#but also that working on recognizing and processing the...

[mydearestdaryl]

𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐚 (18+) ‧₊˚ ✧

Summary: Daryl needed some love and you gladly gave it to him. Warnings: TWD violence, gore, blood, character deaths, explicit language, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected p in v, simple aftercare). Not proofread. Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f! reader smut + fluff. Setting: Quarry. A/N: I read a post some time ago that said that Daryl in season 1 just needed some kisses to calm down and I couldn't agree more so I wrote this. It's also my first time trying to write smut, so I am so sorry if this sucks, and I was so hesitant to post it so please be nice lol. 😞

“Ha-ha, funny girl,” T-Dog deadpanned, rolling his eyes and suppressing a genuine laugh. It was the third bad joke you told in a row, and he was starting to find them funny.

“I really am,” you replied breathlessly, finally able to catch your breath after cackling at your joke.

“Okay, Eddie Murphy,” T-Dog, added jokingly, making you giggle as he placed a bunch of firewood you'd been helping him split for the past 40 minutes. “Let's head back.”

“I just thought of another one!” You exclaimed as you walked next to him. His groan of annoyance made you laugh before you even told the joke. “What do you call a fish with no eyes?”

“I. Don't. Know.”

“A fsh,” you replied after a dramatic pause, hardly able to contain your laugh as he gave you a side-eye, pressing his lips together to hold a smile back. “Please, I-” you started, but interrupted yourself as a commotion reached your ears from the camp. You recognized Daryl's voice.

Sharing a confused look with T, you both picked up the pace, coming into view with what seemed like a heated discussion between Daryl, Shane, and Rick, the man who joined the camp yesterday. You felt a little annoyed that they ignored T-Dog's request to let him tell Daryl, but oh well.

“Rick Grimes,” he introduced himself to Daryl.

“Rick Grimes,” Daryl mocked him, “y' got somethin' you wanna tell me?”

“Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof hooked into a piece of metal,” Rick stated, apparently with confidence. “He's still there.”

You stayed in place, watching as T-Dog slowly took a few steps closer to the scene.

Daryl hummed as he turned around, pacing shortly before he spoke, “Le' me process this,” said he while turning to face Rick again, clearly growing irritated. “Ya' sayin' you handcuffed ma brother to a roof, and you left 'im there!” His veins popped as his voice got raspier as he yelled at the other man.

Rick gulped before admitting. “Yeah.”

Suddenly, Daryl tossed the squirrels he was carrying toward Rick, the latter swiftly dodging them before Shane jumped into action, tackling Daryl to the ground. Next, he pulled a knife from its holster, swinging it at the former cops, but being stopped in a matter of seconds.

In the blink of an eye, Shane put Daryl in a chokehold, while Rick snatched the weapon out of his hand. “Ya best let me go!” warned Daryl, struggling in Shane's grip as the cop brought him to the ground. You walked closer toward Carol as your eyes remained on the scene, but decided to walk to the other side as you noticed Ed was next to her.

“I think it's better if we don't,” Shane replied, almost mockingly.

“Chockehold's illegal,” Daryl added, face red from the struggle.

“'Kay, file a complaint,” If this situation was not so tense, you would've laughed. You did a little on the inside. Rick kneeled in front of the restrained man as Shane spoke again. “C'mon, man, can keep this up all day.”

“I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. You think we can manage that?” Rick spoke, trying to find Daryl's eyes. “You think we can manage that?” the cop repeated when no answer was obtained.

Panting and growling, Daryl grunted in agreement, finally getting Shane to release him; more aggressively than he should, if they asked you. Sitting up quickly, Daryl pointed at Shane warningly. Rick continued: “What I did was not on a whim,” he explained. “Your brother does not work and play well with others.”

“It's not Rick's fault,” T-Dog spoke up, his leg bouncing anxiously as he confessed. “I had the key. I dropped it.”

“Couldn't pick it up?” Daryl retorted. His voice was calmer, but you recognized in his stormy eyes a hint of grief. Nobody else cared about his brother when his brother was everything he had. You couldn't imagine how terrible this situation was for him.

“Well, I dropped it in a drain.”

Dropping his head, Daryl slowly got up, gathering his composure again. Anger returned to his expression as he walked past T-dog, “'f it's s'posed ta make me feel better, it don't,” glaring daggers at the 'culprit.'

“Maybe this will,” T went on to say, “I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him... with the padlock”

“It's gotta count for something,” Rick piped in.

Drying a tear as soon as it came, Daryl took a deep breath. “Hell with all y'all!” he screamed. “Jus' tell me where he is, so's I can go get 'im.”

“He'll show you,” Lori stated, staring into her husband's eyes. “Ain't that right?” Rick's eyes left his wife's after a few seconds, finding T-Dog's shortly before nodding.

“I'm going back,” he declared, almost solemnly, hands on his hips as his eyes met Daryl's again. The younger Dixon clenched his jaw before walking past everyone to get his crossbow and stomping to his tent.

You didn't notice you went behind him until Dale stopped you by grabbing your wrist. “What are you doing, honey?” the older man questioned. He'd always been kind and sweet to you, so you gently released yourself from his grip.

“He's upset,” you explained, and he seemed to understand as he nodded reluctantly, but understandingly. On your way, you grabbed your half-full water bottle, and slowly approached the edge of the camp, where the tent of the Dixon's was.

You found Daryl sitting on the chair outside his tent, shoulders hunched forward, fists clenched with anger as if grasping the last shreds of control. His head bowed low and his eyes were shut tight. You caught the way his body shook softly with quiet sobs. You stilled, not daring to interrupt this stolen vulnerable moment.

After another minute, he abruptly stood up, drying his tears before cursing loudly while kicking the chair he was sitting in. You were suddenly hesitant to approach him and decided to turn around and leave, but before you took one step, his voice reached your ears.

“Whaddaya doin' here?”

You took a deep breath before turning back around and walking up to him, your water bottle hanging from your hand. “I- uhm, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about Merle, and-”

“Ya don' even like 'im,” he snapped defensively.

“No, I don't,” you confirmed, “but I like you, and he's your brother. Even if my brother would annoy the shit out of me before, I loved him, and... I'm sorry you're going through this, Daryl,” you took a few steps closer, eyes on the ground as you spoke before meeting his.

His gaze remained on yours, before studying your face, finding nothing but the truth.

He frowned deeper, angrily huffing out a breath before turning away from you to rant. “He's jus' so fuckin' stupid. Nobody can fuckin' stand him an' he can't keep 'is fuckin' mouth shut!” he yelled, pacing from left to right, hands dancing through the air practically independently, punctuating his words.

“Why he gotta be such a fuckin' pain in the ass? Not even when we gotta surv-” mid-sentence, your hands found his cheeks, and with utter sweetness your lips impulsively found his, silencing his words.

He stilled, hands slowly dropping to his sides, body completely tense.

You quickly pulled away, opening your eyes to find his eyes slightly wide and totally confused. Your hands left his face and you took a step back. Your eyes awkwardly looking anywhere but at him. “Fuck, Daryl, I'm so sorry,” you started, a knot of anxiety growing in your chest. “I don't know why I did that... well, I know why, 'cause I like you, but I shouldn't have, I'm- I'm so sorry, really.”

Your rambling was interrupted by his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to connect his lips with yours. This time he was more relaxed, and the kiss was slower. His hands slid down to gently grab your hips, pressing his body to yours.

Your arms snaked around his neck, dropping your water bottle, and allowing your lips to part when his tongue requested entrance. Exploring the taste of each other, time stilled for a moment, but you loved it. The kiss grew almost desperate and the grip on your hips got stronger.

Unhappy to pull away, but needing to do so to breathe, you found yourself gasping as his lips left yours. You smiled brightly, cheeks rosy, and he smirked while dipping his head. “Also, I brought you water,” you added, grabbing the bottle from the ground, and dusting off the little dirt that stuck to its side before handing it to him.

“Thanks,” he nodded, taking it from your hands before opening it, downing the liquid, and emptying the bottle.

“You're gonna find him,” you reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder and a quick kiss on his cheek. He smiled and nodded once again, muttering a thank you. You sounded pretty confident as if you knew, which gave him the confidence when he left on the search for his brother later that day.

Everybody screamed as they tried to avoid or fight the walkers emerging from the thick forest. The evening that started so peacefully suddenly turned into the perfect scene of a terrifying horror movie.

Things moved fast and slow at the same time. It was a blur. Tunnel vision, solely focused on surviving and protecting your group, moving on automatic pilot as you dug your machete countless times into the head of those flesh-hungry monsters.

You didn't even notice when it ended, barely feeling a pair of strong hands gripping your shoulders. His voice sounded distant asking if you were okay over and over. But you couldn't answer, you weren't sure if you were okay, the adrenaline didn't let you feel your body.

His loud voice calling your name finally snapped you out of your trance. “What?” You asked, brows knitting in confusion.

“Were ya bitten? Are ya alright?” Daryl questioned, nealy manhandling you as he searched and scanned for bites or scratches on your neck, lifting the sleeves of your flannel to make sure the skin of your arms was intanct.

“I didn't get bit or anything,” you shook your head, still a bit gone.

Cupping your face to study your eyes, he quickly pulled you into his arms, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You felt finally safe now. You wrapped your arms around his torso, closing your eyes and hiding your face in his neck.

After everyone agreed to get some rest and leave the cleaning for the morning, Daryl offered to stay in your tent with you that night.

He helped you into your pajamas, and you cuddled for a bit as he told you what happened in Atlanta. Then you simply lay in silence. You played with his fingers and he watched you adoringly, rubbing soothing circles on your back with his free hand.

You looked up to find his eyes on yours. Gently he cupped your chin, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. Your hand went up to cup half of his face, returning the kiss with equal passion. It was almost needy but slow. It was like he needed the confirmation that you were both here and okay.

Tongues met in a slow dance, and his hands reached down to cup your ass, easily moving you to lay on top of him. You couldn't help but moan as your body completely pressed against his, but it also made you want to feel more.

His hands slid under your shirt, and you broke the kiss in need of oxygen, immediately latching your lips onto his neck, sucking and kissing. He hummed in satisfaction, which was all the confirmation you needed to keep going, but he stopped after a few moments, pulling his hands out of your shirt, and cupping your face again for you to look at him.

“You sure 'bout this?” he asked, his face stern as he waited for your answer.

You nodded hastily, licking your lips. “Yeah. Are you?”

“'M sure,” he said without hesitation, pulling you onto his lap so you could straddle him. “Need ta feel ya,” he whispered in a husky voice, sending a shiver down your spine as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

His hands caressed the dip of your waist up and down under your shirt as you made out. You buckled your hips up unintentionally but did it again on purpose when you heard him moan into your mouth.

You were straight-up grinding into his hips before he pulled away from your mouth, “not yet, doll,” he whispered as he took your shirt off. His hands went to your breasts like magnets, kneading and massaging the curves shamelessly as he peppered your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down to pop a tit inside his mouth.

Your clothed cunt clenched on air, as you closed your eyes and moaned, enjoying the attention, and you could feel his excitement tenting in his pants as well.

He slowly shifted the position, you back now on the mattress. After he decided both tits had been given enough attention, albeit still reluctant, his mouth trailed lower and lower, hands smoothly pulling your shorts and panties at the same time as his tongue and mouth kissed and licked the skin of your stomach.

His eyes met yours as he kissed your thighs, silently asking for permission to go further. “Please,” you whispered, surprising yourself by how needy you sounded, but then again, you did feel like you needed him right now.

He wasted no time, and in less than a second his mouth was latched to your clit. Tongue swirling on it and sucking, making you gasp. He used his whole face, pushing himself deeper and moving side to side as his tongue flicked over your sensitive pearl quickly. Hungrily. You arched your back involuntarily, fingers finding his hair to pull while simultaneously pulling him closer.

With a hand on your hip, he sucked a few more times before he licked a strip down to your entrance where his tongue began to fuck you. His thumb replaced his mouth on your clit, rubbing at the same speed as his tongue went in and out of you. You moaned and whimpered and cursed, trying to keep quiet, being apparently unsuccessful.

“Quiet, sunshine,” he whispered, his free hand reaching up to make you suck on two fingers to silence you, and you happily obliged. Your legs wrapped around his head as he continued his ministrations, the familiar knot forming in your stomach.

“Fuck, Daryl, I- wait,” your back arched further, legs pulling him closer, contradicting your plead as he moved faster and faster, changing again to suck on your clit and fuck you with his fingers. He hummed and the vibrations brought you closer. “So close.”

Your pitch was higher and higher, the knot tighter and tighter. All it took was a final, flick and suck of his tongue, feeling him moan against your cunt before pushing you over the edge into a shattering climax. The free hand covered your mouth as the other slowed down, prolonging your pleasure until your body relaxed and you came down from your high.

“Fuck,” you looked at him with hazy eyes.

“Fuck,” he said as a confirmation, looking down to see a damp spot on his sweatpants.

“Come here,” you said, pulling him into a kiss. He gladly kissed you back as you slid your hands under his shirt, trying to pull it up, but he stopped you, grabbing your wrist.

“I-” he started, looking away from your eyes and knawing on his bottom lip. “I have- I....”

“You don't have to take it off, it's okay.”

“No, I wan' ta, jus'” he sighed, slowly taking the shirt off. He was thankful his back was away from you. At least you wouldn't have to see those yet. “My dad... was a drunk,” he reached to touch, kind of trying to hide, one of the scars on his shoulders, but you gently pushed his hand away, tracing the scar with your fingertips before looking up at him. You smiled and kissed him shortly, before kissing the scars on his shoulders.

“You're so strong,” you whispered.

His heart was beating fast but in a good way. His lips found yours again as he settled himself between your legs. Your now-familiar mouths found a rhythm as he started to pull his sweatpants and boxers down.

His erection hit your thighs making you pull away. You bit your bottom lip at the sight; he was thick, and the size was a bit on the bigger side. “All for you, baby,” he whispered, as he pumped himself a couple of times.

He rubbed the tip on your clit and entrance, spreading your and his juices all over your cunt again. “Ya ready?” he asked, slapping your cunt with his dick gently. You nodded. “Nah, need ya to speak up.”

“Please, Dar, I'm ready. I need you.”

He hummed in satisfaction, leaning to prop himself up with his forearms around your head, kissing your cheek, before slowly pushing into you. You moaned and he groaned. You were wet and ready enough, so the stretch felt like pure bliss for both of you.

He grabbed both your hands with one of his and pinned them above your head, starting to move when you wrapped your legs around his hips. “Feel so good, doll.”

He started slow, savoring the moment but also nervous to hurt you. But soon, he picked up a rhythm and started moving faster. Your boobs bounced beneath him as he kissed and worshipped your neck and breasts. You felt so deliciously full as he thrust up into your tight, dripping heat, moaning and whimpering underneath him.

He was in heaven, eyes inevitably closed as he made love to you, but he wanted to keep them open to look at you. To him, you looked like a work of art just like that.

“Harder,” you breathed, and he obliged. Your skin met over and over and the sounds filled your tent. He grunted, reaching down to rub on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you. “Oh, right there,” your voice was getting higher, letting him know you were close. “Don't stop, fuck, please, don't stop.”

“I won', baby. I gotcha,” he moaned. His thrusts became more and more urgent, each one hitting that sweet spot that made your body arch and your toes curl. If your hands weren't inside his gasp you'd be grasping the sheet beneath you. With one last flick of your clit, you shattered.

His mouth claimed yours to silence your cries of pleasure. Pure ecstasy filled your body, and prolonging your high, Daryl continued moving inside you, until he, too, reached his peak, quickly pulling out and releasing himself on your stomach.

Spent and breathless, he collapsed next to you, who was in the same state as him. Your body tingled with the remnants of your passion, and you couldn't help the smile on your face as he kissed your face lazily.

Your eyelids were too heavy to notice when he pulled a little rag from somewhere and cleaned you up, then you felt him put your clothes on again, and his too. All too relaxed, you nestled into his embrace as he pulled you into his arms, both falling asleep in a matter of seconds.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon headcanons #twd #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixion imagine #twd fanfiction

[erose-this-name]

Kabru is such a brilliantly written character, one of the best in Dungeon Meshi (which is a high bar as it is, most of the main cast are similarly genius). 

His thing is that he is very friendly and nice confident and maxed out his charisma stat, but is also kinda ambitious and manipulative. But not in an overtly malicious way. Which kinda scares me.

The most impressive thing about him, writing wise, is that it’s all show-don’t-tell. He very frequently uses his charm and empathy and understanding of how people think in really clever ways. We’re often walked through his thought process of how he does these social deductions. We’re never told he’s scarily charismatic, besides other characters reacting to him being scarily charismatic.

Kabru is a natural-born leader and social engineer with superlative skills in both, which makes him the perfect foil for Laios, who’s too autistic and unambitious that he’s not even the de facto leader of his own party that he’s the official leader of. He’s so bad at leadership that his party just, sort of, doesn’t have a leader. They just kinda argue and do stuff.

What’s also neat, and perfectly inline with Meshi’s general theme of clever and logical subversions of fantasy tropes, is that Kabru’s character design in no way clues us in on this fundamental character trait of his.

He’s sort of a human fighter / knight archetype, which in the language of fantasy RPGs is a class most would associate with being a white bread jock, chivalrousness optional. (Laios subverts the same trope in the same way. It’s really funny that the walking exposition dump of the group looks like the character creator default preset spec’d as the most generic class available.)

If Kabru was a bard or noble and Laios a wizard, their character traits would be far less interesting

Even better is that we would expect someone who looks like Laios to have Kabru’s personality, and vice versa. Their character designs are flipped; the confident super charismatic leader is a short wide-eyed twink, while the slightly naive and very autistic monster enthusiast is a tall conventionally attractive Aryan lookin’ mf. (see what I mean by Kabru being such a good foil for Laios?? No wonder everyone ships them, they’re perfect for each other!)

Yet, their designs also work for them. Kabru just has a face that’s easy to talk to, his piercing blue eyes and curly hair gives him a false sense of naïveté, while his iconic 👁️👁️ expression hints that there’s actually quite a bit going on inside his head. Meanwhile, Laios believably looks like someone who doesn’t know what hair conditioner is. His armor’s collar gorget thing is also pretty dorky.

You can’t trust people like that (I mean overly charismatic people with a manipulative streak, not blue-eyed twinks) because you can’t know what their real motives are. You can’t know they aren’t pretending, you can’t know they aren’t trying to or haven’t already manipulated you. How could you? When he has so much more social intelligence than you do, average socially awkward Tumblr user? He’s touched all the grass!

In episode 16 (spoilers, btw) Kabru finally meets Laios’s party, who he’s been trying to find and fight for the better part of the season, and he just decides that no confrontation is necessary. Like, immediately upon meeting the guy. Just from how Laios looked at him. He figures that since Laios didn’t seem to recognize him, they either have never met meaning he has the wrong guy, or Laios forgot meaning he didn’t think it’d be a big deal, meaning the treasure was a trap or something. Which is pretty in line with Kabru’s established ability to always roll nat 20s for every charisma and deductive reasoning check, so cool.

But he doesn’t even seem curious about which of those cases is true. (He might be interested to find out some of the treasure wasn’t dangerous, but accidentally got thrown off a bridge). Much to Rin’s dismay, he’d rather just not bring it up because that could upset the leader of the party he might be working with for the foreseeable future.

Actions speak louder than words. So, all we really learn in this scene is that Kabru’s goals and M.O. can change on a dime, and that he values reputation and political capital more than money and vengeance. More than his own party’s desire for those things. Not only is he someone with a silver tongue, but he knows its value and is determined to use it at every opportunity.

Kabru and his party might not be very good at fighting or surviving in the dungeon, in fact their frequent TPKs are a running gag. But, he also doesn’t need to be when he can just manipulate Laios’ and Shuro’s much more proficient parties into helping him.

So far, Kabru seems like the most likely one to become king of the dungeon or whatever the mcguffin is. He is the only protagonist so far who has said that’s an actual goal of his. He’s said that he doesn’t think someone like Laios who isn’t a born leader should get it.

In fact, Kabru seems to have very strong opinions on what kinds of people should be allowed to adventure in the dungeon, evidenced by the fact that he murdered an entire party over it, justified or not. Kabru seems to think that Kabru is such a leader, and he’s probably right about that, but what kind of leader? 

What would Kabru do with that kind of power if he gets it? Because I’m not sure. All I know is that he is the kind of person with the ability to use real political power to its full potential. For good, or for very, very bad.

I’m not saying that Kabru is evil or that he’s secretly gonna be the surprise villain. I dunno, I haven’t read the manga. He could just be a nice guy that’s just, like, is like that. Everything he’s done could be justified by the explanations he’s given. He actually reminds me a lot of one of my IRL friends, and I’d trust him with my life.

But, I can’t help but feel a distinct sense of unease whenever he’s on-screen. I try not to trust confident natural-born leaders like him right out of the gate. I don’t like that our instinct as humans is to blindly follow them without thinking about it.

Tyrants and psychopaths also use confidence and charm and a friendly demeanor to make people think they’re a good guy, while manipulating everyone into thinking their self-serving actions are altruistic. Benevolent, confident, skilled leaders do exist. But there exists many more snakes wearing their skin. Wolves rarely bother with sheep’s clothing, they dress as shepherds and sheepdogs.

Anyway, my point is that I think it’s kinda neat that it’s possible to overthink this much about a character whose probably just a nice guy that is the mirror opposite of an autistic person. Writing that kind of ambiguity is hard, and employing it in this way is inspired.

#writing #spilled thoughts #dungeon meshi #kabru of utaya #laios x kabru

[jeankluv]

can you make a light and fluff gojo satoru story wherein you (who is not one to initiate sweet things) break satoru by initiating affection? (kissing, cuddling, confessing, praising, etc.) would love to see the usually flirty and "oh so great" gojo satoru flustered, speechless and a blushing mess, hehehe. lovesick satoru is the best satoru!!!! thank you! ♥️

I love when Satoru is flustered, a mess, nervous with their partners. Birdie Satoru also being like this in the upcomings chapters 😏

But here you have this small one shot, enjoy 🫶

You always make me nervous- Gojo Satoru

Words: 1.5k

Summary: You always struggle with giving the first step and afraid of your boyfriend getting tired of you, you decide to change that. What you didn’t expect was to see a new aspect of Gojo Satoru in the process.

Tags: gn!reader, no use of y/n, pet names (love, honey, baby), fluff, comfort, just fluff, Gojo Satoru being a complete mess

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

You had never been the type of person to show affection to others, it had always been something you had struggled with and you had tried to work on for years, but you still struggled. In fact, your last partner broke up with you for that same reason, you were not loving enough, affectionate, etc. Now with your new partner you had tried to change that but it was still difficult for you and it was always him, the one who took the first step, the one who kissed you first, the one who told you I love you first.

Satoru was the opposite of you, he was affectionate with everyone, he was not ashamed to show his affection for others and he was not ashamed to show how much he loved you when you were with his friends, although you often died of embarrassment when he filled your face with kisses, but at the same you felt how loved you were by him.

And you wanted to return that, you wanted also to show him all the love you were shy to show, to make him blush and nervous. So that day you were going to do it.

You looked in the mirror of your apartment. You and Satoru were going to meet for lunch that day and spend the rest of the day together, it was normal for the both of you to go out like this, having regular dates and spending quality time with each other.

“You can do it.” You whispered to yourself touching the necklace Satoru gave you last Christmas.

It was a rose golden necklace with an ‘S’ on it. When he gave it to you, there was a note with it that said:

“I want to wear his initial

On a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck

Not because he owns me

But 'cause he really knows me”

You immediately recognized those lyrics and what song they belonged to. Satoru was the type to listen to the things you said and pick up on the little details. And the thing is, shortly after starting to date, on a trip where he took you in his car, that song started playing and you, without further ado, mentioned how much you loved the lyrics and what it meant. And that same Christmas he surprised you with that precious gift.

You kept hitting your head every time you remembered how you had reacted when you opened the box and read the note. Inside you were elated, your inner self was doing somersaults and wanted to cry but your outer self couldn't express itself. That's why you wanted to change, even though Satoru told you and repeated that he knew you had a hard time expressing yourself, but that he still loved you.

The doorbell to your apartment rang, breaking you out of your thoughts. You took a breath and smiled looking at yourself in the mirror, today you would do it, you would take the initiative. You grabbed your bag and went down to the street, where Satoru was waiting for you in a black coat, a turtleneck, and his usual dark glasses.

When you left the portal, you noticed that he still hadn't seen you so you sighed and touched your necklace again, reassuring yourself. You walked up to him and gently touched his arm. Satoru turned to face him smiling.

“You look so…”

“You look so handsome today Satoru!” You cut him, leaving him speechless.

“Oh, thank you honey, you too.” You could tell he was still processing your words.

“Let’s go.” And it was you who held his hand first and started walking.

“Honey…” You hummed. “Nothing. Yeah let’s go, I have a new restaurant we should try.”

You nodded and walked side to side. Your hands were sweating and your heart was beating loudly, you hoped Satoru wouldn’t notice any of it.

As you head to the restaurant, your head was racing fast, thinking about ways to show him love and appreciation. So you let go of his hand and clung to his arm, causing Satoru to look at you confused at your act. You just smiled at him and acted like he was the most natural thing in the world for you. But the truth was that you were screaming inside.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Satoru let you enter first and you both sat at a table next to the window. You ordered your food and waited for it to arrive.

“Honey…” Satoru called you out with the usual nickname.

A nickname that used to make you blush so much but with time you get used to it.

“Yes?” You smiled.

“You are okay?” You nodded. “Alright.” He held your hand.

“Don’t worry love, I’m okay.”

You did it! You called him love. And he was blushing. The image of Satoru blushing was one that you had wanted to see for a long time and you had finally gotten to see it and all with a simple loving nickname. The words had come out shakily from within you but once said you had felt how you floated and relaxed completely.

“Wow!” He laughed and swallowed, putting a hand on his mouth. “You just called me love?” You nodded. “That’s… that’s great, good, yeah good.” He nervously nodded.

So Satoru was capable of getting nervous that way, you made him nervous that way. You smiled to yourself as you realized this. Since you had met Satoru you had never seen him falter or blush, he had always been the bold and confident guy, and he was the one who made you nervous and made you blush.

The food arrived and while you ate Satoru told you about his day and you told him about yours. You both worked so you always looked for moments to be alone.

“What do you want to do now?” Satoru asked.

“What if… we go for a walk?” You suggested with a smile drawing across your face.

Satoru nodded and before he could make any movement you held his hand. You both left the restaurant again holding hands, you walked for a while to a nearby park. You wanted to take the next steps, you wanted to initiate a kiss and be the one who said more nice words to him that would make him blush and get nervous. When you arrived at the park you sat on a bench near the small lake where some ducks lived. You were silent, but it wasn't an awkward silence, it was comforting and pleasant.

“Satoru…” You called him after a few minutes, he hummed in response, turning his face to look at you.

As you ran your hands up your legs, trying to remove the sweat that had accumulated, a nervous energy ran through you. With trembling fingers, you gently cupped Satoru's face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. Closing their eyes, they leaned in slowly, bringing their faces together until their lips met in a tentative kiss.

Your heart raced with anticipation and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as the connection deepened. Every touch, every sensation, felt electric and sent shivers down your spine.

When you finally pulled away, eyes still closed, you prepared yourself for his response, your heart pounding with anticipation. The trembling of your hands mirrored the fluttering of your chest, a silent recognition of the vulnerability you had just accepted. Little by little you began to open your eyes, finding Satoru's face looking at you.

“You just…” He began but soon enough he covered his face with both of his hands.

“Satoru?” You tilted your head confused.

He looked at you for a second and then smiled, placing his hand on his mouth to hide it. “Oh…you really.” He laughed subtly and you could see his dimples forming at the sides of his smile. “You are amazing, you know that?” He whispered, bringing his face closer to yours.

“Did I make you nervous?” You half smiled.

“Honey… You always make me nervous.” He caressed your face. “When I see you, I feel so pathetic and nervous.”

“But I never show you…”

“Hey!” He cut you off. “Don’t say what you are about to say.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “I love you for who you are and I know you love me, that’s all I care about.”

You watched as he left a kiss on your cheek. “Still, I want to change that. I want to be able to show how much you mean to me and how much I love you. I want to be able to express those feeling and to be able to… you know be more affectionate.”

“I know, baby. But just know you don’t have to push yourself forward to do things you don’t want, alright?” You nodded. “That’s my baby. Now do that again.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head.

“Kiss me first.” He smiled.

You kissed him again, feeling how this time Satoru continued the kiss. You blushed a little bit and your heart skipped on your chest, but it was okay. It was really great.

#gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x oc #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #fanfic jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Read on A03

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

#fix you fic #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 24: Happy Thanksgiving

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Thanksgiving dinner unfolded seamlessly, and every one of Jake's family members buzzed with excitement over your news.

You were assisting Cindy in the kitchen when your cellphone rang. Grabbing it, you saw Jake's face and name on the caller ID.

"It's him, everybody!" you announced excitedly, unable to hide your smile.

As Cindy prepared the kitchen table with the birth announcement decorations, you answered the phone.

"Hey, babe!" you greeted warmly, your voice tinged with both nerves and excitement.

He grinned back, his green eyes twinkling through the screen. "Hey, darlin'! You're mighty cheerful today."

You beamed in response. "I'm always cheerful when you call."

"That is true."

"Let me flip the camera around so you can talk with everyone," you said, pressing the button on your phone to switch to the rear camera. You began walking around, allowing Jake to greet his family members one by one as their faces lit up at seeing him.

As the phone passed from one family member to another, the anticipation built up. Each greeting was filled with warmth and small hints of the upcoming announcement, yet no one spilled the beans. Finally, after everyone had their moment to chat with Jake, you took the phone back, positioning it so that both you and Cindy were in frame.

"Jake, before you say anything else, we have something special to tell you," Cindy began, her voice full of excitement. The background clearly showed the decorations hinting at the big news.

Jake's expression shifted from joyful to stunned as his gaze settled on the creative display you and Cindy had arranged. The centerpiece was his U.S. Naval Academy hat, which you had retrieved from his closet. Alongside it, you placed a printed picture of your ultrasound. You had also found a small dry erase board on which you wrote, 'Baby boy Seresin flying in April.'

You watched his face, eagerly anticipating his reaction to the carefully planned announcement.

Jake's eyes widened as he took in the scene, his surprise evident even through the small screen. For a moment, he was speechless, his mouth agape as he processed the news.

"You're serious?" Jake finally managed, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and disbelief. "We're having a baby? Y/N, where are you?"

You took the phone back from Matt, who had been holding it, and switched the view so you were looking directly at him. "I'm right here."

"Seriously? We're having a baby?" His voice was filled with growing excitement and a touch of nervousness, as the reality of the moment began to sink in.

You glanced at Cindy, who gave you an encouraging nod, and walked into Jake's bedroom where you had been staying. You closed the door behind you, settling onto the edge of the bed, you faced the camera squarely. "Yes, Jake. We're having a baby."

Recognizing the familiar surroundings, his tone mixed happiness with concern. "Baby, I'm so happy, but…how far along are you?"

"Just hit four months this week," you replied softly.

"And you're just telling me now?"

You sighed, gathering the courage to express your feelings. "Because I didn't know how you'd react, Jake."

Jake's features softened further as he absorbed your words. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you knew all too well as his way of processing complex emotions. "I get it," he said slowly, nodding his head. "Are you still working?"

"Yes," you responded, eager to reassure him. "I have interns for both the grant and work. I don't step in unless absolutely necessary." You watched for his reaction, hoping he would understand your commitment to both your work and your health during the pregnancy.

Jake ran his hands through his hair again, his face a mixture of seriousness and hesitation. "Since we're still all about this honesty thing, I did it on purpose."

Confused by his vague admission, you furrowed your brow. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice filled with uncertainty and concern, seeking clarity on what he was trying to tell you.

Jake's words hung heavily between you. "Those four years killed me after we lost the first baby. You are my life, Y/N. I wanted another child with you. That first night when we used protection, I felt like you didn't want me anymore."

Taken aback by his confession, you responded, the surprise evident in your tone. "Jake, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I used protection because I care about us, about making sure we're both ready and that it's safe. It wasn't about not wanting you—it was about caring for our future together." Your words were firm, hoping to bridge the gap his misunderstanding had created.

Jake's eyes searched yours, the realization dawning slowly as he absorbed your words. "I… I got it so wrong, didn't I?" he murmured, his voice a mix of regret and sadness. "I let my fear and my own insecurities cloud my judgment. I thought if we didn’t try immediately, you might never want to try again."

"Oh, Jake," you sighed, your voice soft but filled with a mixture of love and frustration. "You have always been my world. Why did you never see it?"

Jake's expression shifted, reflecting vulnerability. "Because you were the first person that I love so much it scared me," he admitted, his voice catching slightly. His confession revealed the depth of his feelings and the fears that accompanied them, providing a glimpse into the complexities of his emotions towards you and your relationship.

"Open the door, Y/N," he said.

"Jake, I can't do that," you responded, the confusion deepening. "I'm not there with you."

"Just try opening my bedroom door," he insisted.

You slid off his bed and made your way to the bedroom door. Reaching out, you gently opened it. Just then, Jake came into view, dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a bomber jacket. He put down his phone, his green eyes locking onto yours.

"Jake!" you cried out, your phone slipping from your grasp as you threw your arms around him. At the same time, his arms encircled you, holding you close.

His embrace was tight and reassuring, as if he was trying to make up for all the time lost and the distance that had once been between you. Overwhelmed by the suddenness and the reality of his presence, tears began to well up in your eyes.

"How? When?" you managed to ask between sobs, pulling back just enough to look at him, searching his face for answers.

"The mission got done earlier than expected and I took the first flight. I let mom and dad know. I wanted to surprise you," Jake explained, his voice warm, his smile gentle.

Your heart raced with a mixture of joy and astonishment. "You're really here," you whispered, almost to reassure yourself as much as to express your disbelief.

"Yes, I'm really here," he reassured, his thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. "And I'm not going anywhere, at least not for a little bit."

"Are you excited about the baby?"

"Darlin', I'm excited about everything that involves you." With those words, Jake leaned in and kissed you deeply.

The kiss was a clear testament to his commitment and love, a reassurance that despite the challenges and surprises that had come your way, your bond remained strong. As you parted from the kiss, you felt a surge of hope and excitement about what lay ahead.

"I have so many plans, so many dreams for us and our baby," Jake said, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "I want to be there for every moment, every milestone."

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around you like a comforting blanket. "I'm glad you're here now. That's what matters most."

"I love you, Y/N. Always have, always will," he declared.

"I love you too, Jake Seresin."

You both leaned in for another kiss.

Tags: @buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #glen powell #hangman top gun #hangman #top gun maverick hangman #hangman fanfic #top gun fanfic #jake hangman x reader #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #hangman fanfiction #jake hangman fic #hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader

[magadauthan]

Ep 25: Live Through

@trigun98watchparty My time has come.

I watched "Live Through" in Japanese and English for this recap. For science. It's not because this is my favorite episode, no. That has nothing to do with anything.

--How did Milly and Meryl get Vash away from LR? Does 1 ile = 1 mile? Did they swipe Legato's Cinderella coach?

--that floppy hair *swoon*

--Some have criticized Meryl for ducking outside as soon as Vash begins to talk. Perhaps that is merited, and she does carry a good measure of guilt for following him, but it felt to me more like she wanted to give him space and / or privacy. Having loud emotions all over the place is frowned on in Japanese culture, and Meryl is very, very polite. Maybe she just doesn't know what to do and panics (Vash has not always been encouraging in terms of having her around, in general). Either way, it tears her up inside to hear him wailing in despair.

--Obviously Meryl has been home tending to Vash while Milly works. It's nice to see Meryl recognize that Milly is busting her butt, but she doesn't know how to address Milly's feelings, either.

--Vash should not be up and about - he's weak and feverish and not a little delirious. Good thing Milly can carry him.

--Get in there, big sis, and tell Meryl it's okay that she loves him. She's absolutely right in that Legato would have found a way to make Vash shoot him whether or not the two of them were involved. Never hold back in matters of the heart.

--My favorite scene. Meryl, alone in the light of the fifth moon, diligently mending Vash's coat. She wants to put him back together and make him whole again, even if she gets hurt in the process. She's desperately in love with him, and she holds the kind person he is close to her heart... but he was the one who put the hole in the moon. How can she reconcile that?

--Vash does look happier.

--He tries to pet the kitty, and Kuroneko gives him a swat, which some interpret as the Trigun Goddess telling Vash to get it in gear. This is incorrect. Cats are just assholes.

--It didn't stop with Legato, now, did it. Knives is pressing harder.

--"Sound Life" must be a song they teach in NML kindergarten. Many people seem to know it, including Kaite and Meryl. (the lyrics really need to scan better, it's so awkwardly phrased)

--This scene is such a tough one. It's lovely - two lovers out under the stars, right? And Meryl is so happy that Vash is considering staying with them. But it's also plain to see that he might have given up. It would be easy, wouldn't it? Let the girls take care of him while he hides. Don't do anything, and wait for an answer.

--What were you doing up so late, Meryl? (we had some ideas)

--There's no way that the townspeople could have captured someone like Vash if he hadn't let them do it. He's so broken that he won't fight back. He's a sinner now, like Knives, like Legato, beyond redemption.

Except...

...Knives assumes that Vash would sacrifice himself for everyone else. Someone else sacrificing herself for him had never been part of the equation.

--So many have stopped believing in Vash, or he thinks they have. They turn their backs on him and he accepts it as the normal course of things. Jessica's crush was childish (I was gonna marry Luke Skywalker when I was four, just saying) but even she ran away after what happened to the ship. That's why it's so important that Meryl loves him. She has made her decision, and she's steadfast in it.

--Maybe Vash doesn't realize how much she loves him until she puts herself between him and the gun, and he hears Rem's words from Meryl's mouth and sees Rem one more time. If Meryl still loves him, then Rem can still love him too. Mistakes happen but you can learn from them, and if you have the right people in your life, they will love you through your mistakes and help you to make it better.

--And finally, Vash realizes that Rem's words apply to him, too, and that he is no less deserving of a second chance and a future than any of the others he's impressed those words on. Does that make Meryl the analogue to Alex? I think it does.

--Awww, such a sweet snuggle. And then Vash has to go doof it up like normal and Meryl has to freak out like normal. It's their love language. (TBH I'd punch my husband too if he rubbed his stubbly face on me like that.)

--What happened after that? (we have some ideas)

--Vash gets ready to go. Seeing him wash up and shave is oddly pleasing, a reminder that despite his Plant-ness, he's a regular dude who has to wash his face and brush his teeth and get haircuts and have breakfast and do all that human stuff.

--Meryl wants to say something to Vash, but she's gotten wiser too. She recognizes that even though there might be a lot that she wants to tell him (and, I think, he might want to tell her too), stating her feelings in the open would be a distraction (or even a burden) he doesn't need right then. Milly is right. There will be time when he gets back.

It doesn't come through in English, but he's so gentle with her in Japanese. He knows what she wants to say. In his own way, at that time, he's saying I love you too.

--Vash takes WW with him, with Milly's love and blessing. May you go with God's protection.

#trigun #trigun 98 watch party #Day 25 #live through #vashmeryl #vash x meryl

[punkstylerecovery]

I think today is the first time I've ever been told that I've tried really hard to advocate for myself. I'm very anxious and sometimes I can't speak (which may be related to my autism? not sure), so I always feel like part of the reason people treat me the way they often do is because I don't advocate for myself properly or "enough".

But my therapist told me today that he thinks it sounds like I've tried really hard and in proper ways too. I'm just dealing with lowkey shitty people. (He didn't say the last part but I think its true and also his face is kind of expressive so I don't think he'd disagree.)

I've never heard that before though and it feels good? to hear? Part of me knows that even if I was the world's shittiest self-advocate, I wouldn't deserve any of this but hearing that I'm not is still reassuring in a way I didn't know I needed. I'm not absurdly bad at telling people what I need or setting boundaries; people just aren't listening to me.

#punkstyle #trauma recovery #abuse recovery #ok to reblog #as always #it was just a nice moment #he told me we can brainstorm different ways to advocate next time #and see if that helps anything #but also that working on recognizing and processing the... #grief/trauma that comes with being so consistently ignored #and purposefully misunderstood #will be something to undertake as well #whether a change in advocacy works or not #which is nice to hear #hes doesn't speak as much as my last therapist #which leaves me anxiously filling the silence sometimes #but he's actually better i think #when he does speak it means more ig #and he takes a fuckton of notes lol #therapy

[julijbee]

girlbossing too close to the sun.

#art #ive literally just been treating this game as a library simuator #i walk from bookseller to bookseller opening up all of their books #vivecs sermons are either a highlight or the point at which i stop reading #ive been trying to convince the ordinators that imitation is the highest form of flattery but it hasnt been working #let me wear your helmets please theyre so funny.. #posting morrowind in 2024 isnt a cry for help but youre not wrong to be concerned. #morrowind #almalexia #vivec #im going to explain the chitin armor give me a moment #so the bonewalker nerevar on the shrines is adorable and it was only after drawing it however many times that i realized #it looked relatively close to a modified chitin armor #and so i modified chitin armor a few times and this was probably the cutest result #i also know i drew almalexia relatively pristine and untouched by years and vivec not so much but my thought process was #vivecs role as if not a favorite then the most accessible divine or the most “hands on” in a manner of speaking #acting in ways visible to the general population or actions explicitly brought to their attention #like not that almalexia isnt doing anything she is #but the dissemination of information regarding that is very different etc etc etc #anyways to a certain extent a god is the face on a shrine or in art or upon a statue or carving #but vivecs presence is interwoven with the geography of vvardenfell especially and his actions and writings with pubished materials #and the arts and culture and customs etc etc etc #so to me the face of a god you know and feel a commonality with or a god that walks alongside you is a face you would recognize #and vivec is already otherworldly looking enough #the simple mark of the years on his skin in some way grounding him in reality felt more right #that and i think the ways in which he and almalexia care about outward appearance are slightly different- they prioritize different things #and the ways they present outward power and their embodiment of their respective attributes share some similarities as they both have that #important preoccupation with physical power and physical strength to a certain degree #oh my god nobody read this i am yapping so bad. #tes

[ash-and-starlight]

Zukka week day 4 // The arts

Studying the blade through calligraphy practice

#id in alt text #yet another love letter to green zukka #for those three of u who Recognize 👀 the background/palette #Im sorry I’m lazy I liked that vibe and shamelessly recycled it all #(ohh also) #(it’s referencing a scene from Hero which would work so well for a ATLA au… up until the very end of the movie) #(zukka as broken sword & flying snow aawjrbjekfbskfk screams cries) #(dies in incommensurable pain) #((don’t look to close at that perspective lmaooo)) #zukkaweek2022 #zukka #sokka #zuko #my art #side note I started this one ages ago and my artstyle changed like six times in the process help

[front-facing-pokemon]

#tropius #HE SO APPY!!! FUCK!!! HOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS ONE #i've never looked at tropius up close before i didn't even know they had a little helmet and shit. this is WONDERFUL. they're SO appy #i hope you all appreciate this as much as i do because this is very good. i don't even know anything about tropius. jack SHIT. except that #they're so appy. and i will accept this. i gotta work but i've been too busy thinking abt how appy they are #i also started the process of remaking my main blog. bc it just had a lot of posts on it all the way back to way back in my past #and i felt like it was weighing the whole blog down and making me not want to use it. and that blog needed some housekeeping for me to want #to associate myself with it. so i'm currently in the process of coming up with a new URL before i start really renovating #so the hunt for miss ffp starts anew or something. unless i've lazily replied to you in a comment once and you remember my url #i've done that to a few of you. demifiendcruithne is one. shoutouts to you demifiendcruithne you're the best #then there was that one who assumed i use windows. despite recognizing that i'm “rather techy.” yuck! #had to respond to that one to clear up any suspicion that i might be a windows user. this is all totally unrelated and also will be #totally irrelevant by the time this post gets up anyway. hopefully. y'know if i haven't come up with a new url by then then #i mean. that's my fault. but this isn't gonna post until july 23rd. 10 days from today. so. hopefully! #see you all then

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#let me express to u perhaps The frustration of my life #i like to learn. it is perhaps my favorite thing. new information. more more more constantly #but. my fucking brain is the fucking worst. because im not fucking stupid if i can focus and process the words being said i can understand #many things. i like to learn about math and physics and chemistry and biology and anatomy... ect concepts #but the focus and the processing of words is where we have problems. because i cannot focus for more than like 5min #i blink and suddenly ive been spaced out for a sec and need to reorient. i cant prioritize what to do 1st and im constantly bouncing betwee #tasks so nothing ever gets done and im too intimidated to start learning things. and when im trying to learn we habe the processing words #problem. like my reading comprehension is so fucking bad. like i will read a book on paper and maybe retain 25% of the info if im not #hardcore trying. for a class where i had to do a ton of paper reading. i had to read everything out loud to myself. highlight important #info. write myself a summary based on the highlights and then read the paper again before i could even begin to feel comfortable in #discussions. it was so fucking frustrating and miserable. ppl will give me physical books and im like thanks i cant fucking read sorry #too fucking dyslexic. read and listen they say. u have to read and listen at the same time bc i cant pay attention and i cant read #so if i do both then maybe the info gets in. thats y i have to read aloud but i hate it and still get distracted #i mean. i probably just have an attention problem. its also really annoying that my short term working memory is so awful #bc in order to make things make sense i have to draw or write them out. i cant judt go off the top of my head or i get stuck saying thr sam #thing over and over and over. its like my ability to think is extremely shallow. but thrn i read papers and recognize concepts from classes #i took years ago and im like. fucking y cant i know what i know? my head feels so empty but info is in there somewhere #its just so fucking frustrating that i love understanding systems so much. complex annoying little systems that fit together like a puzzle #and my fucking brain refuses to accept the information im trying to get in there. so i return to a remark left on my dyslexia assignment: #intelligent when not constrained by language or time. thanks. unfortunately language is how ppl communicate #also i freak out under time pressure lol. anyway ive just been reading papers for fun this weekend and remembering y i dont: bc its agony #but also i fucking love the concepts so much and i need a good understanding of photosynthesis before August when i join a photosynthesis #lab lmao. ugh. i love learning but my brain was not buildmt #built for it. if only if only someone could podcast about the obscure things im interested in while reading directly from the source #unrelated #also its like 105 degrees plus. its too fucking hot out #thats like 40 degrees C. the sun is like a death ray

[ichorblossoms]

crying and barking bc i wanna make COMICS and i AM but my comic and storytelling skills aren't where i WANT them yet so i have to make stuff i think is BAD before i make stuff that is GOOD

#and i AM but GGRGRGRGGRGHGHGHGGRGHG #i'm just in the quagmire of recognizing my understanding of things is greater than my skills right now #and i'm not exactly discouraged bc all i can do really is just do the best i can at any given moment and i'm just saying fuck it we ball #i think there's a point in my process where i definitely hit a wall and i'm trying to work out what the wall is and how to circumvent it #also this isn't me like #asking for encouragement at all this is just the best place to yell about it bc i'm frustrated hglkfdhlg #rambles

[queer-spectre]

i have an appt to start the process of legally changing my name this week and i'm !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#personal post #so so so happy w a twinge of almost like ... nostalgia??? of letting go of the name I haven't been called for years but still Was Me #trans stuff y'all get it #weird to think abt having to change my work logins (medical field gen requires legal name for signatures /audit trails) so my coworkers #Call my by my actual name but have to also be able to recognize my deadname when following up on cases/ quality control stuff so it's #i am well supported at work / personally so this process is ..... basically just legal at this point which is such a privilege tbh #ah i will have to change my one (1) publication lmaooo #but it will be in effect before i hopefully go to grad school !!!!!

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

having thoughts about nine, and i think one of the biggest things i would personally do to fix him and his role in the story (without making him a flat out villain) is to change the core theme of his character from 'missing stair will not and should not ever be held accountable for their actions,' to:

cruelty and defiance are not the same thing. existing out of spite is not an evil thing; refusing to lay down your weapons under the guise of being small and soft and palatable is not evil; defending yourself and others from being wiped out or made less than you are is not evil. it is not cruel. making good on 'fuck around and find out' can be one of the most important things you will ever do.

and because it's not cruel, it does not excuse cruelty. 'kind does not mean nice' doesn't mean 'cruelty is acceptable as long as it's for a Good Cause'; it also doesn't mean that cruelty in some instances and kindness in others balance each other out. if anything, the latter just ends up becoming part of the former with a different face. it doesn't matter how soft or palatable or loud and rough-edged you are: either your worldview is built on kindness or it isn't, and that will show in how you act on it no matter how hard you try to quarantine one philosophy from the other.

there are lots of other things i'd change; a major one being to pull the fuck up on said cruelty by a LOT, holy shit. as well, don't make him abusive, whether as a) a tactical abuser who pretends his trauma took out the filter he absolutely still has, or b) someone whose trauma has taken out their filter, and left them a disoriented, barely functioning wreck with no idea what the hell is going on inside or outside their own head; whose confused flailing manifests as lashing out in abusive ways, and who wants to do better, and would actually improve with both help and accountability for their actions. that last one has worth as a narrative, but it requires pulling on the sensitivity gloves so far up your arms that it's just a whole spandex suit, and these writers have well and truly proven they are just not fucking capable of that lmao

but in the end, one of the things that does absolutely have to change is that his character has to have a point other than getting away with being a missing stair. there might be other ways to write him as a static character and still a good one; they do have their place! but given that the conventions of the genre would generally involve a growth arc for a character like him, i feel like this interpretation is one that probably falls closest to what they were actually going for.

(or at least, what they wanted to trick the audience into thinking they were going for. lol)

anyway yeah, i have a piggy bank full of cents about this and that is two of them. tl;dr justice for nine, we could have had it all

#lorien legacies #LL number nine #LL crit tag #LL tag #the crit files #take a hammer and FIX the canon #which i think is going to start being my tag for that to differentiate it from just Screaming #bc the other half of the awfulness of recognizing Bullshit is the joy and satisfaction of using that knowledge to create something better #also re: the 'two types of abuser' thing i am planning on going into that in its own post; but the tl;dr is that abuse is a learned skill #the inclination to do it isn't; but the process of putting it into practice /is/ #sometimes people are looking to meet a need and find an easy button to mash to fill it; because unskilled or not #Abuse Works :') #but the patterns of control and manipulation that nine use are ones that require practice; observation of people; and gathering a toolset #even if they haven't had a victim they've managed to Trap yet; they've spent a lifetime developing that skill passively #testing what they can get away with; how people react to things and the effects they have on them; taking notes from other abusers #fine-tuning What Works #post-escape nine is both inclined to be abusive /and skilled at it;/ the first in a way we don't see him at all inclined toward beforehand #and the second in a way he absolutely /could not have learned/ in the circumstances of his life pre-capture; he was completely isolated his #entire teenagerhood; a 30 second exchange about climbing safety was 'one of the longest conversations he'd had with a kid' before maddy #the only place he'd have been able to pick up a toolset like that from would be to lift it wholesale from sandor; and as abusive as sandor #was; & much as you can see some seeds in there of nine's later BS; it's not anything like as much or as blatant as nine would need to copy #and like. tactical abuse vs button-mash abuse is very much a spectrum #but if nine came out of captivity inclined to abuse people it would /absolutely/ not look what we ended up with #it would be HARD on the button-mash side of that spectrum #and what we got was on the same level as him being a bullshit unbeatable charming-and-debonair death machine #and fck y'all writers for portraying trauma and mental illness as magic wands to turn someone into an abuser #to try and force people to like your godawful edgy obnoxious creator's pet; by pretending it makes him sympathetic and complex 😒 #lmao anyway. will probably repeat a lot of this tag rant when i type up The Post about it but yeah

[maythray]

neeeed to start drawing little comics for my object oc world.. crayon and cor are on my mind always :)

#ive never really talked about what their life is like before that one comic i posted for objectober #mainly cause i wanna be able to approach it correctly #crayon and cor are homeless for the majority of their story. and i want to be able to like. be respectful about how i approach that #i guess. #its mainly that cor was always homeless. since she was 'born' in an alleyway with no knowledge of the world and acted like a wild animal #at least early on #crayon stumbles into her alleyway when hes delerious and starving and cor instinctively helps him #since starvation is what cor's squirrel half died from. she recognizes it and immediately wants to prevent someone else from suffering #like that #they also end up staying in that alleyway. since cor cant really enter any homeless shelters or anything #on account of her not having any real place in the world. and crayon chooses to stay with her since she matters more to him than anything #crayon does still attempt on his own to get them somewhere to live. he has bad luck with finding work though #which is why he ends up as a street performer cause its at least something hes good at that at least reliably gets him enough money to eat #its also through that that glow stick notices him and invites him to his circus. and how that whole arc of crayons life starts #id talk more about cor's side of all of this but im in the process of rethinking it since i wasn't too happy with what i had before so #oc ideas

[feeisamarshmallow]

being a one direction fan is an exercise in self-love. no i will not elaborate.

#actually i probably will one day but not today bc i'm at work rn #something something about recognizing pain and celebrating accomplishments and how that lets us externalize that process for ourselves also #fee says stuff #one direction