright. But I wouldn't necessarily say it's any more forlorn than the woods I was just in.

Oh, cool, the sun's coming out. It must be dawn.

I. Uh. I guess. That means I could have waited five minutes and not fought the Leaf Monster that only comes out during full moon nights. <.< Awkward.

There's probably a lesson in that about impulsivity but fuck if I'm gonna learn shit when I'm on a mission!

Wait wait wait, the Demon King destroyed our stronghold? We had a stronghold?

*think think think think think*

...what, Clockwork Castle? Or something else? Sorry, I was super invested in the Luana Fable and didn't pay much attention to any of the other key history lessons. As the goddess teaches, "I have better things to do with my life than pay attention to a boring-ass instructor."

No, for real, if it's Clockwork Castle, I am going to laugh so hard. You have no idea.

Because that already belonged to them in the first place.

You can't just say shit like that to a follower of Luana and expect a cautious response, my guy. What you have described is a pristine MBD (Mad Bitchin' Deed) just begging for a bold enough ninja to carry it out.

I am that ninja. I am the night. A shadow dancing around the edge of a moonbeam. A grasping hand around your back. A knife in a locked storeroom. I am.....

...wait, I think I said that wrong. Can I have a do-over?

This is it. "Oh, Ninja, you're too much of a wimp to make this jump" FUCKING WATCH ME

...what?

That's. That's not supposed to happen. I was supposed to soar like an eagle and look awesome doing it. I don't understand.

Is someone coming to let me out so that I can try again?

...

Does impulsiveness have consequences?

HOLY FUCK WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU

I mean. Hi? You look like a very nice... uh... tadpole?

That sounds horrifying. I'm sorry that you were born some sort of eldritch embodiment of terror.

Yeah, that's pretty understandable. I was. Um. Pushed. By someone very large. No idea who. He just came along and shoved me. It was super rude.

............

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ALL OF THE SHARDS ARE MINE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Bestie, you're gonna be sad you missed out on this!

...

Oh. I made myself lonely.

There we go. HEY BESTIE HOW'S THINGS?

Yeah, we're down here right now. On purpose. I did this super cool triple backflip quarter axle maneuver into a swan dive and shot straight down this huge pit. It was the best. Sorry you missed it.

How are things? Did you know I just fought a Leaf Monster? It was so cool. Didn't even touch me once. He was like "HAHA Razor Leaves!" and I was like "This ain't fuckin' Pokemon asshole SCHWAZING".

I was amazing.

._. Please validate me fighting a Leaf Monster because it was very scary and you are my only friend. Apart from the shopkeep who I might not be allowed to associate with.

Purple wizard? Purple wizard! Some sort of necromancer, I guess! Maybe Roro? I remember reading about a necromancer named Roro. I think she was a close, personal friend of Luana's.

Let's see. If that is Roro, then I believe the phrase to identify me as a friend to her is... Right! Ahem.

"HEEEEEEY BESTIE!!!"

Aaaaaaaaand undead horrors. Well, that's rude. Must not have heard me.

HEY! BESTIE! WAIT U--

Okay, in my defense, that time was an accident. But it is nice to see you again, all the same.

Please don't be jealous that I was calling the necromancer "Bestie". For you, it's a term of endearment because we're besties, but for her, it's a code phrase. It's supposed to make her realize that we're friends and stop trying to kill me.

Well, I was getting to that. But then I saw these cool catacombs and decided of my own volition, mind you that I would come check them out. It's like a side quest. Sometimes you're strolling along and you see this whole-ass dungeon and you're like, "There. I'm gonna go there."

So, yeah. Now I'm here. And I'm gonna finish out this deliberate sidequest and see if I get any cool rewards for it. How's life for you?

#the messenger #drake plays the messenger

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

Let's review our tasks again.

WEDNESDAY

Speak to the assault victim

Go upstairs and knock on the door #3 to talk to the supposed victim of the hanged man. She what she has to say to you.

TUESDAY

Find the traffic hooligan

A half-insane joyrider has jumped over the canal. See if you can find evidence of his reckless activity in west, on the coast.

First you should find the vehicle the joyrider used in their escapades.

Find the murder weapon

You need to find the firearm that killed the hanged man. Something tells you it will take *some* time. You could start by identifying the bullet, so you'd know the weapon that shot it. After that, keep your eyes open. And be patient.

Perform an advanced analysis, using H/E Coordination.

Again, I think it's very unlikely that we succeed at this check until we have more information.

Send victim's body to processing

Once you're done with it, send the corpse to Processing (lieutenant Kitsuragi will take care of it). Check twice to see whether you're done with all corpse-related tasks -- after you've sent the body away, you can't take it back.

Kim will be gone for the remainder of the day once we do this, so we should leave it until last thing.

Open apartment door for Evrart

Evrart asked you to open the basement door behind the greenhouse in the backyard, to intimidate the occupant. Do what you have to do, Evrart has promised to give you info on the case in return.

You have the key. The door is behind the greenhouse in the yard. A basement door.

I'd forgotten about this.

Ask René about the photo

The photo you found in the nightwatchman's booth—the one with a happy couple. Ask René about it, he looked uncharacteristically happy on the picture.

Close the water lock on Wednesday

If you want to get on the coast, you need to close the water lock. It's been blocked, pending repairs, which should be done by Wednesday morning. (This will open up a new area in Martinaise.)

We can do this now.

Find working class husband

The working class woman you met in front of the bookstore admitted that her husband is missing. Chances are the guy is drinking somewhere with his buddies. Find him and bring him home, if possible.

Talk to Joyce about the pale without Kim

Lieutenant Kitsuragi does not want you to hear about something called the *pale*, probably thinking it will prove traumatic. Return to Joyce once he is not there, and ask her about it. *Or* get him to step away for a second.

We could theoretically do this without passing the Volition check, if we can find another way to get rid of Kim.

The smoker on the balcony

You met a mysterious stranger smoking on the balcony of the apartment building north of Martinaise. He knows something about the murder. Find out where he lives and question him again.

Visit apartment #28 some time after 21:00 to see if anyone's home.

We can do this tonight.

Buy FALN pants from Cuno

Those FALN track pants looked enticing, but you and Cuno were not *close* yet. You need to figure out what's going on with him and then you can get your hands on some performance gear.

We *are* close enough now. We just need enough money.

Find Morell, the cryptozoologist

The ageing cryptozoologist has been out in the reeds for too long, and his wife, Lena, is very worried. Maybe you can find him when you happen to be on the coast?

You told Lena Morell is missing because of the broken waterlock. She is still worried he hasn't come back -- let Morell know if you see him.

MONDAY

Find the armoured gloves

The gloves of the hanged man armour might still be around in the neighbourhood. Try to locate them.

Ask the little girl in the fishing village, down the coast, if she knows something about the armoured gloves.

Replace lost boule

Due to some confusion over the game René and Gaston are playing, you threw one of their pétanque *boules* far in the sea. The shot was excellent, but now you owe them a *boule*... or at least similar-looking metal sphere.

Track down your badge

It's unclear how you should go about finding a tiny piece of plastic in a world as huge as this. Maybe you'll just *stumble* across it, down the line? Miracles happen.

Who put the clothes in the trash?

The victim's clothes were in the trash container out back, neatly folded. Who could have put them there, and why? Only the Whirling staff was supposed to have the key.

Who else has unauthorized access to the Whirling trash? Find this person and you'll know who tampered with the scene.

The victim's tattoos

You have a photo of the hanged man's tattoos. Maybe someone can decipher them, tell you what they mean? You should probably talk to about two people about them for this.

Ask another about tattoo's possible meaning.

The Scab Leader doesn't count for completing this task.

Who made the call reporting the crime?

Someone reported the hanging to the RCM. Maybe if you find out who it was, it may shed new light on the events. You have an idea where to start, but the caller could have been anyone.

Keep searching for the caller -- despite any obvious leads.

Explore the Whirling's secret passages

There are strange doors in the Whirling. No one knows where they lead. Find a way in and see what's hidden there, in the hostel cafeteria's forgotten corners.

Sing karaoke

You need to find a sufficiently tragic tape, then play it on a boombox to memorize the lyrics. Then ask the cafeteria manager to perform. (Preferably in the evening. More people at the bar then.)

Get hold of a sad song on tape.

Find all armour pieces

You want all of the armour pieces. Deck yourself out in full metal battle-hardened glory. NOTE! This might take a while. Like, a *long* while.

#disco elysium

[bees-tornado]

hello stranger! I will ask you some questions! 6, 9, 26, 32!

thank you for the numbers stranger I owe you my life

6. Which route is your favorite?

I’m very biased towards Verdant Wind, largely because it’s my first route, but also because Claude is there + the way it explores and uncovers the game’s lore + it has the best final battle IMO. I really really like Azure Moon’s story though so it’s a close second.

9. What is your favorite scene in the game (can be in the main story or a support convo)?

Okay because this question is sort of open-ended I’m gonna do main story AND support convo.

As for animated cutscenes, I have two favorites. One would have to be the VW final fight, I won’t describe what I like about it in great detail because there’s a certain someone I know who will probably be reading this and still needs to finish VW cough cough, but it’s just a really cool sequence and I just think Claude really gets to shine in it. Two would have to be the Blue Lions’ Flame Emperor reveal because. Yeah. Uh. Wow. That was really something. The laugh? The shot of the spear flying by Edelgard? The way it really showed Dimitri’s monstrous strength for the first time? Very good. I had been looking forward to seeing how Dimitri cracks in that route and it did not disappoint when I finally got there.

As for supports, I’m not sure if I can pick just one, but a moment that really stayed with me was a Sylvain line from his B Support with Annette:

“There's just one thing I want you to remember. Guys like me who hate hard work and sorta get by on our wits? It all falls apart eventually. I'm smart enough to know that. So I respect people like you. I mean it.”

It’s a line that really personally resonated with me, and that was probably around the time I realized how much I liked Sylvain as a character.

Some of my other favorite support chains include Bernadetta/Sylvain and Bernadetta/Yuri, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen some of these supports that I’m sure I’m forgetting a few.

(Okay, I’m gonna try to reel myself in with all the text from this point on, because if I don’t I’ll never finish answering this ask lmao)

26. Who is your overall favorite character?

I love both Bernadetta and Sylvain very much but if I had to choose my overall favorite (looks nervously at merchandise on wall/shelf/etc.), I would have to go with Bernie. She was actually the first student character besides the house leaders that I knew about before the game came out and I knew I would have to recruit her.

I’m not sure how well I can put it into words unless I write a whole essay about it (that might be its own post one day), but I see a lot of both my gf and myself in her, and there are a lot of things about her character that are just really charming.

She caught me a little off guard early in the game because she had a lot more going on than I expected, but just like Sylvain, I think there was one moment when Bernadetta really captured my heart, that being when she showed up at the graveyard in Chapter 10. Not only was she (iirc) the only person to explicitly leave flowers for Jeralt, but she left her room and went all the way across campus during exploration hours for the first time to do it. She has several moments like this, where she goes above and beyond on her own volition despite her anxiety. I dunno, I just think she’s neat.

32. What is your favorite post-timeskip character design or outfit?

I love so many of the post-timeskip character designs, but there are two characters in particular that really blew me away when I saw them for the first time after the timeskip.

First of all is Bernadetta, they just made her soooo pretty for no good reason. I love her hair, her bow, her earrings, her pauldrons, her outfit, her color scheme, and how they kept her silly little bicycle shorts. Rip to the hoodie, but she has this sort of yellow cloak-like piece with the clasp that sort of gives off the same vibe.

Second is Lorenz, they took away his haha funny academy haircut and made him downright majestic. I also love how the rose is incorporated into his armor.

Anyways THAT’S IT! I’M DONE

#thank you again for the ask #sorry this took such a long time it’s because it took me a long time #you can tell I’ve been writing this bit by bit over the course of like a week because my writing style changes so much lmao #fe3h spoilers #my asks

[mandareeboo]

I liked how Amphibia made Anne and Andrias foils, but I thought it worked better in comparing how they buried their feelings to follow toxic people in their lives, and how they did/didn't learn to move past this. I thought the whole angle of "Anne forgave her friend's betrayal while Andrias didn't" wasn't as present as others seem to think. Also, minor ?, why did you not like the separation ending if you predicted that it would happen in your earlier Amphibia blog posts?

I'mma copy-paste the finale thing form another ask of mine, but to answer the earlier thing- I wasn't expecting how hard the found family would hit in this show. I wasn't expecting the Plantars to find and cherish Anne so goddamn hard, or for Grime to make Sasha his Lieutenant, etc.

"I just can’t come to terms with Amphibia and Earth being cut off from one another. I don’t mind Sasha, Anne, and Marcy growing up and growing apart. I love their designs and careers- and same with the older Wartwood residents. But I can’t find it in me to accept that aspect of it.

And I know it’s about moving on. I know. But there’s a difference there. The girls moved on of their own volition as they got older. Sprig Plantar lost his parents, gained a big sister and extra parents, and instead of getting to grow up alongside her at a distance they just. Never see each other again?

What was the point of weaving a three season long friendship with such synergy and love and found family only to rip it apart, not by time, but by ex machina? And how am I supposed to believe in an Anne Boonchuy that would accept that, when we’ve seen time and time again how far she goes for people? Or a Sprig and Polly and Hop Pop who would take losing their family again lying down?

I’ll fully admit that I’m probably taking this a bit too personal and overthinking it, but they crafted these two beautiful worlds and families, put them together… and then had a moon destroy all that, and we’re supposed to be pacified by a non-Amphibia pink frog at the end. That’s her little brother, damnit."

#Ask #Anon #Question Mandar #Amphibia

[careless-with-your-heart]

WIP SNIP SUNDAY! I'm Found in the Water//Fringe AU (Chapter 17)

Working on new stuff for IFitW! Here's a little snippet of the next chapter.

Chapter Seventeen – Swimming with Sharks

“Who the fuck are you?” Peter asks, his gun arm steady as he holds the Glock center mass on the slight, shorter man who stands on the other side of the hedge.

Though the man is dressed in a reasonable facsimile of a Ground Force foot patrolman uniform, Peter has had enough run-ins with law enforcement—and even an instance or two of impersonating them—that he recognizes that the cut of the cloth is about a decade old. And it only takes Peter a moment to discern that the man isn’t carrying a gun. The kid can’t be older than his mid-twenties, and there is fear in his eyes.

Astrid’s shoulder brushes Peter’s arm as she raises her own gun. “I think my friend asked you a question,” she says evenly.

“I-I-”

The kid tenses. Peter knows what’s about to happen. “Don’t. Look, we just got here, and I’m not in the mood to run. So don’t you, okay?”

“You don’t run, and we don’t have to shoot out your kneecaps from behind,” Astrid adds, deadpan.

Peter looks over at her, his eyes flaring. “Damn.”

She shrugs. “His choice.”

The other man swallows audibly and puts his hands up, his eyes darting. “My name is Oliver. I, uh, work for someone who is surveying the area. We’re, uh, private security.”

Liar, Peter thinks.

“For who?”

Astrid takes a step closer and lowers her gun to line up with Oliver’s right knee. “And be quicker answering, this time.”

Oliver stammers out, “I can’t tell you. My employer—”

Peter reaches out a hand to stop Astrid from taking another step. “Chill. Please. You’re scaring me.” At her annoyed sidelong glance, he grins, reaching up with his free hand to tap at his temple. “Let me handle this.”

***

Twenty minutes later, poor Oliver has not only spilled his guts to Peter and a very astounded Astrid, but he’s also completely forgotten that he’d caught them lurking and ousted them from their hiding place—all courtesy of one of the abilities that even Peter finds questionably moral in his own bag of mental tricks.

Now, Peter and his temporary partner are standing outside a nondescript brick building on the bad side of Red Boston. Peter had found Astrid’s moniker for his father’s home city amusing, and his laugh when she’d said it in the cab in the way over had earned him another hard glance, one in a string that she had given him when he’d refused to explain just how he’d pushed Oliver into such honesty.

“Have you done that to any of us?” Astrid whispers dramatically as they creep toward a roll-up metal door with a regular door beside it.

“No,” Peter whispers back.

She pokes him in the ribs from behind. “Did you make Lincoln ask me what my favorite color was yesterday?”

Peter shakes his head, pressing his lips together as they stop and listen outside the normal door. “No, I did not. He probably just wanted to know.”

“He wanted to know that I like blue?” she scoffs.

Peter turns to frown at her. “Astrid, that dude is back in Blue Boston right now of his own volition repainting his living room in stripes of every fucking shade of cerulean he can find. He’s going to sit in the middle of the empty fucking floor, rocking and crying until you come back and say you love him as much as he loves you. He’s hoping for a real airport-run moment where you show up at his front door, assure him that you and I haven’t had hot, adrenaline-inspired sex over here, and that he’s the only nerd for you. You’ll see his blue living room, he’ll explain that it kept you in his heart for the whole time you were apart, and you will feel so moved that you will bestow that naked time on him. Now will you please be quiet while we break into this lovely resistance headquarters?”

Astrid stares at him for a long moment.

“You’re still avoiding explaining how you can do that to people’s brains," she says, one eyebrow cocked.

(More to come!)

#fringe #fanfiction #lol #answer the question #the naming of blue boston here has amused me #I only write to entertain myself #it's all jokes and sex scenes if that tells you what I'm like in real life #pretty much a frat dude over here

[akaashisupremacy]

Moments of Courage

Summary: Osamu Miya is a difficult ex to have. When your paths cross endlessly, you try to rebuild your relationship. Will there be second chances? Or just more broken hearts?

HQ Masterlist || Multi-fandom Masterlist || Read it on A03

Osamu Miya  x reader  

“Are you leaving this party because of me?”

Osamu calls you out from the tiny hallway of your friend’s get together. After locking eyes with him, you did your best to subtly scamper towards the door.

“You don’t have to go. I can leave if it’s making you uncomfortable.” he assures.

You shake your head, “You can stay. I’m not having that much fun.”

You begin shuffling through the coat rack to look for yours. You’re desperate for anything to cut the time talking to him, talking about him. The only guaranteed way for this to stop is to leave.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asks almost rhetorically. His brows are gently raised.

“Yeah, obviously,” you retort, “I don’t want to be seen by you or with you.”

Osamu Miya is your ex. After over a year of dating, he decided to end things with you in a small cafe far off his onigiri stall.

“I’m too busy,” he claimed, “You deserve someone who could give you more time.”

You reasoned out that you didn’t mind not spending so much time together. His job was time-consuming. You understood that.

But Osamu was unsettled. You didn’t mind cheering him on from the benches waiting for him to finish up work. You liked seeing Osamu do things he was passionate about. And yet he felt unsettled, because he knew this was the type of work you would not engage in.

Osamu pressed on, “I’m sure you’ll find yourself someone more worldly, more sophisticated in the city. I don’t want to prevent you from meeting someone like that.”

Something dropped at the pit of your stomach. Your mouth was ajar. He’s really trying to break up with you. It’s no secret that you preferred the city and Osamu the countryside, but neither of you seemed to mind. You’d both make the time to visit each other. You made it work.

You remember barely touching your drink. Listening to him talk was like having a ton of bricks dropped on your back. The sunlight pouring in from the glass window suddenly felt prickly.

“I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” he swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, “I think someone from the country, someone simpler and more traditional would be better for me.”

You don’t miss the yearning in his voice, the dreaminess for someone who was clearly not you. He’d always tease that you were a true blue big city girl. You liked the tall buildings, the noise and the fancy department stores. You thought it was a point of endearment, but apparently not.

It’s been almost a year since you last saw him. He looks so unaffected it irks you.

“I broke up with you respectfully. Why are you mad?” he scratches his head.

It takes all your self-control to not slap him across the face.

“Because you hurt me! You’ve hurt me so…so…much.” your voice hitches before you can catch it. This is so humiliating. He’s clearly moved on from you.

Tears start pouring down your face. You quickly hide your eyes behind your coat.

“You’d eventually realize that I’m not right for you.” he murmurs, “We’re too different.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snap, clenching your fists, “So is this is it? To make you feel better you’re going to date a small town girl to solve all your problems.”

“Well, Kita did introduce me to someone lately.” he unironically replies, “She works in her family ryokan (inn) and we work similar hours. I think we’ll understand each other more than we did.”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no point staying in a relationship that I can’t make time for. Why can’t you understand that?” he snaps back.

It is one thing to be left for someone else and another for him to dump you just because. Somehow you feel like you lost even if you didn’t even have competition. He simply didn’t want you.

Your face contorts into an angry frown.

You slip on your coat and grab the door. “Man, you are a terrible ex. Do you know how it hurts when you tell me how wrong I was for you?”

When Osamu regains his cool, he tries to reach out to you, “I didn’t mean it that way…I didn’t feel good that I could make time for ‘ya and so I let the relationship go. Because i don’t know…—“

“Well, this is all just theory anyways.” he says, “I haven’t met Kita’s friend yet. We haven’t gone out yet, just the two of us.”

You do a double turn. “What?!?”

“Yeah, we’re working all the time but we haven’t made the time to meet.”

You break into a laugh. He stands stunned and confused.

“You know what? You stay behind. You left the last time. I want to be the one to leave this time.” you sigh, closing the door behind you.

You don’t turn back to see the look on his face.

————————————— Osamu mostly works in the countryside which means that you’d be less likely to run into each other in the city. It’s easier for you to keep your mind off him and focus on your current life.

So when you see him in the corner store in place of a small fried chicken stall you used to frequent, you’re visibly shocked, appalled even.

“What are you doing here?!” you jump back, “What happened to the fried chicken stall that was here?”

Osamu looks left and right, making sure no approaching customers can hear your dialogue.

“I run this stall now. Kawaneshi-san retired. It’s a great location. I’m literally in a crossroad between a shopping district and some schools. The rent isn’t too bad and it’s a very busy location.” he answers in his usual no nonsense tone.

You make a mental list not to pass by here again.

He recognizes the look on your face, “Have I just ruined your usual route for you?”

“I thought you were a country boy.” you avoid answering him.

“Even I need to make a living.” he snorts, carefully arranging umeboshi-flavored onigiri in his display case.

Sure! All of a sudden working in the city becomes important after he breaks up with you!

You roll your eyes and curtly walk away. You got here first. You love this city. You refuse to let some onigiri-making man ruin your everyday route.

The days roll into weeks. You stick to your route and diligently ignore Osamu each time. After a while it stops feeling weird that he’s there. You feel like you’re slowly taking pieces of yourself that he broke.

It feels so good to start to be whole again.

———————————— Your newfound peace with Osamu is interrupted when he calls you out of the blue one evening. He calls to tell you that he’s sick and that he needs help running groceries. The nerve!

“Don’t you have anyone else?” you groan. Hasn’t he made friends with some other shopkeepers?

“I have no one else. There’s only you.” he coughs through his words. He tries to explain that one of his few friends is out on bereavement.

You let it go. He clearly doesn’t have anyone for today.

You find out that Osamu lives in the apartment above his stall. The space is rather small. He shares his home with some of the equipment and supplies from his store.

He must hate it here. Osamu always loved wide open spaces.

You open the fridge to find it totally empty. His sink has a few empty bowls from his earlier rice porridges. You understand his desperation. He had nothing to eat.

Moved by his situation and the little compassion for him that remains in you, you sigh and begin chopping up some vegetables to make a nutritious broth. You add in some mushrooms and root crops. While the soup boils, you prepare rice and some pickles.

The faster he recovers, the less you have to interact with him.

When you bring him a tray of food in his room, he is equal parts surprised and confused.

“You can cook?” he clears his throat.

“No, Osamu.” you roll your eyes, “I eat all my food raw.”

He sits up and sniffs the aroma of your food through his clogged nose. He dips a spoon into the soup to sample his first meal of the day.

“I mean you can cook well, like a proper home cook.” he says, his eyes wide with awe. He quickly takes a few more sips and starts on his rice.

“I’ve never known.” he croaks, turning to you.

“You never asked,” you shrug, “And you like to do the cooking yourself. You probably assumed I can’t cook, because I’m not as passionate about food as you are.”

He quietly eats and looks away to confirm the truth in your statement.

You sigh and take a nearby basin with some towels in it. “I’ll leave after I bring the basin back.”

——————————————- Something changes in your relationship with Osamu after that incident. He starts to greet you when you walk by and sometimes offers you onigiri from his store.

You always insist on paying. He doesn’t always take it.

“You’re here to make a living.” you say as you push money into his hands.

In between these exchanges you start to ask about each other again. How are you doing? Was today busy? Stuff like that.

Slowly and surely, you two were rebuilding your relationship ground up. But it was tough. Neither of you went beyond these interactions. Maybe things are just meant to stay that way.

One late evening, the last customer for the day disappears out of Osamu’s line of sight when he heads into the back to start cleaning up. He’s about to start pulling down the rafters when you suddenly show up at his counter.

His face expresses his surprise.

“If it’s too late, I can just go.” you gesture sheepishly.

He’s always surprised when you come here on your own volition.

“It’s not,” he denies, “I was closing up too early anyways.”

You pick out your usual onigiri flavors and quickly pay up. As soon as you turn your back, Osamu stammers at you.

“I-I’m cooking up some stuff at the back. Do you want to stay and eat? Think of it as a return favor for the other week.” he refers to the episode of his sick day.

You’re caught off guard but you slowly nod your head to agree. You hadn’t had Osamu’s cooking in a while and it was getting quite late. He opens the door for you and you follow him towards the back of his shop.

In a messy plastic table, you see an array of salads and pickles with different kinds of miso soup laid out. You feel almost intrusive, even more than last week.

You set the table. Osamu fetches hot rice.

It feels unnecessary for you to be here especially if he is with someone else. You do your best to keep your mouth shut. This is a friendly return of favor.

Osamu notices how unusually quiet you are. He chats you up about work. He tries his best to be animated and show interest in your latest project. He asks about your coworkers and your work environment. Were you having fun? Do you get to eat on time?

For dessert, he brings out mochi wrapped in leaves.

“It’s made by the girl I was telling you about.” he remarks, while clearing the dishes.

“Oh,” your heart sinks. You get up and leave, feeling humiliated by your naivety. Of course he’s with her. You feel stupid for even hoping.

You’re about to walk out when he comes back in. “Apparently, she’s been secretly in a relationship with another chef in her family inn. They recently got married and are hoping to start a family soon. She sent these down to inform me. I suppose that solves the problem of having to see someone outside of work—”

He sees you standing. Confusion runs through his expression.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Just stretching…” you lie.

You want to shoot yourself in the foot in embarrassment.

When realization dawns on him, Osamu looks crestfallen. Any energy left in his body abandons him. He sighs, resigned.

“It’s ok if you want to go,” he nods, “Or if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

He bites his lip and looks down on his shoes. The room is still and pregnant with silence.

“I really am just stretching. My hip feels wonky from sitting all day.” you insist with some renewed energy. You grab hold of the pot on the table. “Also, can we get some more hot water? Tea would be nice with the mochi and it’s kind of gone cold.”

He offers to make another pot, relief evident on his face.

“I’ll go heat up the water.” he walks to the kettle, “Are you sure you want dessert?”

You sit back down.

“Yeah, I want to stay.” you murmur. For once you don’t go running to the door.

He glances at you, content, a small smile creeping on his face. ——————————————————

Atsumu, Osamu’s twin brother, always finds himself in his brother’s kitchen every time he visits. He doesn’t mind too much though. It gives them something to do when they catch up.

“Samu, you can’t still be moping around your ex!” Atsumu exclaims. He’s washing Osamu’s dishes as his brother prepares for their meal.

“I’m not ready to get back out there.” Osamu waves dismissively.

Atsumu flicks some water his way. “You’re just not open to seeing someone else.”

His words clearly prick Osamu who throws flour into his face. Atsumu dodges right on time and flicks some flour right back.

Some flour grazes Osamu’s sleeve. He sighs and dusts himself.

“It’s tough, because I’m working all the time. This job doesn’t pay too much and it’s not glamorous. Who’d wanna date someone like me?” he murmurs.

“That’s why you gotta date around to find out!” Atsumu emphasizes, “Maybe you’ll even find someone who might help you with your business when you get married.”

Osamu obstinately shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

Atsumu dries his hand and carefully observes his brother. He puts his towel down onto the kitchen counter and raises his brow, “Or maybe I should just give you advice on getting back together.’

As if right on cue, Osamu slams his hand down onto the counter, “I hate that we still haven’t gotten back together. This is killing me!”

Atsumu chuckles in satisfaction. He’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Why has nothing happened yet? I’m already in the city!” Osamu continues on, “They can cook too! Did you know that?! I wish we can skip to the part where we can settle down.”

He vigorously gestures in frustration.

“I cannot! I just cannot move on until I know I’ve given everything to make this work and yet every time I see them all I do is offer them food!”

Atsumu places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “You need to be more strategic about it. Here’s what you need to do…”

———————————————————————————

Osamu takes a deep breath before knocking at your door. He holds a bag of onigiri in one hand and whatever courage he has in another.

One knock, then another. He hasn’t been this nervous in a long while.

When you open the door, his ear picks up on a male voice inside your house. Combined with your expression, he realizes that he’s come at an inconvenient time.

“I brought you something.” he tries to smile despite the sweat pooling, “I made you lunch. I just wanted to make sure you were eating. We don’t have to talk. I just wanted to give this to you.”

He tries to look past your shoulder, attempting to glimpse at your guests.

“Are you seeing someone else by any chance?” he blurts out, “I want to clarify before I make any more free deliveries.”

You frown. “That’s none of your business, Osamu. You should leave.”

Your frankness pierces something within him. He hadn’t expected to be rejected so quickly.

Osamu’s eyes widen and his mouth drops. He quickly gathers himself before he gets disheartened.

“I want you to give me a second chance. You loved me so deeply. Maybe you can find love in me again.” he says quietly.

“I thought I was too much of a city girl for you,” you retort, despite lacking an edge in your voice. You notice his hands tightly clutching the plastic bag.

The noise at the back seems to melt away. It’s like you’re back in that party, standing too close to each other near the coat rack and the door.

“Maybe you’re not.” his shoulders gracefully go up and down.

You shook your head wryly, “Osamu, I haven’t changed. I like my job and the city. I’m not the life and business partner that you’re looking for. I’m just a customer and we should keep it that way.”

“I can stop if you like.” he offers meekly, putting his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, you should. You’ve hurt me so much.” you cover your mouth with your hands while you try not to sob, “There’s nothing to go back to.”

“I’m sorry I ended things the way I did.” he looks away, “Seeing you walk by me every day feels like penitence…“

You close the door before he says anymore.

Osamu gazes longingly at the door. It’s only now that the full weight of losing you sinks in.

—————————————— “How’d it go?” Atsumu calls to check on Osamu.

Osamu sucks in his breath, his palm pressed on his temple. Atsumu braces himself, this doesn’t sound good.

“They had someone else over.” Osamu is seething in frustration and angry tears.

“Calm down. Were they alone? Or was it a friend group?” Atsumu ’s mind races. He sifts through the situation in an attempt to placate his brother.

“Yeah? No? I don’t know.” Osamu snaps, “They told me she didn’t want to talk about it. Your advice sucks!”

Osamu walks most of the way home. When he catches sight of his store, he curses. He had left his damn bike at your apartment complex! The universe is not giving him any breaks today.

He sighs and continues towards his store. He had a friend watch it while he was away. He’ll have to come pick up after he closes the store.

Throughout the rest of the day, he tries to push you out of his mind. By the time he closes the store, he is bursting at the seams with anticipation to make his way back to your apartment.

Before he sets off, he sees your figure wheeling his bike towards him.

“You left your bike.” you breathe out. You fish something out of your pocket and toss him the key to his bike lock, “You left this in your lock too.”

“Every time you see me, I just look dumber and dumber.” he sighs in exasperation.

You can’t help but burst into laughter at his candidness. He perks up a bit. He hasn’t made you laugh in a while. Of course he’d rather have you laugh with him than at him. Still, this was a start right?

"Did Atsumu put you up to this?" you chuckle, handing the bike over.

“Yeah, how did you know?” he asks dumbfounded.

“I just do.” you scoff, “It’s not like you to show up on people’s doors.”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. It was a moment of weakness.”

Your eyes lower, framing the sad expression that sets into your face, “Yeah, it better not. I’ve moved on.”

You turn around to walk away. In a brief moment of courage, he cups his hands around his mouth.

“I’m not ready to move on from you and if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” he calls out.

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Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar​

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! I’m definitely making a part 2!

#osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu miya x you #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x y/n #miya twins #miya twins x you #miya twins x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n #hq x self insert #hq x you #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfic #hq fanfic #hinata fic #osamu angst