#this longing for what it would have been if we lived in a world that would accept and love us unconditionally

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: During a car ride Joel attempts to hide his erection from you along with feelings he knows he shouldn’t have for his friend’s daughter.]

Smut, Angst

Getting a hard on for his friend’s daughter was not something he planned. It wasn’t something he was proud of.

When your father was killed, before he took his last breath, he made Joel promise him he would watch over you and keep you safe. Joel did just that knowing you had no one else. He and your father had been close friends for nearly five years, but he never really saw you around because you had lived with your mother growing up until right before the world ended. Of course, one thing Joel didn’t expect was just how much he began to like you yet, he knew you were off limits.

It had been five months now since your father had died, you and Joel were traveling back to where Tommy was. Although you were twenty, you had never learned how to drive so Joel began teaching you so you both could take turns to rest.

Joel and you had stopped at a shopping center hoping to find some more supplies but of course you became distracted by a clothing section. Mesmerized by the dresses the mannequins wore…you’d kill for the black silk one right in front of you. Watching Joel distracted in the other side of the room you grabbed the dress and hid behind a wall trying it on. You knew Joel would’ve convinced you other wise telling you it was pointless to do, but it had been so long since you dressed up. Catching a glimpse of yourself in a dusty old mirror you gasped. An old ticket showing the $700 price tag on it, why not have some fun with it?

“Joel! Look what I found” you stood before him excitedly as he was hunched over looking beneath a table. The second he stood up, his eyes lighting up before realizing what the hell he was thinking.

“What are you doin’?” He asked in a slight irritated tone.

“I found it and I had to try it on, Joel. I used to love wearing dresses and it’s gorgeous! I mean what do you think?!” Innocently you turned around looking back at him, showing the revealing cut it had down to your lower back. His eyes looking at you in a way they never had, following the slit to your ass before you turned back to him. Joel was speechless, you had no idea the effect you in that black dress had on him.

“Well?” You smiled as he stood serious, struggling to find the words.

“It’s nice” he spoke low, controlling his reaction on what he really thought. Joel couldn’t deny his attraction to you but anything he felt didn’t matter, he wouldn’t disrespect his friend this way.

“It’s gorgeous! It’s a $700 dress, you believe that?”

“We gotta get goin” Joel quickly changed the topic forcing himself to look away. You shrugged silently grabbing your backpack and walking beside him when he realized you were leaving with the dress on.

“The hell ya doin’?” He asked stopping you in your tracks.

“We’re just driving, thought I’d enjoy it on for a bit till our next stop. Come on don’t be a buzz kill” You laughed before walking off, Joel gulped not knowing how he was suppose to ignore you in that dress for the next four hours.

Sitting in the passenger seat you leaned your seat back drifting off to sleep until it was your turn to drive. Joel beside you gripping the steering wheel for dear life fighting the urge to look over at you. Thoughts roaming in his head like never before, inappropriate things about you that he couldn’t control. Moving around in your sleep you softly moaned making Joel unable to resist turning to you. One movement of your leg and the dress had slightly rose above your knee giving him a glimpse of your thigh. The sight sending blood rushing to his cock causing him to quickly swell up in his pants.

“Shit” Joel cursed at himself trying to ignore the urge he felt when you began to move around slowly waking up.

“How long have I been sleeping?” You yawned rubbing your eyes as Joel adjusted his pants struggling to hide his hard on.

“Uh, I don’t know” he kept his eyes on the road with his arm on his lap. You couldn’t help but notice he sounded strange and so you pushed your chair up looking over at him.

“You ok, you wanna switch spots now?” You asked but he quickly shook his head just wanting you to look away from him. His arm awkwardly sitting on his lap you couldn’t help but notice his awkward posture.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Your question making him more nervous.

“Huh? Nothin’” he cleared his throat before swallowing hard. Getting a hard on for his friend’s daughter was not something he planned. It wasn’t something he was proud of.

“Whatever” you whispered looking away as Joel remained tense hoping his nerves would kill the erection.

“I’m so thirsty, you have any left over water in your bottle” you looked over to the full bottle against his door and reached over.

“Hey, what the hell you doin’?”

Joel panicked feeling you come near him and attempted to grab his water bottle to pass it to you before realizing he was no longer covering his very obvious bulge.

“Oh-“ you gasped as he came to a sudden stop.

“Here, take the damn water bottle” he handed it to you without looking at you in the eye knowing you had seen what he was trying to hide. You had never suspected to see this side of Joel yet you couldn’t take your eyes off it.

What could’ve made him hard?

Looking up at him you realized how much he refused to look at you…maybe it was you. About to let himself out of the car, curiosity got the best of you and you slowly placed your hand on his bulge.

“What are you doin’-” He whispered low looking down at your hands on him, the feel of you so close taking over him. You could see him trying to fight it, yet he didn’t move.

“Relax” you whispered softly. Feeling the thickness of his length through his pants, his breathing growing heavier as if he was about to burst. Slowly you unbuttoned his pants, the urge he felt for you was too strong to stop you.

“Wait-” He whispered roughly yet he didn’t want you to stop. Gently you pulled out his warm thick cock in your hands looking up at him to find him already sweating.

It must’ve been so long since a woman touched him, you could see how much he needed this. Unexpectedly you leaned forward taking him in your mouth making his hips jerk, a sound you couldn’t make out harshly coming out of him.

“Fuck-“ he leaned his head back, his hands not knowing where to go, almost afraid to touch you. Joel closed his eyes in shame, what kind of man was he allowing you to do this? Feelings that Joel realized were never just platonic for you, he didn’t know what the hell they were.

Slowly you got up and leaned over to his side getting on top of him. Straddling him you felt him place his hands tightly on your waist. His eyes darkening realizing you never had any underwear on, the tip of his cock feeling how wet you were. The look in his eyes of a man that lost control as you took him in completely.

“Shit-“ Joel squeezed your waist. Grabbing onto his button shirt you began to ride him, his jaw tensing at the feel of how tight you were, stretching for him with each stroke. A sudden loud moan from you taking Joel by surprise as you moved faster. He watched as the silk dress slipped off your shoulders giving him a glimpse of your breast jumping out with each movement you made. He knew he wouldn’t last long especially with the way you felt wrapped around his cock. Leaning close against him you held onto his broad shoulders, breathless as he looked at you completely lost in the pleasure. A deep moan coming from his lips when his hips jerked upward.

“Fuck- get up- get up-“ he choked out before he picked you up himself off his cock and came. Throwing yourself to the side you watched as he finished jerking himself off, his cum building up on his hand as more continued to spill out of him. He sat still for a minute with his eyes closed, out of breath as you watched him..

The ride continued silently, Joel was serious staring ahead not making any eye contact with you. He could feel you look over at him here and there, the guilt eating up at him. How the hell could he have let this happen? Joel was pissed at himself for giving in, for being so weak.

“Are you mad at me?” Your question catching him off guard. Of course he wasn’t mad at you, he was more angry at himself, he should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve known better but caught in the moment you didn’t think. Joel was a man you trusted, the two of you were adults and things escalated quickly, why did it feel so wrong?

“No” his response not convincing you.

Joel decided to pull up to another pharmacy to see what other supplies could be found along the way. Waiting for him to get out you called out to him telling him you were going to change. Joel turned his back to the car waiting for you not saying a word.

“Let’s go” you walked past him reaching the front door before slowly opening it.

“Hold on, dammit” Joel grabbed the door letting himself in first taking a look around as you followed. After clearing the place the two of you began looking for anything you might need. Still you watched how Joel avoided you, not letting himself get close to you until you finally had enough.

“You’re really just not gonna talk to me?”

He stood still thinking of what to say but didn’t say a word.

“Look, I never expected that to happen, Joel. I wouldn’t have just done that with anyone” you continued as he distracted himself looking around him.

“You can’t even look at me-“

“It shouldn’t have happened” he whispered looking down.

“Well it did-“

“It was wrong” his voice grew louder as he unexpectedly looked up.

“I made a promise to your father-“

“My father is dead, Joel! I’m not a little girl.”

He most certainly knew you weren’t.

“I’m not looking for you to baby me or..want something more with me so don’t worry about that, but the least you could do is not act like I’m no longer worth speaking to anymore”

“Maybe you never were” he responded rather quickly catching you off guard. Joel didn’t want you upset with him but maybe that’s what was best. Anything was better than Joel coming to terms that maybe this wasn’t just a sexual encounter. A sexual encounter that he should’ve never allowed in the first place.

“I only helped you because of your father, you think I would’ve stayed stuck with some young dumb broad just for the hell of it?” His words cutting through deep. You didn’t think for a second Joel had feelings for you, but he also had never spoken to you like this.

“You’ve only held me back” he whispered coldly, he noticed your eyes tearing up and quickly looked away. A wave of guilt washing over him as you angrily walked out slamming the door shut. Joel watched through the window making sure you got back to the car safely, he noticed you wipe away a tear only deepening his guilt.

During the rest of the car ride you didn’t speak to Joel, you didn’t even look at him. Joel taking a quick glance with the corner of his eye as you faced the window.

Once arriving back to Tommy’s you got out of the car and slammed the door shut heading to your room.

“Everything alright?” Tommy asked Joel watching you walk off.

“Peachy” Joel muttered low walking towards his brother.

Heading towards your room you ran into a few of the guys hanging out having drinks. Usually you were never one to drink but with the way you were feeling, why the hell not?

“What are you guys drinking today?” you caught them by surprise. Sure, Joel had warned you to stay away from these guys that were nothing but trouble but what was it his business whom you decided to surround yourself with.

“Whiskey, want some?” One of the guys asked.

“Please” you surprisingly grabbed the bottle from him and took a chug.

“Oh gross” you wiped your lips as the men laughed.

“Not a drink huh? Maybe you should slow down” they laughed just before you took another chug.

The night went on as the four of you laughed and talked about nonsense, you honestly were enjoying yourself. Joel having a drink with Tommy at the bar he had no idea what you had been up to outside thinking you were in your room.

“Ellie’s been alright?” Joel asked Tommy who nodded before taking a sip.

“She’s making friends easily, the kids like her” Tommy responded before they were both distracted by the sound of laughter and glass breaking outside.

“The hell was that?” Tommy slammed his glass down before heading out as Joel followed only to find the typical guys drinking together acting childish, except this time you were amongst them.

“Oh shit it’s Joel-“ one of the guys whispered hiding his bottle of alcohol, the other attempting to grab the bottle out of your hand.

“What the hell are you guys so afraid of? Joel Miller?” You laughed stumbling to the side as you took another sip. The guys standing up straight as Joel and his brother walked up to them.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Joel walked up inches away from your face looking down at you.

“Uh, Joel she was just having a drink and-“

“Was I talking’ to ya, boy?!” Joel quickly snapped at one of the guys beside you.

“Let’s go, get out of here” Tommy led the guys away from you and Joel which only pissed you off.

“No-where are they…going…?” You slurred as you attempted to follow them with a stumble, Joel grabbed your arm.

“Let go of me!” You pulled pack hitting the wall behind you.

“I was just…drinking with some friends”

“Ya know damn well they ain’t no friends” Joel took another step forward towering over you.

“I told you about those guys god dammit-“

“What the hell do you care!?” You attempted to shove him, yet he was harder to move than you expected. Taking another chug he unexpectedly grabbed the bottle away from you as you attempted to grab it back.

“Hey!” He threw aside breaking the glass.

“What the hell Joel!”

“This what cha wanna do? You get pissed at me so you go and get drunk with these losers?” He furrowed his brows.

“And what’s it to you?” You smirked at him.

“Maybe I wanted to get drunk and let one of them fuck me” your words making Joel clench his jaw. A hint of jealousy stinging him when he suddenly grabbed you by your legs and carried you over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!” You screamed kicking and hitting him but he didn’t budge. Not saying a word he let you scream until he bought you to your room. Kicking the door open Joel lay you down on the bed, before you ever had a chance to get up he walked out and closed the door shut behind him with a lock.

“What are you doing?! Open the door!!” You slammed your hands on the door angrily. Maybe this was selfish of him, Joel didn’t like the idea of you with any of these men, you with any other man for that matter. But at the same time you were drunk, he refused to let you make a stupid mistake out of anger.

“Open the door” you screamed once more when to your surprise, he actually opened it.

“Go” he whispered.

“Go on, go fuck those friends of yours-“ he stood back giving you space to walk out.

“That’s what you want right?” You could hear the irritation in his voice.

“What do you…care…” you continued to slur waving your hands around.

“What the hell do you…care who I…fuck, or what I do“ Joel unexpectedly grabbed you by your waist pushing you into the room.

“Cause I want you god dammit-“ he shocked you with his words.

“And not just you on top of me” his eyes looked deeply into yours.

“I want you beside me, I want you with me” he whispered as you stumbled slightly off balance. Too shocked…too drunk to respond, Joel didn’t know if he’d regret admitting this to you…a part of him hoping you wouldn’t remember the next day.

“I-I need to..lay down” you whispered as the room began to spin. Joel quickly lay you back on the bed, your hand covering your eyes as the sensation of a ride began to take over you.

“I’m really dizzy..” you whispered as he sat beside you.

“I’m right here” he held your hand in his as you closed your eyes and fell to sleep. Joel didn’t know what the hell got into him to admit anything to you, he didn’t know how he felt about it. He wondered what the next day would hold, if you would recall what he had been hiding for so long…

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fan fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n

[starshipsofstarlord]

locked away

summary. whilst hiding out from walkers in a closet, you grow extremely bored. the only thing to do is daryl, but you have to make sure he stays quiet

warnings. smut, handjob, sub!daryl, dom!reader, praising, mentions of gagging, crying

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The aroma of cigarette smoke that clung addictively to his clothes filled your nostrils as you hid in union together, avoiding the stream of deadly walkers that marched in their haphazard staggering through the wide hallway. There had been worse that you survived through, so as long as you didn’t alert the parasites that filled the decayed human bodies of your presence, you would be fine.

Boredom struck you after the first hour of leaning all of your weight against the chipped brick wall, listening without consent to the groans and growls of the dangerous passers-by. If you had a nickel for each time you expressively rolled your eyes that had adjusted to the shadows which conjured a graphite colouring to which you could see, you would be astoundingly rich in a world without cash currency.

You had an impulse to blabber out the most random thoughts that appeared intrusively in your mind, although you were sure if you dared to your beloved Daryl would gag your mouth with that dirty red rag and tell you to shut up; and it wouldn’t be a first time for that. Your shoulders slumped defeatedly as the pressing circumstances of the long and drawn out waiting game refused to come to an end.

How many goddamn walkers were out there? Actually that was an answer you’d rather not find out whilst you were contained in a narrow closet which was consumed with lacklustre silence. Daryl wouldn’t even meet your eyes in the dark space, sternly pent up from your antics during the run that had lead you into being entrapped by your own free will and vigilance to live another day. He was pissed, and worst of all in this circumstance; turned on.

His pools of pitiful blue distinctly avoided your gaze, trying his darnest to focus on the stakes that were against you both. But he was pursued by a cloaking of consuming lust, his shoulders rigid as he thought repeatedly of your earlier words. If you’re a good boy, then maybe we’ll have some fun before we get home. It wasn’t likely to happen now, the bowman thought intuitively, sharply discarding the sweet images of pleasing you from his brain.

These walkers were preying risk to more than just his life, he felt like he could explode from the overbearing desire to feel your hands rake upon his entire body, and he mentally cursed as he felt his cock spring to life at just the the sinful thought. He grunted in solitary longing, pacing with light and feline like steps as much as he could in the limited ground that was cemented in the storage room.

“Something wrong?” You almost inaudibly spoke, cocking your head as the corners of your mouth twitched in mocking amusement, and he would have whined in response if there wasn’t the threat of the passing walkers merely inches away. “Come here, let me help you baby.” His head was lowered in a submissive bow as he followed your command, creeping towards you until your chests were all but touching.

It was something you adored, to see Daryl in such a state, and it made you feel powerful without any limits. The flow of your bloodstream began to pound with revelations with what you could make your obedient man disperse himself to. It was like he was a buffet of possibilities, however his arousal was rubbing against your thigh, making you recall his desperation, and it would be satire and cruel for you to allow him to suffer without your amorous caregiving.

You shuffled, keeping a balance on your body weight so that you didn’t accidentally stagger backwards into the buckets or moulding mops that were leant against the wall to your left, as you lowered your hands to his wide hips, giving him an affectionate squeeze before you turned him in your embrace so that his back was facing your front.

Admittedly there were times where you loved to listen to him beg and cry for lustrous attention, but now was not the time; neither one of you could make so much as a speck of noise, it was going to be difficult as often times Daryl would draw out long and pathetically attractive moans each time you held contact with his cock in any manner, but he would just have to be quiet somehow, and if he couldn’t control himself, you had ideas of how to make him.

“Be a good boy.” You whispered with sultry warning in his ear as you reached further around him, slowly and tantalisingly unweaving his belt, pulling the strip of leather through the flimsy loops which granted you access to undo the button and fly of his trousers. With swift motions you did so, carefully shoving them down his sides as his cock was released from its containment. It was leaking defiantly with precum, and he resorted to calming breaths as he steadied his own self into being relaxed despite the nearby danger.

He inhaled immediately as he felt one of your hands wrap perfectly around his achingly hard length, gliding up and down the taught and erect flesh which made him throw his long locked head back in pleasure. His eyelids twitched as he fought against his desire to let you know how utterly amazing you were making him feel, as he bit his own bottom lip over and over. You dared to increase the pace in which you were stroking him, and a shattered gasp tumbled past his bared teeth.

Without so much as a thought, you smothered his mouth with your hand, pinching his nose a couple of times between your thumb and forefinger to restrain the oxygen he was permitted for a few seconds. A vibration riveted against your palm, as a quiet moan was silenced by your restriction. His whole body was rattling, as he began to rut his hips so that his cock was moving in the grasp of your soft hand.

“Such a good baby.” Your breath hit his ear as you forbade yourself from saying anything else, knowing that it would be obscenely dangerous, and the hoard of vacantly minded walkers were more than capable of pushing through the locked door. Your thumb rubbed expertly against his tip, as tears began to fill Daryl’s eyes, however he continued to jerk into your grip, and soon they fled from his tear ducts. His salt water, pleasure filled tears rolled onto your hand, weaving across your flesh as his tongue rolled pathetically around your palm, losing any grounding to reality that he had.

It drove you on farther, moving your hand at a quicker pace to make him spill over the edge, and with one last tough tug, he expelled his seed from his balls, it shooting directly in the air for a moment, and landing vividly on the ground. Daryl continued to shake like a leaf, breathing a kind kiss to your palm as he held your hand against his mouth for a while longer. This was definitely an interesting tale, however you would never tell anybody else. Everyone else thought Daryl was the being of all dominance in your relationship, and it made you inwardly cackle at how wrong you were.

He was as submissive as a human could come (pun intended), and he stood there idly and cautiously as you aided him in tucking his cock back into his confines. You grappled his belt, pulling it back around into its holding as you pulled it tightly around his waist, your eyes glowing with the satisfaction that you could make him so easily crumble. With one last pat to his sensitive bulge, you waited a while longer, until the coast was clear and it was only a few stragglers of the herd to take out in order to make your unruly escape.

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon fluff #norman reedus smut #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus imagine

[heliiacus]

to traverse this with you

tags: armin x reader, forced proximity, bathing together (technically), sexual tension, flower crowns & sentimentalities, love confessions, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, reader uses she/her pronouns

warnings: sexual content - MDNI!

words: 6.8k | masterlist

They used to love one another, long ago. Not loudly, nor ferociously, or even in a way that the other knew about, but they did. She knows that now. It could have stayed simple. They could have stayed apart. It has been years since she's been deployed to Marley, to live and work under a secret identity; and grieve as she may have for him, she could have lived with it. She really could have. They could have stayed star-crossed, torn away by war, but things just had to get difficult. Now, with tensions rising, she is forced to relocate – to trek through the lone mountains in the desolate Marleyan wilderness, in an attempt to clandestinely reach a port outside Liberio. And in another world it would have, perhaps, been a task of a casual undertaking. It could have been simple. Were it not for him, by her side: the man she has grieved for this entire time. Were it not for this one simple, stupid mistake.

It is the day before the night they would spend last in these mountains, and she does not think about it.

She does not.

When she wakes, she finds she is not the first. She finds him smiling faintly, his hand brushing at her temple as he wakes her. She laughs, or she tries to, chuckling weakly in the midst of the sleep that is pulling her back.

She does not think about it. Instead, she rises, chattering lightly about the upcoming hike. Instead, she keeps hold of the dream she had that night, wishing their endless, sheltering road into this waking world.

When they walk, she stays a step ahead, soles aching each time he would catch up. And still her mind feels burdened, swollen with the afterthoughts of the harbour in these mountains; of her time here, tied by the hip to the man who just keeps, incessantly, not letting her step be ahead.

It isn't until he takes another step forward that her mind clears. He steps in front of her, hand outstretched towards her, and she pauses – all of her does. She looks to him, and then she follows his gaze, and then she sees it: alive, murmurating – a bend of a river, its stream gentler than she remembers it. She hears it now, speaking softly.

"Is that the same one?" He asks her, eyes wide. He is laughing before she confirms it, the sound light and tittering.

"It is," she laughs with him, head shaking at the absurdity, and as soon as she feels his hand on hers, she takes off, running towards it. Armin's laughter echoes loudly, oscillating between the hills, and he follows her, step in step.

Her backpack thuds when she slings it off her shoulders. The jacket she wore follows swiftly, though much more gingerly this time around. It isn't until her shoes are off that Armin protests: "Wait," he tells her, loudly at first. "Wait," he repeats, weaker, and then he is at the foot of the river, hands in the water. "Won't you get cold? And we're so close to the city, what if someone passes by?"

"Armin," she says, her sternness so feeble in the wake of her snicker. "It has been days since we've been by a body of water. I don't care how close we are to the city, I am bathing, and I am bathing now."

"But what if–" and he turns around then, so swiftly she sees him stumble in his step, and his ears burst into a scarlet red; all because he'd peered at her hands, reaching to the top button of her shirt.

"Join me or take watch," she tells him, laughing as she sees him bristle at her words, his back tight and shoulders rising; she swears she can hear him mumble, right beneath his nose: not funny, she thinks he says, and she has the decency to let her shoulders shake quietly.

"Fine," he finally tells her, back turned to her. He points in the far-right direction of the river. "You go there. I'll bathe here."

Amused or not, now she finds herself undressing swiftly, feeling, with a tension in her stomach, that it is her turn to bristle. Though she turns away, she does not hear him undress – not until she wades into the water, bar of soap in hand. He'd waited for her, she realises, and she feels the skin of her throat heat at the thought.

Here, in the flowing water, she feels the cold within it bite her, but this, still, feels good – or she tells herself that, ears sharp at attention as she hears Armin join her in the water, several feet down the stream. Her breath hitches at the sound, chest contracting against her will; she hears him clearly, the water stirring at the disturbance of his body, and her hand nearly trembles as she drags the soap across her skin.

They wash in silence, her skin on pins and needles. She thinks he will say something; she thinks she should say something. Instead they stand, backs facing, bathing in the stream. It is cold, so cold, and yet the skin of her back heats inexplicably, muscles taut and tense. Her fingers dig into her scalp, begging her mind to clear with the soap, and it is when it flashes in her mind – urgent, tantalizing, the urge to turn around – that she sinks herself whole into the water, her hair feathering before her eyes.

She gasps when she rises, and she hears him – meek and startled, no doubt seeking to ask if she's okay. "I’m done," she says before he can, before her mind catches up to her again. "I’m getting out now."

He is quiet, for a moment. She knows he stands there, unmoving – turning, most likely, even further away from her. Eventually, he tells her: "Okay," and it sounds so horribly stiff.

She dries and dresses swiftly; too swiftly, hands shaking, buttons defiant. She nearly mixes up her shoes. Her hair drips down her back, rivulets running across the skin that is bare, and she thinks it should cool her, she thinks she should be cold – but each part of her heats, near blazing.

When she is done, she just stands there, hands in fists; curling, uncurling, over and over, breath difficult and strained in her chest. She hears, with an agonizing awareness, as Armin walks out the water, as he dries himself quietly, as he dresses. She keeps her eyes shut, as if in some sort of penance, and her breath does not still until she knows he is done.

Then he is by her side, and he touches her hair – and she gasps, startled by his proximity, his eyes wide as he steps back. He raises his hands, apology on the precipice. "I’m sorry," she says ahead of him. "You startled me."

"I was just.. Your hair," he says, gesturing in its direction. "Won't you get cold? Does it take long to dry?"

She gapes at him, momentarily. Then she bristles, taken aback by her own reaction. She takes a strand into her hands, the one he has touched. "Not too long," she says, and she is stricken as she feels this staggering urge for him to touch it again. "It's warm today. It'll take a few hours."

She looks back at him. He looks back at her. He seems to ease, a sort of relief coming over him, and yet still he seems tense, shoulders hunched as if in worry.

"Okay," he breathes, hands at his sides. "Okay, well, um – let's keep walking."

"Let's," she says, just as absently.

And they do. And the longer they do, the easier breathing becomes. The further the river is, the quieter it grows, so does her mind, and it seems like Armin's does, too – though slow, their chatter picks back up, and all the while, she watches him pick lone flowers on their path, weaving them into a wreath.

"Mikasa taught me," he tells her along the road, smiling fondly at his creation. She, in turn, watches with awe as his fingers weave at it with so little effort. "Back in Shiganshina."

"We didn't make these where I grew up," she tells him, keeping up her step with the man. "Is it difficult? You make it look effortless."

"It's easy," he tells her, turning to grin at her – that soft, private smile he seems to have reserved only for when she can look him in the eye. "I'll teach you. Here," the man stops, reaching the wreath out to her. His eyes glint in the mid-afternoon light, and the wind is still. "Put it on."

She blinks at him. "Put it on?"

He just chuckles at her. Then he steps closer, and she, so suddenly, becomes aware of the hair sticking to the nape of her neck. "It's a crown," he tells her softly, hands above her head. His hands don't touch her as he becrowns her, and yet it feels heavy on her head, heated from the ghost of his fingers on the stems. Then he looks down, and he grins wide, as if charmed. "There you go."

Her cheeks heat. "I feel ridiculous," she admits to him, and yet she can't help but begin to unravel beneath his look, so warm and attentive and, most oddly, proud; as if he'd really made it for her.

He laughs at her words, loud and unabashed, and he does not take a step back. "To be fair, it's for kids mostly," he admits, but they were kids no longer, she knows that now – standing pinned in front of him, she finds that the lightweight, feathering innocence of their childhood friendship has long since transformed, taking shape of something larger, something intricate and complex – something, she knows, now way out of her control. And even still, the chrysanthemums lay heavy and tight around her, and she can't help but feel her heart bloom with them, flowering under the sun within his gaze. "It looks good on you," he tells her then, and what is she to do? She smiles widely at him, hand touching at the petals.

"Let's go already," she says with no heft to the words, and he does so gladly, step in step.

They walk until evening, one that comes quicker than the rest, the sun now giving way to the coming colder, darker months. They make no stops until then, none except one – a time when she bounds for a growing sapling at the edge of their road, seeking, at Armin's advice, to hang the crown there. It would be no good to pull attention in Liberio, he mused with her sadly, and she'd told him then, she did – she will find a good place for it. With Armin ahead, waiting for her, she reaches upwards to lay the crown upon the budding tree, and there is only a moment, fleeting and precious, where she thinks to stuff the crown into her pack, to keep it safe and sound forever, crumpled or not, but then she decides to not. She leaves the crown where it shall be, somewhere growing, somewhere safe, and then she runs back to Armin, ready to soon set camp.

That same night, by the fire, he teaches her how to weave it – five blossoms in each of their hands, he teaches her, over and over, until hers looks just like his do, and she is laughing lightly, easily, triumphant for walls know what. It doesn't still until she feels his hand on her hair again, touching a strand – tentatively, this time; fearlessly. "It's dry now," he tells her, hand still on her hair; even though it has been dry for hours now.

And they sit closely, side by side, until the embers smolder weakly, giving in to the cold weather. They sit until they should tire, even if they don't – fuelled, she knows, by the second breath of the knowledge that this night will be the last.

They don't part, not really, when they go to sleep. They lay as close as they would, voices hushed with a faulty exhaustion, and though she feels her blood heat and her heart pump, though her mind burns with this feeling of his hands at her back, she can't help but think it: it is the last night. It is the last night. And she feels a sort of desperation surge through her, keening and clawing at her heart, and though she knows she won't be separated from him, she also knows something has changed between them, here, in-between these desolate hills – and she does not want it to end.

She finds herself, despite her own better judgement, clinging to him: she finds herself pulling herself closer, her hands twisting tightly into the back of his shirt, seeking, almost futilely, to close this horrid gap between them; and he makes this sound, thick and deep in his throat, and before she can even think anything of it, his hands pull at her, sinking into the flesh of her back. He pulls her closer, closer, as if tugged by the same kind of desperation, or as if, perhaps, he'd been waiting to do so, all these nights.

She's so close she can smell the soap on his skin, and she can smell the faint vanilla that follows him each day. She lays her head at his throat, nearly feeling the pulse that trembles within it, and her hands do so of their own accord as they sink into his hair, soft; far softer than she'd imagined, softer even than it used to be. And she sighs then, feeling him flush against herself; she feels as if some urge has been sated, as if some fear – soothed, and she barely notices her nails grazing at his scalp. She would not have, if it weren't for him – if it weren't for him, for this soft gasp at the crown of her head. If it weren't for the foreign hardness growing near her thigh.

All at once, his entire body stiffens, and his hold changes. She hears him inhale, sharp and stern, and she feels him try to rise, to move away – she hears him begin to apologise.

"Stop," she tells him, breathless, and he does; and all at once she makes the space – to look at him. To look right at him. She feels his heart thud dangerously hard beneath her palm. His eyes are wide, wild with a panic that seethes within his chest, and she looks at him, feeling his hold on her waver. Quietly, she finds the words; quietly, she asks him: "Is this how you feel?"

His eyes grow downcast, a blush so harsh crossing over his face. He takes a moment, or perhaps he doesn't – time stretches all the same, and then he replies with a simple: "Yes."

And it is the way he says it. Shy, and embarrassed, but so tight and so fierce that they just lay there, not speaking for a moment. She lay feeling the heart at her palm, thud, thud, thud. She finds herself, in an almost grotesque manner, wanting to reach for it – to soothe it, in any way she'd know how.

Instead, her hand slides upwards, soon reaching the skin of his throat, at which he holds his breath. Then her hand settles at his jaw, and he sighs, the sound rattled and forced. He says her name, softly, so softly, his voice so strained it almost sounds painful to her ears. Her hand splays across his jaw, and all the while, she can feel him so clearly against her thigh. He leans into the contact, as if pulled, as if magnetized, eyes closing and shut tight, his face near screwed. Her hand nearly shakes with the fervor that enters her, as if from him to her, as if it were made of the same material as the warmth they have shared all these nights.

Once more, he exhales harshly, and she feels it fan against the thin skin of her wrist.

"Look at me," she finds herself saying, as if dazed. And he does. His eyes rise as if on command, as if he were in a position where he would not deny her anything, and it twists at her heart. He looks at her as if he were stricken, a deer caught in a hunt, awed by the glint of the arrow. "Armin," she breathes, the name leaving her lips on instinct. "It's okay."

"I don't want you to feel.." he trails off, and then he gasps, as if the word were too heavy for him to even say it. His hands grow soft around her, more hesitant – but his hold does not, and neither do his eyes, steeled and focused and so, so conflicted,

"Obligated?" She finishes, her thumb so close to his lip. Her heart is rabid. He screws his eyes shut again, for a moment so short it seems meaningless, and then he opens them, and then he looks at her again, and her mind unravels at its seams when she sees the look in his eyes. In it, a craving grows, an unfiltered affection which burns high and deep within him – deep down, she knew it was there, she knew it, but now that she sees it, so clearly and so brazenly, she finds herself drowning, and sinking, and unmoored all at once.

"Tell me clearly," she nearly pleads with him, control melting at the edges. "Tell me clearly, Armin: do you want this?"

"I do," he chokes out, "I do. I..” And her palm, snuggled so flushly against his jaw, heats. Her thumb moves, almost of its own accord, and it brushes against his lower lip – and instead of finishing his sentence, Armin gasps. His hand, once so tentative, lists reflexively to her wrist, wrapping around it, holding it there, at his jaw. He looks at her with eyes wide and transfixed, nearly pleading – no, not nearly enough. He is pleading with her. He may not say it, but he is.

Her hand twitches in his hold. Her breath flutters. And then, once he sees something in her, he does plead with her. "Kiss me," he tells her, voice so low and thin it drives a punch straight through her core. "Please," he whispers when she begins to pull herself closer, and then again, as their lips are an inch apart: "Please." And there is no shock when she does. No all-encompassing jolt, unlike she expected. But he shifts. His entire being does. As if unwound by some oath, there is no breath shared between this and the moment she feels his lips on hers, and by then all else becomes moot point.

Her heart sings, unwound, at the feeling of his hand at her jaw. Her hands find his hair again, winding into it greedily, and she pulls him closer, closer, and he abides her – rolling over to press on top of her, breath hot as he kisses her back, as he kisses her first – as he sucks on her bottom lip, as he hums when she does the same. It is chaste, and gentle, and simple, and she feels drunk on the feeling of him kissing her, then parting, breathless, then kissing her again; of him holding her there, bereft of any hesitation, their kisses longing and heavy with yearning.

And it is she, then, who deepens the kiss, it is she who tugs at his shirt, she who brushes her tongue against his lip, and it is as if a second wind passes into him at it. His hands nestle into her hair with a fervor, and she lets him, angling her head back, letting him take hold of her. He deepens the kiss, jaw tight as their tongues brush against one another, and there's this sound that leaves her throat, low and quick and so desperate, and he pulls away at it, gasping for air. His forehead touches hers as the both of them heave, watching one another, and the gaze with which he looks upon her bursts with a longing, enveloping her whole. He pulls away, just a fraction, as if overwhelmed with the suddenness of their circumstance, and he takes her hand off his cheek, he pulls it tightly, flushly against his chest. He holds it there with an urgency that speaks to her before he does, and he looks pained for a moment, desperate; as if trying to tell her something through the gesture alone – as if he were looking for words that have lived in him for months, years.

"It's yours," he says, tone burnt with a passion that steals her breath. "Do you feel it?" He asks, her palm against his heart, loud – so loud. "I’m yours."

She blinks hard and ruthless, keeping back the tears that burn through her, and a fierce relief floods her. She tries to tell him, to say 'me too', but her tongue ties itself together, so instead she pulls at him, she leans into him, and she kisses him, and kisses him. "Armin," she whispers into him, "Armin." Hands in her hair, lips at her jaw, she feels weak in his hold, so carefully attentive. "I want you," leaves her mouth, feeble and desperate, and she repeats it, just as weakly, and he gasps against her lips.

"Do you know," he says in-between the pants, "do you know how long I've dreamt of you?" She tries to answer, she does, but his gaze, dark and blooming, has her pinned; his thumb brushes at her cheek, and it has her bewitched. "Every night," he continues, leaning to kiss her once the words pass, and he stops right before it. "Every night." He kisses her, brief and chaste. "Here," he angles her neck, and she lets him, feeling his lips at her throat; then his teeth, grazing gently. "When you left." His tongue follows, a wet line drawn across her clavicle. "Before you left."

Her breath shudders at his attention. It suffocates her. Her hands tremble in his hair, but so unlike they have ever before. "Please," she pleads, for what even she does not know, and he looks at her, he rises and he looks right at her, a sort of grief, an intensity settling in his eyes.

"I want you," he repeats. "I want you. Let me have you, Y/N. Please."

"Have me," she breathes, her palm cupping gently the skin of his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, the entirety of him leaning desperately into the contact. "Make me yours."

It is as if it takes a moment to settle for him. As if he needs to decide if he truly believes what he's just heard. And then she sees it: a spark, a fire, and then a forest burning, all enchanted into his eyes, locked with hers.

Then his eyes are on her shirt, on the button he'd been so awfully shy about this morning, and he looks back at her, a question in his gaze. Her hands leave him, settling on the button, then reaching back to where they belong, curling around him lovingly – letting him decide what he wants.

And he does. Hands precise and gentle, her shirt is undone by them, and then he helps her out of it, the span of her upper body opening to him. He inhales, the sound trembling, and as he watches her so, so intently, his frame shudders when he touches the bare skin of her shoulder. He gasps, hand nearly twitching against her skin. Then he looks back up at her, meeting her gaze, and she sees a wildfire in them.

And with just a tinge of hesitation, he lowers himself to kiss her sternum, urged forward by the soft gasp that leaves her lips. He kisses lower, and lower, and then he kisses at her breast, tongue soon curling around her nipple; softly at first, then harder, spurred on by the whine that escapes her throat. And his kisses trail soon after, slow and steady and so meticulous in their exploration of her, and she sucks in a breath when she feels a hand of his settle on the buckle of her belt.

"Is this okay?" He asks her, pausing to look up at her, and her chest blooms with a warmth at the tentative care in his eyes.

"It is," she says, her hands joining his upon the buckle. "Armin," she calls, and he stays still, he stays looking at her. "I've never done this before," she admits, the gentle grasp he has on her hip now searing her from the inside out. She shifts beneath his gaze, which flutters, then steels in an odd, indecipherable way.

"That's okay," he breathes, and she feels his fingers ghost over the skin of her waist. "I have. I will.. I'll take care of you." And she feels it, his hand twitch lightly upon her skin – and she sees him bite the inside of his cheek. And then he asks her: "Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes," she tells him, quick and so desperate that it seems to spur a different kind of need in him, and she dare not feel embarrassed at being so open, so flayed before him. "Yes," she repeats, unbuckling her belt, and this time he does not hesitate. He drags her pants off her frame, gentle and decisive in a manner she has already learnt from him, and as she lay there with her knees pushed together, his hands nestle at the back of them, looking at her, once more, with a gentle question in his eyes.

And he won't do this himself, she knows this. Her thighs tremble visibly as she spreads them for him, and a heavy sigh leaves his chest, and then his eyes burn into her, at her – watching her naked before him, legs spread for him. He lays a cheek against the top of her thigh, gaze transfixed on her, his eyes heavy-lidded.

"You're so pretty," he tells her breathlessly, as if lost deeply in thought, as if he'd ached to tell her that for so, so long.

Her insides flip, watching him tower over her spread legs, and she has a distinct, mind-numbing realisation that it is him who watches her with those ravenous eyes. It is Armin who holds her thigh, who's pulled her closer to him. Him who seeks to please her; to have her to himself.

She fights to breathe in. Her chest caves beneath the feeling, leaving her breathless and utterly pliable in his fingers. All the while, he watches her, needy intent shimmering with something larger, stronger. Yearning roils in him, she sees it now. And then he leans down, forward, to kiss at her thigh, and her mind grows blank and empty. He kisses her again, and again, trailing a path closer to her core, pausing only to graze his teeth at her, only to nuzzle into her flesh.

Then, so, so close to her, he looks back up at her, and he asks, voice low: "Can I kiss you here?"

"Please," leaves her, and it is all she can muster, but he does not need more from her. He leans in, his tongue curling into her tentatively and so, so slowly, his palms gliding down her thighs as he settles comfortably between them. He licks a trail through her folds, centering around her clit, and she keens, whining pitifully. Her hips strain on reflex, pulled closer to him, and he pulls away for a moment, smiling up at her.

"So pretty," he repeats, and then his hands sink into the flesh of her thighs, holding her back in place with a strength she did not know he has. Then he closes his mouth around her, and the pleasure is so sudden and violent, she feels as if she caught on fire. She loses composure, far faster than she'd imagined she ever would with him, and soon, hips locked in his vice grip, she has nothing else but pleading, but tugging, desperately, at his shirt, or at his hair. He licks and sucks at her with a firm pace, humming into her core, smiling as he hears her slowly, slowly come undone at his attention. And he watches her as he pulls pleasure from her; eyes dark and heavy, sated in a way she knows a wolf only could be, and she can't do anything, she can't do anything but pray for his name as she comes with his tongue at her core, lapping at her as if he were a man parched.

He continues to lap at her, greedily at that, even when she tugs at him once more, eager to feel him against her, but he does not give in. Instead, he pleads with her to go easy, to let him be greedy. "Let me take my time with you," he tells her, kissing at her thigh, "please."

And so she does. It is only when she's trembling in his hands, wound tight with a different, insatiable pleasure building fiercely in her, that he finally rises to meet her lips, nestling flushly between her legs. Her hands are back on his shirt then, shaking, undoing his buttons, and he lets her, towering over her as he watches her. He says her name softly, and he repeats it when he lets her take it off him. Then he takes her hands, he collects them so gingerly into his hold, and he touches her cheek.

"Do you want to continue?" He asks her, his gaze so sweetly concerned. "Are you sure?"

Her hands shake in his. Her exhale trembles. Her voice fails her. She needs to tell him – how desperately she's dreamed of him. Of this. Instead, she frees her hands, and she settles them at his jaw. "I need you," she tells him with such an earnestness that she's sure, she's sure he knows. And he sighs then, body wracked as if in relief.

Her hands reach for the clasp of his belt tentatively, and he lets her, but then undresses himself. She watches him, an odd sort of impatience beginning to burn at her from the feet up, and her eyes rave over the span of his chest, her own burning at the sight of him: lean and muscled, a soft, light trail of hair growing down his stomach, one that she feels an urgency to touch. He catches her gaze as he takes off his pants, pausing for just the briefest moment, and she holds it there as he undresses himself whole.

Then he pauses on his knees, his hand on her thigh, and there, as he stand there, he seems overcome. She thinks she knows what he feels: bare before one another, open beyond she'd dared dream of, it is as if the years spent together and the years spent apart all come together, to a close, undulating and culminating into this one, singular moment. Then he leans towards her, hand at her waist, and he kisses her: so deeply, so fervently, it steals all breath from her.

"Are you sure?" The words ghost over her lips, and for a moment she is taken with his eyelashes, long and crowning along his eyes, so filled with an emotion that has her chest in knots.

"I am," she tells him, hands at his cheeks, and she nearly cries. "I am."

His breath wavers and shakes as he enters her, which he does slowly, carefully, with one hand at her thigh for purchase, the other finding hers, clasping them together tightly. He watches her attentively, almost hawkishly; looking, she realises, for a sign of pain, or of discomfort.

And she lets him. She lets him take his time with her. She drowns in his meticulousness, in the careful nature with which he holds her; with which he comes to a hilt inside her, a rattling sigh leaving his lips, so restrained and so overwhelmed that she knows. She knows: he doesn't even feel it, the pleasure. Not until he knows that she does, too.

And by the time he is fully inside her, there is a gentle, sudden piercing – and then, just like that, it is gone in a flash. She feels a stretching that is both foreign and right, and then he whispers her name, so delicately that it has her gasping. Suddenly, his hand leaves her thigh, and it is at her cheek, and he is looking her in the eye, he is asking her, with so much unrestrained care: "Does it hurt?"

"It does not," she tells him, and then she is pulling him closer, then she is kissing him, and her knees rise to meet his waist, her hips urging him to move. "Make love to me," she pleads with him, heart flipping three times over as she feels him smile into her lips, and he does.

He does so slowly, sinking in and out of her with a heedfullness that has her head spinning. He glides in and out, pressed so close to her body, holding her so carefully. She feels him so clearly, stretching her with a tenderness, pushing against delicate spot after delicate spot inside her, and each one has her reeling, and each one never, somehow, ever skips his attention. This pleasure is different, she knows this now; slower, encompassing, dizzying with the feeling of her love inside her. And just like he, she watches him, too; lips apart, eyes glistening, beautiful before her, breathtakingly so. She swallows greedily the small whines that leave his throat each time he thrusts back into her, so breathy and ardent, and soon, very soon, she begins to lose her composure.

She feels it rise in her, tempting and needy, almost harrowing in its intensity; desire, fervor, whatever the hell it is that the poets call it – it feels so much greedier, so much more powerful than she ever could have put to words or imagined, and soon she pleads with him to go faster, to give her more. And he does so, abiding, eager; raising her hips with the one hand at her thigh, and then he looks back at her, almost startled, at the wanton noise that leaves her throat. Instead of stopping, it seems to burst him into flames, too, and he finds that spot again, and again, claiming this newfound land for his own. He fucks into her with a precision, watching her steadfastly, with this greedy, satisfied glint in his eye – and with it, he slowly unravels her. He turns his head, just so, biting gently at the fingers she holds at his jaw, and with a fierce look in his eye, he speaks into the skin of her palm, words uttered in a reverence; sweet words, filthy ones, each one sending aftershocks into her core, and as he rocks into her with a mind-numbing languidness, he asks her: "Does that feel good, sweetheart?"

And it's the way he says it, lustful and needy as he sinks into her flesh – it has her thighs shaking at his waist; it has her whining his name, it nearly has her pleading, pleading for gods know what.

"It does," instead she tells him; "Don't stop," she tells him, and then: "Come closer. I need you. Please, Armin."

And he groans at it, at the way she says his name, pulling her with his hands by her hips, sinking deeper into her at this angle, and he kisses her as she moans, feeling out of control. There he pulls her thighs flushly over his hips, and her head spins from pleasure, and she finds her nails digging into his back, feeling the heat and steam rise from the broken skin. She cries his name out, again, and again, and again, and through it she hears her own name echo back to her, pulled from his lips between the groans and the soft whimpers that leave him. Then he kisses her fiercely, almost sloppily, whining into her throat.

"I want," he gasps, the sounds he makes soft and high–pitched and coiling deeply within her gut, "I want you to come. I want you to come on my cock, Y/N," he pleads into her lips. "Please," he says again, whimpering once more, composure cracking.

He kisses at her skin, her temple, her jaw, her throat, greedily, almost possessively, and she, in turns, pulls him closer to her, seeking to fill this space between them desperately. He lets her, he molds himself to her hold, pliant and eager. And there, there, fuelled by his mewls beside her ear, by the closeness, by that gods-damned vanilla permeating from him to her, she breaks. There, she tells him, finally, with her voice quivering to the last word: "I've wanted you for so long." And his hips stutter at this, and his hold on her thigh grows vice–like, and then his forehead is touching hers, his rhythm slowing, just so.

Then he is looking at her, gaze crested with a warmth so deep. "Say it again," he asks of her, he begs of her, his pace picking up with the words, as if inflamed by them. "Say it again, please, Y/N."

And she does. Again, and again. "I want you," she tells him, hands in his hair. "I've always wanted you," hands on his cheek. "Always."

It isn't until he's kissing her that she pauses, it isn't until she feels herself strain closer and closer as he whispers into her lips, soft things, unspoken things; it isn't until she hears his words that she finally, truly comes undone.

"My Y/N," he tells her, "mine. Mine."

And she cries out, hands seeking purchase at his shoulders, thighs so tight around his waist that it nearly hurts. She falls, and falls, careening rapidly into his hips meeting hers. For a moment, everything grows white, ceaseless and endless, and in that moment she thinks that this is how it should have been; in that moment, she thinks she was never meant to leave. Then Armin follows her, and he, too, cries out, desperately so, and she feels him slam into her harsh and uncoordinated. She kisses him fiercely, swallowing his climax with a greed that was unheard of to her before now, before Armin. They both shake in one another's arms, gasping, noses touching. They watch one another, eyes unwavering.

For a moment, she does not know what to say. She gasps and gasps, her tongue willing to curl only for the syllables of his name. Then he smiles at her. So gently, so brightly; the sight is so familiar that the words come tumbling out of her with an ease she had once almost forgotten. "I love you," she tells him, earnest from her heart.

"I know," he says, and he kisses her. I know, he repeats between kisses, I know; as if to himself, as if in relief, as if having waited, for so long, to hear it – if only just this once. "I love you," he tells her then, and she holds onto him, tightly and fiercely and unyieldingly.

They lay like this for what feels like ages, the mountains surrounding growing quieter, and quieter. She holds onto him, and he – onto her. They do not let go. She feels his heart beat against her own, and they kiss one another: small, fleeting kisses, borne not with shyness but with a gentle, permeating ardour. They lay like this until they are spread thin by exhaustion, hands weak, and here, in the dead of the night, she speaks to him so quietly; "Don't let me go," she pleads with him, hand at his chest. I won't, he tells her, his hand on hers. "Don't let me go," she repeats, "Don't ever. Not again."

"I won't. I promise. I promise."

And they sleep like this, nestled fondly within one another's crooks and edges, touching with their hearts. They do not move, or let go – even when they wake, they can't seem to let go of their hands, even when they ready. Even when they walk to the port, they do so hand in hand, talking little, but glancing often, with fleeting, earnest smiles unhidden from one another.

They feel tense and severe as they walk through the streets of Liberio, however; a goal reached, the end of their journey. It strains them, the hands with which they hold onto each other, but even that soon seems to patter out once they peer at the barren ink of the Azumabito, glinting brightly on the bow of the ship. This ship, they know, is beholden with their friends and allies. This ship, they know, is the end of this road.

And he turns to her, birds crying along the loud crashes of the sea, wind tousling at his hair. He looks so beautiful now, she thinks, and she's enamoured as he asks her: "Ready?"

His hand feels heavy and warm in her own. More than that, she thinks – it feels right.

She looks back at him. Here, right now, there is a moment which seems to stretch between them – one filled with a sadness so inexplicable, so faint, that she barely manages to discern it at all. It feels foreboding, this feeling, as if the road behind them was the easy one, as if the one ahead were predetermined; as if it bears, unbeknownst to them, challenges beyond their imagination.

But she does not think of that. Instead she looks him right in the cerulean eye, gaze as deep and as determined as the sea before them. She smiles at him. And she squeezes his hand.

dividers by arlerts-angel

tag list: @arlerts-angel @levistealeaf

@sukunascrustyfinger @chiinni

@nilaaaas @ryoiii

@dilfkentolover @arminarlertssword

@bel-https @layla240

@katestrophes @er3nscottonpicker

@siiyoko @lemontrees-things

@arminarlertspersonalnurse @dvrkfverie

@girlybelle @blvewave

thank you for giving this story your attention 💗 i harbour a lot of pride in it, and it's an honour that so many of you have enjoyed it

#armin arlert #armin fanfiction #armin x reader #armin aot #armin fluff #armin x you #aot headcanons #attack on titan #armin x y/n #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x you #armin arlert x y/n #levi x reader #jean x reader #eren x reader #aot x reader #aot #snk #aot x you #armin headcanons #armin smut #aot smut #aot fluff #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #my writing

[valsdelulucorner]

Mammon head cannons <3

We all know mammon is tsundere, loving to bottle up his emotions towards his loved ones and put on a act. However whenever you two are alone, his tough guy persona melts away completely and turns into your shy demon boyfriend. He both hates and loves that you have that power over him

He loves to collect little trinkets. Hey, no he didn't steal them!..... most of them. I like to think that he has some really sharp eyes so even if something is really well hidden, he spots it a nicks it. He loves showing off his collection to you, talking a million miles a hour as he holds onto your sleeve and boasts about his new tiny thing

If you were to come down to devildom as a welder or a Jewler, oh lord he will try to marry you on the spot. He absolutely loves to watch you work on your creations, even subjecting little ideas he comes up with for you to make. Sure, at the start he tries to steal your creations to sell them but once he gets closer to you, he absolutely loves bringing you his little trinkets to wield into rings and bracelets

Absolutely loves making nests with his pillows and blankets, spreading his body out on top of his nest in his full demon form. He will act all shy if you find him like this on his nest but when he realizes your not making fun of him, buddy, you are in for a long night of cuddles and deep conversation.

Ok hear me out, when mammon cuddles you, he lets out soft snores that sound like a mix between a purr and the sound a crow makes when its happy. He will hide his face in your neck while cuddling as his arms wrap protectively around your waist, subconsciously purring his little heart out in his sleep as his wings cover you in a protective hold

After having you literally die in his arms that one time, he realized how easily it was for you to slip from his fingers so this man does HEAVY research on humans. What humans cant eat, what irritates their skin, what's best for their health, what food will make them live longer, what temperatures they can withstand, the whole 9 yard. He will always give you a bottle of water at morning, noon, and night and will refuse to go anywhere unless you drink some. If he finds out you haven't been drinking through the day, he will genuinely get scared you will die and beg you to drink. He might have missed a few things but he loves you dearly

He gets bad nightmares about loosing you and those dear to him, they started happening more often after he held your dead body in his arms. He would usualy wake up in a cold sweat and go find lucifer, making sure to poke his head into his little brothers rooms to make sure they are ok before going to find comfort in Lucifer. But with you? He would cling to you and thank anyone who would listen that you were still alive, still next to him. He would hide his face in your neck and quietly cry himself back to sleep, being woken up to immediate comfort from you

He mindlessly doodles when he is bored or if he is focused on something else, like you for example. He likes to admire you during class so sometimes when he's supposed to be taking notes, he will start to subconsciously doodle you in his notebook. He will turn bright red if anyone points this out and he will throw his notebook into the wall, just like that video of the guy throwing his laptop into the wall. Poor guy wont get a break

My man will 100% steal you away from his brothers and just go for a walk with you, it doesn't need to lead to anywhere, he just likes talking and being with you

He calls you his little treasure, his jewel, his first, and most likely a nickname of your actual name. They roll off his tounge so easily, he will accidentally call you these Infront of people. "Stay away from my treasure!" ..... "your what?" " D...DONT AVOID THE QUESTION!"

"I wouldn't trade you for all the grim in the world treasure, you mean more to me then money"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I absolutely love Mammon, he is my favorite character but i dont think this was written to the best of my ability. I might come back to this in the future but until then<3

Who should i do next?

#valsdelulucorner #obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me x mc #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me fanart #obey me nightbringer #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me x you #obey me x y/n #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me oneshot #obey me headcanons #obey me mammon x mc #obey me mammon x you #obey me boys #obey me fluff #omomtrta #om! mammon #om! mc #om! shall we date #obey me! #om! nightbringer

[thekidsarentalright]

Idk if you have talked about this (you probably already did) but I'm just curious, in your opinion what is the kids aren't alright about? Have you done any analysis on the song?

i probably Have analyzed it but i can't find it and its been so long so. will Happily ramble here about what i think its about <3 tbh this is the most beautiful ask i could ever get thank u <3

since you asked what i think tkaa is about, i'm not gonna do this in the normal way i analyze songs, which is a more line-by-line style to paint a picture of the whole story of the song, but instead just wanna like. ramble fksjdnf about it and what it means to me

i think the entire meaning of the song can be summed up by the line, "and in the end, i'd do it all again / i think you're my best friend", which really is to mean that i think that the overarching theme of the song is that life can be worth repeating and going through again for the people that you go through it with. connection and relationships give life incredible meaning, even with the bad things, even with sorrow and darkness, love makes it worth it- i'm yours, when it rains it pours, stay thirsty like before, as the song goes. when the storm comes, as the rain starts pouring and destruction closes in on you, wouldn't it be more comforting to have somebody beside you? facing the chaos with their hands in yours? wouldn't it be worth going through the storm again (stay thirsty like before) just to have those moments with the people you love?

and normally when i analyze songs, i very much try to stay away from analyzing them in a way that is very personal to pete/the members of the band just because... i don't wanna be presumptive! but, this song feels like one of the few that i Can't look at separate from pete and the band. no song feels more like a love letter to the band, and even to the fans, than the kids aren't alright. this band has known each other for over half their lives, they have been best friends and brothers for longer than they haven't been. every up and down each of them have gone through since they met each other, they have gone through together, they have seen their darkest sides and deepest depressions and through it all have Still chosen to love each other and stick together. as the rain has come and poured on them, as the storm that is life shipwrecked the band and sent them stranded in seemingly opposite directions, the love remained. the found each other again, because they were willing to do it all again for each other. their love and friendship is the purest embodiment of the song, and is the thesis of fall out boy as a band, to me. even through destruction and overbearing egos and inner turmoil each of them were experiencing that we are likely to never know the depths of- they Chose that their bonds were worth it, their bonds made life worth living and fighting for.

i feel that spirit, that life is worth fighting for if you have someone/something you love to Live for, is perfectly encapsulated by the lyrics, "and it's our time now if you want it to be / maul the world like the carnival bear set free"- if you want, life is ours for the taking regardless of the rest of the world. carnival bears were often mistreated and repressed, beaten down for acting in their nature, if one were set free they would finally truly be Free to be how they wish to be. in the context of the song, because we have each other, we can take the world on how We want, we can be who We want to be, Together. This is also something that i think is the thesis of fall out boy- the band of underdogs for underdogs, fighting for a space in the world to be safe and express themselves how they want to, and because they've found each other and an audience that Understands them, they can maul the world like the carnival bear set free. they are mauling the world, with every song released and show performed, they're taking on the world on their terms as a united band of best friends. and with their fans behind them, that spirit is embodied tenfold, making this song not only feel like a song for the band, about the band, but Also about the fans and for the fans.

before coming to any sweeping conclusion, i wanna talk about the bridge, because i feel like it is the last piece that does fully show what i think the song is about in totality. The bridge goes, "sometimes i just want to sit around and gaze at my shoes / and let your dirty sadness fill me up just like a balloon"- other than the carnival bear line, i believe this might be my favorite lyric of the song (which is saying a lot in a song of banger after banger line), as i feel the imagery it paints is just so heartaching and melancholy in such a beautiful way. there's a lot here in these lyrics, from how in the genius annotations pete annotated this line with a still of someone's shoes and a bunch of guitar pedals on the ground- something he would no doubt gaze down at when gazing down at his shoes while recording or performing, hammering home the meaning of this song being about/for the band and the fans. they share their sadness with each other, with the fans (to an extent), and the fans share their sadness back- music is always a reminder of the bond we all share in our heaviest moments, as is the guitar pedals being present when gazing down at your shoes in sorrow or guilt. another point i want to make is about "gaze at my shoes" perhaps being a play on words about "shoegaze" as a genre of music defined by guitar distortion and effects and a dreamy/ethereal feel- connecting the picture, the lyrics, the meaning of the band and fans always being there and music being a connection between us all, in a way. essentially, i feel this lyric is just a very melancholy, beautiful way to say sometimes its very easy to just wallow in your feelings, but having somebody with you to help take on your sadness, having these connections and these bonds, can make it lighter.

to try and find a way to summarize it, i really do just think the kids aren't alright is about love. in its purest form, it's about love. loving other people enough to live for them, finding the bonds and connections that give meaning to a meaningless existence, allowing yourself to feel pain in equal measure with pleasure. these are things that make life what it is, without these things life would be numb, meaningless nothingness. in the purest way, i believe the kids aren't alright is about what it is to be human and to love with reckless abandon, to be free to be and feel and love even if pain is present. Because pain doesn't diminish the love or light you can experience in life, and allowing yourself to believe anything less is to deny yourself a instrumental piece of the human experience.

#i truthfully did not mean to ramble this much but i simply cannot overstate how much this song means to me and how important it is #like it is my ethos as a human being it is my guiding light it is everything to me and putting it into words is!!!!! very important to me #anyways. thanks again for sending this writing this all out was a joy <3 #asks #anon #analysis.txt

[screamingcrows]

Chase - Dottore x reader

Note: Same reader as Tomorrow and Settling in. All of this is just stuff that will never make it into my long fic because those guys don't get to have the happiness these two will get. Keep this out of character ai bots or I'm spreading Pseudomonas aeruginosa in your garden.

Tags: fem reader, reader from Fontaine, she works under him, anger, talk of murder, weapon, angst?

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

"Doctor? I need to ask you a question," her voice was a far cry from the usual sharpness.

Dottore laid his pen down before taking in her face. It was uncanny how easily her voice could halt his thoughts. Faint traces of salt lingered along her cheeks, but worse still were her eyes. He motioned for her to continue, unwilling to break the delicate silence.

"Why do you pursue knowledge?"

That caused him to pause. She should know, by all means, it was a fact well known throughout the Fatui. But if she needed to hear, there was no harm repeating himself. It was a quiet day after all.

"As you know, there is a discrepancy between what information we, as inhabitants of this world, are allowed to possess and-"

"That wasn't my question," she hadn't snapped at him like that before.

He couldn't help but scrunch his nose in distaste as he briefly considered reprimanding her. The way her flame had wavered during the last month hadn't been lost on him.

Too many nights she would stay long past what was necessary, his segments conveying that they'd found her collapsed atop her desk, freezing cold and difficult to rouse.

"Pose your question better."

"What drives you? What do you want to see at the end of this? I guess," her words faltered when she finally arrived at the right question. "What do you feel when you achieve a goal?"

"A sense of satisfaction from unraveling a mystery, from solving a problem, accompanied of course by a barrage of new objectives to pursue"

His eyes flickered up to her and he found his hand reaching for the mask, diverting the movement to run his fingers through his hair instead. At the first sound of her quiet sniffles he turned his head away, crossing one leg over the other. Something so foreign and so desperately familiar was taking root.

"I feel.. I feel nothing. Like some pitiful ghost that can't move on. And I hate myself for it. Because it means they were right," her voice grew more frantic along with her sobs.

She'd begun pacing back and forth in front of the desk, the force of her steps making his pens rattle in their cup. Dottore felt it in his bones.

"I killed all those people, and it felt so good while they clawed out their eyes. So why is it so empty now? I proved myself, proved that I could, my idea worked a-and they're all dead for doubting me!"

Her frantic laughter rang through the room, making his hands tighten around the armrests. There was nothing he would say to console her, knowing there were only two options from here. It was not something to be driven by another's hand.

"It's not fair!"

The worn desk creaked with the force of her fists bearing down upon it. When he looked upon her again tears adorned her cheeks, and for a moment there was an itch to reach out and brush them away. Run a finger along her bottom lip, swollen from how she'd been chewing on it. Like so much else, it never became more than a simple fantasy.

"Did you expect to bury your troubles along with their bodies?"

"I-.. Well, yes. Obviously."

He had to bite back a chuckle, the hesitation in her voice confirmed his suspicion. She did know better than that. Taking a life out of vengeance was one thing, but living with the consequences was an entirely different issue.

With a small sigh, Dottore reached forward towards where she was leaning over the table, head hanging in defeat. He caught the longing in her eyes when she noticed the approaching hand. It was difficult not to wince when the look was replaced with disappointment when his gloved hand pulled a few things back from the edge.

"You knew it wouldn't make me feel any better," venom laced your words, unsurprising but still unpleasant to hear.

"Yes."

At least her crying had ceased, reduced to nothing but faint sniffles while she rubbed at her eyes. Her voice had risen in pitch, the sound uncomfortably invasive.

"You let me work myself to near-death knowing it was for nothing?"

"We now have a terrifying new weapon in our arsenal, and I'm sure you can improve upon it. I'll get one of the segments working on something to more efficiently deliver it, perhaps we should-"

Dottore tilted his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the pen she'd thrown at him. For a moment, everything stood still as he awaited her next action. There was nothing but the faint sound of his heel repeatedly hitting the ground. Had he misjudged her?

"You absolute bastard, you.. you.."

It was difficult to remain a spectator when the realization became comically clear in her expression. Oh he hadn't misjudged her at all. She knew. What had transpired was entirely by her own choice.

A small curse passed his lips when she threw a mug onto the floor, porcelain shattering alongside her resolve. There was barely time to stop her when she stormed out of the laboratory. Perhaps a segment could check on her later.

#dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #zandik x reader #genshin impact x reader #crow with a pen #dottore x fem reader #x female reader

[yan-batgirl]

Hii!❤️🖤

This is my first request ever, and sorry if it's not really something you feel like writing, but I really live your writing style and I think that you write the boys the best! (And this thoughts been eating away at my brain for a bit)

So what if the bat's take in a little reader who seems super innocent and she (it doesn't have to be a she if ya don't want) has Deadpool's healing abilities. Like she just casually gets a limb cut off in a fight trying to protect one of the boys and she acts like nothing really is wrong- or she gets shot in the head and sits up a minute later and straight up laughs seeing everyone's sheer panic because she has the same mindset as a gremlin wanting to thrive in the chaos. Do ya think the boys will let her go on missions with them due to her not being able to die? Or will they try (and probably fail) to lock her away in the manor for her own good?

Warnings: Yandere, manipulation, a little bit of blood, accidentally hurting someone, using powers for the wrong people

Spoilers for my original Batgirl story!

After your father was banished and your mother imprisoned, you were now under the roof of the League of Assassins, living with Lady Shiva. Throughout your life, you've been treated like an outcast by basically everyone at that exact area she had to spend your childhood at.

During those times, something felt strange about you.

Whenever one of the assassins came back injured, you curiously stepped forward them and placed your hand onto their wound. The next second, it was gone. The wound.

The next thing happening is you being in the medical bay, in the room full of injured assassins.

One of them told you to touch an injured assassin with a damaged leg. You were hesitant, but you were forced to step forward and place your hand onto the leg. The next second, it was healed.

You were then tested to see what kind of symptoms you have, and the results turned out that you have the ability to heal any kind of injury once you touch it.

Every time when an injured assassin comes back from a job, Shiva would make you stop what you are doing and quickly place your hand on that bloody part of their body, disgusting or not.

However, there are some side effects to your special abilities.

Each time you heal a person, your energy will decrease rapidly, which means you can't heal more and more people.

Eventually, you grew of being used like this. So, you decided to run away.

It was basically a risk of your life, but you eventually made it out of the city of 'Eth Alth'eban and tried to find yourself a new home.

As soon as you landed in Gotham City, you were basically trying to hide yourself from the world. You tried hiding yourself in various abandoned buildings, alleyways, etc.

Until you found a tall figure looming over your crouched form.

"Are you alright?"

The deep voice asks as he reaches out to you, which makes you jolt away and hide behind some trash bags.

However, the figure pulled your small frame out of your hiding spot and held you like an injured kitten.

"It seems that you've been out here for quite a long time. Come on, let me bring you home."

He tells you before he walks off with you, shaking in his arms as he makes a call.

"Alfred, bring everyone back at the manor. We finally found her."

~~~~~

I'm sorry if this was too short!

#yandere #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batgirl reader #batfam #batfamily #yandere dc #platonic #yandere platonic #yandere x reader #x child reader

[elliespuns]

This question is simple but it’s been swirling around in my head: do you think Ellie is the type to do drugs? God, just thinking about it automatically sends excitement running through my veins lol I know, I’m messed up.

Oh, I probably disappoint you, but I don't really think she is the type. I mean, look at the dork. I know people like to romanticize her like this; I see a lot of posts and art of Ellie smoking or possibly even doing drugs. But, to be honest, I can't see it.

Not saying she would never try it. I can definitely see her trying to smoke cigarettes, for example (because she's already doing weed), but I don't think she'd be a fan of those long-term, let alone drugs. 

There's a possibility that if she lived in the modern world, she'd be prone to trying drugs under peer pressure—that I can only imagine with someone she's really close with—you know, like, "C'mon, try it. There's a first time for everything." and she'd be like, "Ugh, okay. But just this one time." or something like this, and even after that, she'd probably be like, "What is this shit? That's fucking terrible. Why do you do this to yourself?" (once she'd sober up).

I never really understood the appeal of making Ellie reckless (it's the same as when writers portray Ellie as dominant, bossy, and sometimes even violent). I guess it's something that turns people on? But honestly, it's so far from what Ellie is like (or what she would be like) if we had a chance to see her in these scenarios. I just can't see it.

I'm not saying she's a saint or even a buzzkill. All I'm saying is that she's a shy dork who loves comics, superheroes, and space. She would most likely be spending her days reading books, drawing, or hanging out with the few of her closest friends she'd have, watching movies at her or their place. I can't really imagine her partying and doing drugs. Not even in the modern world. 

Ellie is the type of person you could give your child to, and you'd know she'd take care of her or him. You'd trust her with responsibility even when you know she's a firecracker. Be it young or adult Ellie.

I believe that she wouldn't do drugs. Not saying she wouldn't try some mild ones... but to imagine canon Ellie, I say it's a big NO.

#the last of us #tlou #ellie williams #ellie tlou #the last of us game #tlou game #the last of us part 2 #tlou part 2 #elliespuns answers

[apostleofgreed]

It's here, the finale - my friends thoughts throughout Nona the Ninth (it's a long one)

Right which one of these idiots is stuck in Nona's body

Signs point to both

I think more likely Harrow and shes just removed the massive stick up her ass

Most other signs thus far do point to Gideon though- lack of aforementioned stick, finds herself attractive, loves ass jokes, wants to pet dogs (Harrow seems like a don't work with animals or children type)

Also these other kids have names like they're gonna be running in the fucking grand national

Honestly what the fuck is going on with child conception in this series???

Someone has five dads, God was asking if Harrow and Ianthe were being 'safe' sexually and I'm just confused

Okay so I've only listened to half an hour today but if Crown isn't coronabeth I will eat my own arm

My theory is that neither of them are in Harrow's body and that she's being possessed by The Body

Maybe I should follow in Harrow's footsteps and ask you to fucking lobotomize me

No beta we die like Babs

"what do you think is sexy?" "Eating breakfast" Me too, Camilla, me too

Maybe someone needs to lobotomize Judith, has anyone thought of that?

Thing is I feel like I'm supposed to think John is really bad and is the villain here but I just don't

The worst thing he's done is lie to his friends for a few thousand years

Finally, the baddest bitch in all the nine houses (it's Ianthe)

What a power move honestly first she steals Babs' soul now she steals his body, absolutely inspired

She could literally kill another 200 babies to resurrect Harrow and I'd be like what a babe 😍 at this point

I'm bored of shooting can we go back to swords and doing weird things with your body please

I just think it would be great if Harrow could hop back into her body and have a full meltdown about how to function in this world

Erm Corona darling can you please try to stop them bombing your sister in the body of one of your lifelong pals pls and thanks

Y'all better sTOp

Fucking marry, kill, reanimate I can't hahahaha

"that's not actually crown's boyfriend Nona, it's her sister but I don't think anyone could blame you for getting confused" Fair hahahahah so very true

Don't know how they think this is gonna work seeing as though Harrow and Ianthe literally lived together for like over a year and had an interpersonal relationship but ok

Maybe it's because pash has the accent of a rudeboy from Oldham and suffer is weirdly French (on disliking We Suffer and Pash)

Palamades in Ianthe in Babs is sending me west

Abigail died too soon and really she did all the legwork in Harrow

Can't help but feel all of this drama could have been avoided if Harry had just done the job properly in the first place and just let Gideon die properly

All of this just because an 18 year old gave herself the brain scramblies

Cam has just burst into fire wtf

Can't believe Crux hasn't dropped dead tbh

I've got less than an hour left I feel like we're cutting it fine to get Harry back in her body here

Big flex to be waiting for everyone to arrive smoking a ciggie with your golden skeleton arm

Fucking friendship bracelets and a secret handshake hahahahah

Gideon needs to stop being such a bloody himbo

Who has shouted "get in line thou big slut!" Hahahahah

There we have it, the full series. Hope y'all have enjoyed this.

#the locked tomb #tlt #nona the ninth #Nona #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius #harrowhark nonagesimus

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 3

Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?

Previous part

Part 3: missing time

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Please don't be upset," I begged Reagan.

"I'm not!" She sounded too chipper as she stepped up onto the newly finished porch. Alastor and Husker were talking a few paces behind us. I noticed Alastor's attention focused heavily on the expanded haven. He had yet to know how much more there was than what he could see.

Reagan left the front door open and skipped the stairs two at a time. I let out a sigh as I walked over to the broken frame on the living room floor. I knelt down and casted the glass together, melting them in place and refurbishing the wood frame.

I placed it back in its rightful place as Alastor walked in. His cane tapped the floor as he crossed the room. He looked different than how I remember him, somehow. His features seemed sharper and the air about him was different. Or maybe it was because it has been too long since I last stood in the same room as him.

"I would love to hear what happened in my absence." He gently gripped my fingers and placed a kiss on the back of my hand. "We now have all the time in the world."

"Mère?"

Alastor turned sharply at the French word for mother. Standing at the base of the stairs was Nym and Thatcher. Their hands were clasped firmly together and Thatcher hid slightly behind his older sister.

"Who is he?" Nym asked Reagan, who stepped into view from the stairs.

Ah, this was why she had been chipper.

"Who are they?" Alastor hissed. "How do they know that word?"

"I taught it to them," I said calmly, walking over to the young pair.

"How do you know that word?"

"One of your books." I knelt down beside Nym and Thatcher and held out my clawed palm. They habitually placed a free hand on it. "This is Mr. Alastor, my dears. He is my soulmate."

Their eyes turned to him, uncertain and unsettled. I didn't blame them. His appearance wasn't a kind one, even though gentlemanly, and it made me think back to when we first met in the alley. How long ago was that? Twelve years?

"Quite a pleasure to meet you two." His free hand touched his chest as he gave a very short bow of his head. He made no move to come near them.

I stood up and let Thatcher clasp his sister's hand again. Nym suddenly looked up at me and asked quietly, "I thought we didn't like him."

My eyes immediately went up to Reagan. She grimaced before meeting my intense stare. "I told them my feelings about him when they asked." She held up her hands in pretend surrender.

"We'll speak later." I knelt down again to be level with Nym. "He has been gone for a while and we weren't sure when he was coming back. But we do like him."

That last sentence felt strange, almost forced. I pushed off my knee and asked Reagan to make them breakfast. She silently obliged in an effort to get back on my good side. I didn't blame her for her feelings towards Alastor, but I did blame her for involving the two youngest family members in matters like this.

I noticed Lucas waiting at the top of the stairs. I thanked him for giving us space and let him walk into the kitchen to help Reagan. He gave a curt nod to Alastor who didn't return the gesture.

He put his cane behind his back, claws gripping it dangerously tight. "I see you've filled the house with new souls."

"I had to fill the void after you left." The comment made his ears nearly flatten. I stood an arm's length from him and stuffed my hands in my pants pocket. Still in my plain night clothes, I felt oddly out of place in front of him in his usual suite and bow tie.

My anger and hurt lingered, and something told me it was going to stay that way for awhile.

"I wasn't expecting you to..." he trailed off in an effort to find the words.

"To create a family?" I offered.

"I suppose that's a way to put it."

I could feel our bond had already reattached itself. Yet it wasn't the same as it had been before. I still couldn't hear his thoughts and his feelings felt far away. Even so, I felt an ugly emotion hidden somewhere inside him.

Husker, Charlie, and Vaggie came to the rescue a moment later. They too had mixed feelings of his return but Charlie seemed the happiest out of all of us. The tension between Alastor and I felt tight enough for a knife to slice right through it.

"Come see what we've done with the place." Charlie urged him out the door. I let her take him out of the house and went to talk to Reagan.

****

Alastor walked absentmindedly behind Charlie. None of this had happened the way he had expected.

He certainly wasn't expecting his soulmate to be angry with him. He had been hoping she would be grateful, relieved, and happy to see him physically back in this realm. Although, he should've expected some type of negative reaction given her sensitive nature.

Which seemed to have faded quite a bit.

He wanted to know more and fast. She went through a serious amount of change, as much as the haven, and he wanted to get to know every inch of her new personality. Why couldn't time move faster?

He would need to have a discussion with her regarding the two new children, as well. He never liked children, which was odd given that he started to fall for his soulmate when he saw her tender love towards them, and having them under the same roof as him made something prickle uncomfortably under his skin.

The haven had turned into a city. He was shocked to see stores, restaurants, apartments, and more. They had progressed in such a short timeline, shorter than he'd ever seen a group of people do. He wondered about the community. He could see Demons and Humans alike being friendly towards each other as he walked down the street.

How close was everyone? How communal were they? How did they resolve disputes with greater numbers? The answers to these questions and more wouldn't come until he spent time around this city.

He had never been bothered by the vastly growing civilizations, cities, or towns in previous centuries. Even in Hell it never bothered him to see construction complete a project within a couple months or years. He had always been an observer, a journalist, and information gatherer.

However, this time he actually felt left behind. It made his smile turn ugly.

The stares and slightly more crowded streets further down didn't go unnoticed. He could hear the shocked whispers and the quick explanations from parents to children of his persona. It soothed his pride to know these people were aware of his reputation, as well as his connection with their great protector.

Dragon Demon, hm? he noted to himself. Certainly better than Snake Demon.

Finally—finally—Charlie finished chatting closer to noon and allowed him to return to the house. He caught sight of the two children running down the hill. They casted worried glances at him as they passed.

If Reagan was bothersome, he could only imagine what those two must be like in the house.

Vaggie, Reagan, and Lucas said goodbye as soon as we heard Alastor walk in. Husker remained behind with me, tail wrapped several times around my own, as Alastor's red figure came into the kitchen. I felt more on his level now that I was adorned in my usual dress pants and light colored top.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Of what?" He placed his cane in front of him, claws folded over and gripping the red cover.

"The haven."

He turned his head as if viewing it from here. "It's grown an impressive amount."

There was an awkward silence between the three of us. I wanted to spew everything at him. I wanted to talk nonstop, to explain everything that has happened, to tell the finest details.

But there was a piece of me holding back. Not with the words, but with actions and emotions. Hurt was still an overwhelming feeling despite his explanation of his disappearance.

"Why the children in the house?" he suddenly asked.

"Nym and Thatcher?"

He nodded. His smile was showing his teeth.

"They were trouble cases. I grew attached the more I worked with them and the house was too empty."

"Do you intend to keep them as you've done with Reagan?"

"You hate children?" I inquired.

"You could put it that way," he lifted a single claw and let it tap back on his microphone.

"That was something else I didn't know," I said slowly, "But yes, I intend to let them stay. At least until they're older."

His movement made me jump, quickly moving from his spot at the counter to right beside me, hand extended. "Perhaps you should tell me more. I would love to hear what has happened."

I looked between his eyes and his claw. It felt like a dream still, like I was going to wake up feeling even more crushed by his absence. Husker tightened his grip around my tail, seemingly grounding me in reality.

Surely this was real.

He lifted one eyebrow. He's trying.

I placed my black claw in his palm and watched as his red claws slowly encased my hand. His skin felt tough yet smooth and his claws were smooth and cool to the touch. A zip of energy bounced between us, making our hearts race higher than normal.

It felt like he was being incredibly careful. He wasn't really pulling me—more like guiding me—to the bright living room. I wasn't fragile but it seemed that was how he was treating me.

My protest fell short when he brought me over to the couch. He sat down so we were facing each other but I made sure to keep an inch of distance between us. Husker sat on the chair closest to the window, his presence not going unnoticed by his master.

Alastor hadn't let go of my hand. He rested his cane on his lap and locked eyes with me. A single claw gently rubbed the back of my hand.

"I have been waiting to hear your voice. Please, enlighten me about the past eight years."

My mouth opened but no words came out. I had wanted to tell him about everything but when the opportunity fell at my feet, I was silent. So much had happened, where did I even begin? It felt awkward, too, sitting there with his full attention on me. He felt familiar yet strange. Why was this such a problem?

I casted a glance to Husker for help but he wasn't willing. His tail whisked about his feet as he leaned forward on his knees for the sake of his wings. When I looked back to Alastor, his smile seemed strained, if not nervous.

"Perhaps a look into your memories would suffice? At least to start," he offered. I nodded without thinking. It was too late to reject the offer as his mind gently but firmly melted with mine.

I tried to block off a few memories but that seemed to alarm him. He tried pressing for those memories and when he couldn't get through, he looked at the events around it.

"You made a deal with someone?" he demanded, suddenly pulling out of my mind. My ears pinned at his tone. "Who?"

My mouth did the thing again. I clasped my claws tightly together and hugged my tail suffocatingly around my leg. My eyes glanced up to Husker for aid.

Alastor turned sharply to his servant. His gaze wasn't questionable — it was murderous intent. He stood abruptly and slammed his cane loudly on the floor. Husker's eyes went wide, fur stood straight up, and claws dug into anything he possibly could to give himself momentum.

He lunged for freedom but it was no use. Alastor barely lifted a claw to send him choking to the ground, tentacles pinning his limbs to the hard floor. I jumped in front of Alastor and grabbed hold of his hand, my magic attacking his own.

He let go of Husker and instead grabbed my arm in return. His magic bolted through me too fast and without warning to put up any proper boundaries. I felt exactly where he was searching, and right as he found his answer, my cell phone started to ring.

He withdrew from my mind as his head slowly turned towards the front door where the phones lay hidden in a drawer. He stared for a moment, the house utterly quiet except for the horrid ringing that felt like the seal of my death.

His eyes found mine out the corner of his eye. "You have ten seconds to explain the confines of this arrangement." His grip was crushing my wrist.

"I-I...I'm...I defend Vox's stations and he...he promotes the Haven. He's not allowed...to go...he can't come into the Haven at all. Physical or technological."

He was silent for a moment.

His eyes were staring at me, his head still turned away but single eye locked with both of mine. The phone had finally silenced and now all that could be heard was Husker's ragged, scared breathing and the ticking of the clock on the mantle.

I gently pulled my hand towards my chest and he let go. He said, "Last I remember you refuse to make deals with anyone."

"I made deals with you," I reminded softly.

"Aside from me."

I looked down at my claws. "Things changed. I needed to find ways to keep the haven safe."

"And giving your soul to Vox was going to do that?" he shouted, spinning to face me.

"Yes!" My head snapped up at the aggression. "Promoting the Haven meant we could have more people to defend it and more people to believe it's important enough to leave alone. It also keeps Vox on our side rather than against. He's a pain in the ass to deal with but he has the resources."

Alastor's snarl grew.

"Besides, I didn't give my soul to him. It was a soul binding contract for both parties."

His shoulders lowered at that. He casted his eyes to the side in thought. I reached down to help Husker back up to his feet. I gave him a reassuring squeeze on the paw and let him disappear out the kitchen door, leaving Alastor and I alone.

He had one hand on his cane and the other covering his eyes when I turned back to him. His antlers were still big, meaning he was incredibly frustrated still.

"I'm sorry." I kept an arm's distance between us. "I did what was needed to survive."

Gaze still casted away, he withdrew his hand from his face and held it out to me. I calmed my shaking before place my hand in it. He pulled me close then let go of my hand to put it on the back of my head. He pressed his lips to my forehead and took a slow, long, deep breath.

His antlers shrunk back to their normal size.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"I've missed so much time with you," he mumbled against my skin.

"We live for centuries. There's still time." I tried for a lighter tone.

He let out another breath. "I suppose you are right."

I flicked one ear up. "Say that again."

"Say what?" He pulled away to meet my eyes. Was he always this much taller than me?

"You never say that. Say it again."

His eyes stilled as he thought to the conversation. His realization was obvious when he lifted his eyebrows. "No."

"Say I was right. Say it again." I stepped closer so I was invading his personal space even more so.

"No." He moved his claw from the back of my head to my face and gently pushed me away.

"But it was so sweet of you," I laughed and pulled his hand off.

The phone rang again. I grimaced as he turned his head like an owl to stare at it.

"Maybe you'd like to see your old pal again?" I offered, "He's been obsessed about your return."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

oooooOOoooOooOOoooO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

[happy-mokka]

Happy birthday to me!!! 🎂

Yeah. Hi. It's me. Middle-aged Aziraphale fangirl did his next big step in the direction of the big 50.

Wahooooo! Not really…

I hate my birthdays. Always did. Even as a child.

Now as this middle-aged queerish-dude I am still having a hard time, standing in the middle of things and being cheered on by others.

I was born. Great. Get along, people, nothing to see here. Can you all just go home please?

"Well, what the f*ck are you doing here then, right now, with this post, in the middle of an internet platform in front of a bunch of strangers?!?"

some of you might ask. And rightly so, I must add.

Way more than 12 hours before - it is now past 10 pm in Germany - so this morning after I woke up to be exact, I had seriously contemplated the possibility to call in sick on my birthday, and hide myself from the world, quietly sobbing on my couch. For the first time in my working life of 24 years. I had always been to work on my birthdays. No exception.

But the past months had been hard. I never really felt in control of things, still don't. Those who know me closer, know that I like to be in control. Always a plan at hand. Always prepared…

Only that it didn't really work out…hasn't for quite a long time. I just never admitted it to myself. Always kept on going. My family was always good in repressing things.

Don't show weakness. Keep on functioning. What will the others think? People depend on you!

My family also never really considered me being "a success story" by their standards. I am unmarried. Don't have children. No big career. Ok, I've put enough on the side to live a financial solid life in a nice appartment. But the first part really nagged at them, and through them at me.

So I was already unhappy for quite some time.

Together with an ongoing above-average and ever growing work-load at the office, this feeling of unhappiness turned slowly into dread and then deep sadness, until I felt close to breaking with the beginning of today.

Now, almost 15 hours later, I am here, writing this sappy stuff and am genuinely happy for the first time in months.

"What changed?"

Well, I was thinking about this a lot in the past hour. While sitting in the bus and later while walking home.

Honestly? Nothing really changed.

I got my eyes opened and my perspective adjusted by someone very dear to me. That's what friends are for, and she is the best of them. My bestie.

She is the one who got me addicted to Good Omens last year and pushed me onto this hellsite. She brought me Doctor Who and the Tardis (yeah, I know, shame on me, coming so late to the game…). She makes me constantly re-think my opinions and keeps opening new windows to look through on things I had missed or never noticed before. She is challenging me on a daily basis to be more than I normally would go for or did for many years. She became the closest friend I have ever had in my life. Sure, I know lots of people a lot longer in years. Some since Kindergarten. But none of them digged themselves so deep into the darkest corners of my soul. Places not even my brother or my parents ever got to see. She made me, a life long rather shy introvert, open up, despite the fact that she is even more introverted than I have ever been. I still don't fully understand all of it, but here I am, writing all this to an unknown audience, as proof. A year ago, this wouldn't have been possible, not even in my wildest dreams.

"So, you didn't realize this before?"

I did. It just got pushed aside by all the negative spiralling. Sometimes you don't see, what's right in front of you.

After work, I walked her home. I like doing that. Sometimes talking all the way. Sometimes just walking in silence side by side. At her place she handed me 2 presents and just like that, it clicked. Sometimes, it doesn't take much, if it comes from the heart…

People, meet my new Michael Sheen mug!!!

So, we basically bonded over Good Omens and as faith would have it, we are exactly Aziraphale (me) and Crowley (her) coded. 100%.

It makes me beyond happy, knowing that everytime I'll sip my coffee with my beloved Sheeny, on the other end of town she will sip her hot cocoa out of her corresponding new David Tennant mug.

Good Omens was not the only thing we found out to have in common. The common ground sometimes is really breathtaking and we still regularly stumble over new things it contains. So many things that we equally love. Books, movies, music, long walks, just sitting there in silence and taking in a beautiful view… On the other hand, we are so different in so many aspects, but with the feeling of it rather complementing than dividing us.

She loves to chrochet, I can't even hammer a nail strait into a sponge. Speaking of which, meet my 2nd gift: Audrey!!!!!!!!!

We watched "Little shop of Horrors" (the 1986 version with Rick Moranis) a few weeks ago. Both for the first time. Loved it. I immediately fell for "Audrey", the flesh-eating alien plant. Didn't speak anything out loud, still it didn't go unnoticed…and, yes, it is hand-made!!!

*sigh*

"So, what am I trying to say here?"

Good qestion…

Life can be cruel. Life will be hard at times. It will make you cry, like, a lot.

Try to not go through all this alone. Sometimes those that you least expect it from, turn out to become your anchor in the stormy sea or the lighthouse showing you the way. Build your own little family of friends (even if its just one). Hold them tight, once you found them. Love them with all that's in you. You will get it back ten fold.

To quote the great Neil Gaiman:

Why?

L🥰ve!

@uncleadelheid-will-eat-your-soul , thanks for being all that for me, little introverted geeky metal edgelord office girl, and thanks for enduring my annoying love for bad jokes and even worse puns…

P.S.: Sorry btw for the storm, lighthouse, anchor metaphors with you hating all that's related to the dark blue sea…I still didn't edit them out…maybe we'll be getting there. At least I left out fishy fish…

🐟🐠🐡🦈🌊🦑

#happy birthday #ineffable friendship #besties #love your friends #platonic love #little shop of horrors #seymour krelborn #audrey ii #michael sheen #good omens #david tennant #doctor who #tardis #friendship #friends #why #love #neil gaiman #sappy ramblings #optimistic #from the heart #personal #up close and personal

[citrusbusiness]

Hey it's time for me to rant about mildly annoying things about society and being aro/ace! (Long post warning)

Okay so when I was eating dinner with my parents today and we were talking about our grandparents for a bit. Specifically, my grandma getting sick, and how my uncle traveling around all the time but living with them did not help that. Anyway then I was thinking about him, because he's unmarried with no kids and so is my other uncle. So then I brought up the fact that I have no first cousins, making my one joke about the topic that I'm the onliest only child ever. And we laughed about it for a bit, but then my mom said something else.

“See that's why –and I feel a bit like Jane Austen saying this– that's why you have to get married”

And my aroace brain already did not like that, but obviously I wasn't going to tell her that because I'm not out?? And then my dad then butted in with a joke about the reason being that the family line would end if I didn't, which annoyed me, but interestingly, my mother brushed that aside.

Instead, she said “because when you get old you won't have any siblings or cousins to help you.”

I... Had not been expecting that. So I sat there, not liking where the conversation had gone but not doing anything about it. I just put it aside to rant about later (this is that) and moved on with my evening

But I've come back to it now.

I'm not mad at my mom for telling me that I have to get married. I'm annoyed at my situation and our society for existing in a way where she's right.

I don't have siblings or cousins I'm close with who could help me. The only people I have are my friends, and who knows if I'll still be friends with them? Also, I have maybe one actually aro friend, all the others are highly likely to get into romantic relationships and maybe have children. They'll have their own people to be taking care of. I'm just going to be lower priority, that's how our society works. Hell, with the internet the way that it is, there's no guarantee that I would even live in the same area as most of my friends.

And this isn't even just an old age thing. What happens if I need a serious surgery? What person, with their own job and family and life, has the time to spend taking care of their friend for an extended period of time? I mean, I might, but I don't have the whole romance thing getting in the way.

I realize that I'm being pessimistic and that I should probably have more faith in both my friends and the way the world works. I'm just frustrated that because we place so much more emphasis on romance than we do friendships, once people start pairing up the friendships get left behind a little bit. I'm frustrated that you could make an argument that I might have to get married, not because I truly want to, but for the sake of my own health and comfort in the future. I'm frustrated that someone can say something as uncomfortable to me as “you have to get married,” and still have a decent point.

Again, I'm being a pessimist and I'm not mad at my mom. Or my dad.

…I need more irl aro friends.

#aro #aromanticism #aromantic #aroace #kinda #mostly a post for the aros though #rant post

[daydreamalley]

A Ramble about Phase 19 of the Fifteen Manga Ft. Storm Bringer spoilers

Just absolutely cannot get over the 15 manga. I love the light novel so much, but this manga adaptation is so ridiculously amazing. Dazai and Chuuya’s proximity/touching has been amazing of course. I adore the way Hoshikawa draws Dazai and Chuuya as well (my baby boys, especially Chuuya). But these last two chapters with Rimbaud and Verlaine. Like, fuck. The whole “At least, one of them felt that way,” part just hits so much harder in the manga for me, with the art and page placement. And this whole most recent chapter. Like firstly, you don’t have to end every chapter with like Chuuya getting stabbed okay, help me out here.

Comparing the last page of phase 18 with Verlaine and the first page of phase 19 with Chuuya makes it so obvious that Rimbaud is seeing the similarities between them with just that parallel, which is confirmed later with Rimbaud quite literally seeing Verlaine standing behind Chuuya. 

Not to mention in phase 18 the “That’s right Paul, I remember you,” in conjunction with him seeing Verlaine in Chuuya.

Then that flashback with Verlaine carrying Chuuya and Chuuya’s just so small I could cry.

Like, I knew he was small, but he's just so young, I can't. People were experimenting on him. Like, how??

The way Rimbaud wants to ask Chuuya something and Chuuya crouches down to him. Which leads to Rimbaud putting a hand around Chuuya as he tells him to live. How close and personal they are when Rimbaud says all of this just make it feel so much more impactful for Chuuya. Kinda love too that Chuuya isn't just standing over Rimbaud. He's making it obvious he's open to listening.

Rimbaud says a lot of shitty things to Chuuya up to this point, even complaining that he has to kill a kid while only referring to Dazai, completely not acknowledging Chuuya as anything more than Arahabaki. But once he fully remembers what happened with Verlaine, I feel like that’s when Rimbaud remembers what he truly believed about Verlaine and his humanity and how that extends to Chuuya’s humanity. Because Rimbaud’s whole final speech is most definitely things he’d also thought of or told Verlaine before (as I think is confirmed in SB). I think those are Rimbaud’s true thoughts and beliefs on the matter, it just took that long for him to remember the full story and how he felt about it all. Rimbaud saw Verlaine’s struggles with humanity, and now he also remembers why Verlaine betrayed him. And so he tells Chuuya to live, just as Verlaine wanted him to back then, live without the burden of worrying about your humanity or where you came from, because “you are you.” It doesn’t matter if Chuuya (and Verlaine) “are but a pattern etched on the surface of raw power.” In Rimbaud’s mind, and honestly where we eventually end up at the end of SB, is that it really doesn’t matter what your origins are, whether someone is an artificial personality (aka pattern) etched onto raw power, because really everything is some version of a pattern upon the world. And in a word with abilities, a lot of people are a pattern connected to a power. Just as in SB Chuuya decides that even though Adam isn’t human and he knows it, it doesn’t take away from Adam’s actions, his sacrifices, or his dreams. Same goes for Chuuya and Verlaine. Their origins don't affect how human they truly are. Their humanity is significant no matter what. It just took a bit more convincing for Chuuya to get there, a little more than what Rimbaud could offer on his (almost) deathbed.

Anyway, Chuuya holding Rimbaud’s hand as he dies just does things to me. Like, the book described that “Both Chuuya and Dazai quietly listened as if there was something in what Randou (Rimbaud) was saying that they couldn’t allow themselves to miss… Some things, however, would not return to normal: the body of a man who no longer felt the cold, and the hearts of two boys who stood rooted to the spot, staring at him. A gust of wind peered through their souls as it passed them by.”

This page just so well depicts that last line. It truly feels these boys have heard something so monumental, that they won’t ever forget. Standing in the aftermath of their first fight together, hearing these words about humanity that both mean so much to both of them. Dazai’s expressions really convey this to me in the manga, and convey it just so beautifully. And Chuuya being so close to Rimbaud when he speak those words just makes it feel like those words truly are so monumental for him. And also this means that Chuuya fought to kill a man, that to be entirely fair and clear was trying to kill him first, and then held to his hand as he dies, and there’s just something about this added detail that’s so significant to me in portraying the weight of it on Chuuya. Chuuya's connection to Rimbaud is a complicated but important one. But really these words are important for both boys, because let’s not forget that Dazai also struggles with his humanity. Even if he doesn’t have a physical reason to doubt his humanity, like Chuuya, there are many other reasons that he does doubt it. So hearing that all people and all of humanity are really just patterns within the physical world, human or not that’s true of everyone and everything, and that’s important for Dazai to hear too. I think both boys think back to Rimbaud’s final speech quite a bit, if I’m being honest or did for a while.

I am NOT getting over the detail that someone (Chuuya??) put Rimbaud’s scarf on his grave. I just… it does something to me and I love that detail so much. And cutting back to that “You are you” line while Chuuya’s talking to the grave is just so perfect in my opinion, and again just shows the significance of it so, so well. It’s like, he's talking to Rimbaud, complaining about his actions really, and then it cuts to that “you are you” and it just shows almost the contrast I guess between Chuuya feeling unrest at not finding stuff about his past that Rimbaud could’ve given him, but maybe wouldn’t have anyway, and Rimbaud’s statement that those things don’t matter because Chuuya is who he is beyond all that. Also the little dandelion blowing into the wind, to me also signifying a wish being spread.

Anyway, entirely unnecessary to end the chapter with a big knife in Chuuya’s back, thanks. Especially after Chuuya mentions how he’s still exhausted from everything. Like let’s just, stop, please.

He's just a boy, leave him alone for the sake of all things good.

#Let's all appreciate Hoshikawa and how much they seem to truly understand the characters and how beautifully they depict it all #Can't get over Dazai's expressions in this chapter #Or generally the skk physical interaction #Or how scrungly they are #Or just Chuuya like ever but the art style is so good #They make me wanna gnaw on drywall #my ramblings #don't know if I said anything of value hence tis only a ramble #bsd #skk #bungo stray dogs #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs #bsd fifteen #bsd analysis #sorta #dazai chuuya age fifteen #fifteen manga #fifteen manga spoilers #fifteen no longer looks like a word #bsd stormbringer spoilers #bsd fifteen manga phase 19 #bsd rimbaud #bsd randou

[bridgeportbritt]

The Goths got away with many proclamations, laws, and raises in taxation in the years they had ruled over the land. While they bled their citizens dry, they used the funds to live a lavish life that starkly contrasted that of the everyday Pendite. Beautiful clothes, handmade furniture, the best ingredients for the most luxurious meals. But most of all to fund their army and prepare to conquer more land. The Goths had ambitious dreams of creating one of the most powerful nations in the world. By force. So, they thought little of how their own citizens viewed them. Just as they did the rest of the world. They especially never even considered that the poor, downtrodden Pendites would revolt against them. How could they when they barely had enough to survive?

But, the Goths underestimated the people of Pendula View. Each day, the revolution grew as more and more villages joined. Farmers, carpenters and bards alike became soldiers training to fight. Old laws like how to dress and curfews were broken. Soon, the refusal of goods and services like crops and housekeeping, and even taxes. It was getting harder to suppress what was happening and The Goths were running out of ideas.

Lord Crumplebottom: All I want to know is how I can protect my family. I'm sure it won't be long until the rebels target the wealthy.

Mortimer: Bah! I wouldn't be concerned about that. I have yet to see them even think about such a thing!

Lord Crumplebottom: But they are preparing, so we must be prepared! Your soldiers can only make them fear you so much. It's becoming less effective. Plus, you can't contain them all!

Lord Landgraab: And why not?

Lord Crumplebottom: Because not every poor is a rebel. Some are our farmers and maids and still want to work! We can't keep them from their service. Do you expect us to tend to the crops, chores and the children?

Lord Landgraab: Needn't you worry about my soldiers. They have strict orders and can identify who is and is not apart of this abomination. What we need to focus on is funding more weapons.

Mortimer: More? But we've just acquired a large shipment from Vernick and Viridis! Not to mention Druzar. We cannot ask for more aid. I'm afraid our enemy countries might catch on and begin aiding to the rebels. I'm sure Whitmore, Armorica, Trenton and Pierreland would all love to see us fall.

Lord Landgraab: Afraid? Since when are you afraid, Morty? We must show strength at a time like this! We can't finally start our plan to conquer other nations if all our weapons are tied up in some civil war! Certainly, you can use your connections with Druzar to ask for more.

Mortimer: Absolutely not. My sister may be the Queen, but the more I use her, the weaker I and Pendula View looks in her eyes. And therefore, in the King's. We need to be strategic about using them to our advantage.

Lord Crumplebottom: Did you say civil war? I knew we never should've gotten into this mess in the first place. You've pushed the peasants too far! My poor wife has just been beside herself worrying that the maid will leave her for the rebellion.

Footsteps approaching

Bella angry: That's enough!

The men all gasp

Bella angry: To think men the likes of you help lead this country! You sound no better than a woman with your whining and your inability to come to a resolution.

Lord Crumplebottom nervous: Y- Your Almighty Excellency, I-

Bella: I don't want to hear it! If your wife or others of the ton are so concerned about their help, do something regarding it! I don't care if you have to trap them on your property!

Lord Landgraab nervous: Your Almighty Excellency, there's no need-

Bella: Oh, there is indeed no need! No need for a general to ever question his King! If Mortimer says no more aid, then that is final. Make it work with what you have.

Lord Landgraab: Yes, Your Almighty Excellency.

Bella: You men have one duty and that is to support my husband wholeheartedly! Especially with the ton. All this bickering is nonsensical and is of no use. We must act.

Mortimer: Thank you, my love. What would you suggest?

Bella: Well... as always, I try not to waste a frown on political matters and save that for you men. But it's obvious that what we're doing now isn't working. We can't just sit back and watch them form an army against us. If they want war, we have to give it to them.

Lord Landgraab: But, Your Almighty Excellency, our army is almost ready to move on Sulani. We shouldn't halt our plans for-

Bella: Good, if they're near ready than this will be perfect training. Take out the rebels, then get the army ready to march on Sulani.

Mortimer: A brilliant idea from a brilliant woman.

Bella: You lot make it so much harder than it is. Now, I must get to my stroll. All this thinking is simply not good for a woman! Good day, Gentlemen.

beginning | previous | next

Thanks for being apart of SimDonia history! @housekonig @royalmedani @trentonsimblr @whitmoreroyals @officalroyalsofpierreland @armoricaroyalty

#from the beginning #sims of color #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #ts4 #royal sims #royal simblr #historical sims #Cassandra is shook #aren't we all?? #look at all these ties between countries #love it

[sortasirius]

I...have some (a whole fucking lot) of thoughts (this will be messy an hopefully I'll be more coherent later)

Firstly...that was just an insane amount of buddie content, I actually think i might rewatch both episodes tomorrow just because I feel like i missed things and I Love Angst.

Let's start with the shooting itself, beyond the fact that it was so shocking to the audience (me)...how shocking it was to Buck. How the blood splattered all over him, how they looked at each other before Eddie fell. Eddie...reaching for Buck? (I'm not sure if 'm hallucinating this or that really happened).

And then, how Buck crawled under the rig in the gunfire to get to him, drag him with him, make sure that he wasn't going to be left behind. Getting him in the rig, telling him to hold on, just hold on, hold on for me, please. The way he's left behind as Eddie is taken into the ER, how someone asks him if he's okay and he just sort of whispers "no" to himself.

Buck having to tell Chris, the way he's shaking when Taylor finds him, how he breaks down in front of Chris, how he starts sobbing, how he breaks into pieces even when he's trying so hard to hold it together.

And the clear way he wants to die, how he wishes it was him, how he tempts fate climbing that crane because he wants to die. Sure, part of it's a guilt thing, and I think some of what he said to Bobby was true (the idea that he couldn't bear to have anyone else in the house hurt, so he did it himself), but I genuinely felt like part of it was a "If I couldn't save you, I'd rather die. If you go, I go. I can't live without you, and I'll just take myself off the board, because it would be better that way."

He says some of this to Eddie, how it would have been better if he had gotten shot, and I think that's a huge part of his whole character. He's just lucky that he's so likeable because otherwise no one would ever want him. He's useless, and Eddie? To Buck, Eddie is everything. His best friend, a great father, a great person, there aren't enough words to describe what Eddie means to him. Why would he live if Eddie couldn't. the world would be better off.

And you can see Eddie want to say something about it, but he's likely (understandably) too tired and they could be interrupted so he doesn't get his chance and just has to sit with this idea that Buck thinks everyone would be better off if he died.

Then...that last conversation in the hospital, of Eddie telling Buck that he'd be Chris' guardian if something happened to him. Not his parents, not Shannon's, not their other family...Buck. Because to Chris (and to Eddie), Buck is worth more than his weight in gold. They love him both so much, he is not replaceable. The way Eddie tells him that, the force of it, like he's trying to make Buck hear it, really really hear it.

"You're not replaceable, how could you ever be replaceable? Look where you sit in our lives, how you slot comfortably in a place you always should have been."

He can't say that, but it really feels like that's what he means. It feels like there's so much left hanging in the air, unsaid, a sort of "truth we both know" situation.

I'll have more to say, I need to rewatch them both, but that was the most intense hour I've experienced in a long time, it is insane how much I have come to love each and every character in this show.

#buddie #911 #liveblog #my meta #evan buckley #eddie diaz

[justyouraverage-simp]

she's in good hands// t.s, s.r

pairing: steve rogers x reader (romantic), tony tark x daughter!reader (platonic)

warnings: tony being a bit of a douche to steve, tooth rotting happy relationships

summary: tony was very protective of everyone he cared about but his daughter meant the most to him out of anyone so when he has to face the music that shes growing up he finds it hard to accept especially when it comes to boys but not just any boy captain america

*gif not mine*

Y/N swore she could never love anyone as much as she loved her dad, he was the only man she needed in her life. The two were peas in a pod, they were best friends and after Y/N got her heart broken who was there to pick up the pieces? Her dad.

Everyone swore Tony wouldn't be a present father, that he would send his child off the first chance he got. Just like his parents did to him. But Tony used that to be better, he became the worlds best dad at least in Y/N's eyes and to him that's all that mattered.

****

When the avengers were formed they all was told to keep their hands to themselves when it came to Y/N. No one risked to see where the line was because Tony had never been so passionate about something in his life. His little girl (although she is now 24, she will always be the little girl he used to play tea parties with and dress up with her like princesses) was his world, she saved him when he lost his parents, she gave him a reason to keep going and he will always protect her.

What Tony wasn't prepared for was her getting to the age where she was interested in boys and becoming more curious about them and her feelings. She didn't have a mother figure in life really other than Pepper then eventually Nat became an auntie/ older sister to her, so it was down to him to teach her everything and it was the first time Pepper had seen Tony unsure of himself.

Y/N went through her fair share of rough relationships, the worst being a three year relationship that ended with her being cheated on. Tony was furious seeing his girl crying over someone. She swore to him she was done with men, that he was the only man for her, the only one she needed. She was happy being single and free. That was until 2011 when she met Steve Rogers.

*****

Y/N and Steve both agreed to keep the relationship a secret to start with so the two could find their footing without the whole world watching their every move. And also so they could work out how to tell Tony without putting him or Steve into an early grave.

"Hey, how would you feel about telling my dad about us?" Y/N said looking up at Steve who had his arm draped over her shoulder as they cuddled into the sofa.

"As long as you want to I'll do whatever you want sweetheart you know that" Steve says.

"I know I'm just nervous"

"I know you are but we love each other right?"

"Yeah"

"So your dad will see that and how he hasn't noticed yet I don't know but we will show him that I'm not like the others" Steve says placing a kiss onto Y/N's forehead.

It was a few hours later and Jarvis had made Y/N and Steve aware Tony was back from his mission with Nat and Clint. Everyone meet in the living room to welcome the three back when Tony looked up at his daughter suspiciously.

"Why are you being weird?" Tony says bluntly.

"Wow nice to see you too dad"

"Honey you know what I mean, your quiet and your not as happy to see me" "I just need to talk to you when you get a minute"

"You can talk to me whenever you need, I'm your dad"

"In private please?"

Tony and Y/N walk to her bedroom, Steve following behind sneakily to be there for Y/N.

"What's going on kiddo"

"I'm just going to come out and say it" Y/N says running a finger through her hair "I'm dating Steve"

"As in Captain America?"

"No Steve from down the road, yes Captain America"

Steve takes this a time to walk through the door and wraps his hand over Y/N's.

"No" Tony says quickly

"No?" Steve says "What do you mean no?"

"I mean nope, not happening, over my dead body. How else do you want me to say it, I can say it in another language if that helps you Cap"

"Dad, I wasn't asking you if I can, I'm telling you because I don't want to hide him. I want to hold his hand or sit next to him on the sofa without having too worry someone will catch on. I want you to be able to accept that I'm not your little girl anymore I've grown up" Y/N says getting more annoyed at her dad.

Seeing how passionate his daughter is makes him realise she loves Steve, not in the same way she loves Tony but the way he loves Pepper. It made him realise he will always be the man who taught her what to expect from men, to not accept anything less than 100%. Steve however he showed her what 100% is, he showed her the meaning of true love. He chose her and he would risk everything to make sure she knew how much she loved him.

Tony looked between the two of them "Rogers promise me something?"

"Yeah Tony?" Steve says unsure of what he's signing up for.

"Promise me you'll look after my girl, she's my world and if you hurt her I will not be held responsible for what happens"

"I promise, I will always protect her and I will always do what's right by her" Steve says looking down at Y/N lovingly, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

"Just because I know your together doesn't mean the PDA can come out thank you very much" Tony says as he leaves Y/N's bedroom shacking his head.

*****

That evening Y/N is cuddled back up to Steve on the sofa dozing off slightly as the Avengers all have a movie night which was tradition when someone came back from a mission.

"Tony I'm surprised you haven't blasted Steve to another planet for touching Y/N" Nat says looking over at the two.

"Nope, she's in good hands and I'm okay with that" Tony says as he watches Steve admire his girl sleeping.

#steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x stark!reader #tony stark daughter!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #tony stark x daughter!reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader fluff