#Something something it's all about the loss of hope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gasolinerainbowpuddles · 2 days

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𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚅𝙸𝙸. 𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, fucked up family relationships and drama, abusive relationships, tooth aching fluff, everyone is incredibly horny | WORD COUNT: 9k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: Life at home is the worst it's been in a long time, and you've never felt better.

Winter drags on in the wet, tedious sort of way that it does in Texas. Luckily for you, Joel Miller fills all those dull gaps with his own personal brand of sunshine. Morning kisses when he picks you up. Stopping somewhere to sit and have a morning coffee for 10 minutes and pulling faces when he tastes your overly sweetened caramel flavored drink. Sneaking kisses at the office when no one else is around. Sending flirtier and flirtier texts throughout the day until he comes to pick you up from the office and drives you home.

It’s never been easy to shift from the nebulous bliss of being with him, but lately it’s even more challenging. It’s entirely possible the nature of your relationship advancing has created a stronger attachment and thus a stronger sense of loss when you have to part, but a large component of your misery whenever you have to say goodbye is the heavy, mercurial domestic picture that awaits your return every evening.

Kenzie continues to send texts, but you haven’t responded to any of them. You aren’t sure how to or if you even want to. Apologizing and making amends feels tempting and like the “obvious choice,” but you’ve grown sick and tired of placating and doing all the work to fix things in your relationships, especially when it always seems to be for someone who’s done wrong by you. So, you let it sit, and, before you know it, weeks of ghosting her fly by.

It’s not like you don’t have enough bullshit to deal with already. You do work full time, and when you get home it’s even more of a rotten environment than usual. Your dad has been on edge ever since Calum came to visit. He hadn’t spoken a word about it to you, although you had a feeling he was well aware that you knew exactly what had transpired. Instead of sitting with his own unpleasant feelings and thoughts in the aftermath, your dad had decided he’d rather distract himself from it with heavier drinking and lashing out at you.

Baskets of laundry flipped over because one shirt was “folded wrong.” Every plate in the house broken in half because you left the dishes in the sink from dinner one night. Holes punched into the hallway leading to your bedroom when his sports team lost a big match. Screaming at you until he was red in the face when you forgot to bring the mail in before it started raining.

It was the worst he’d been in a while, but something about Calum’s visit and Joel’s constant peripheral presence gave you the sort of resilience you’d long thought had been leached from you. There was nothing to do except ride this wave out and hope his wedding planning with Denise would start to serve as a distraction to shift focus away from you. She’d been overly eager to start outlining and scheduling right away, and you could tell it surprised your dad in a way that bordered on irritation.

But for now, you had to turn down Joel’s invitations to dinner at his house several times even though it shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces to have to tell him no. Worst of all was his unconditional, forgiving nature about it. You’d just say your dad was “strict” and “in bad moods” because of Calum’s visit. He’d tried pressing the subject once, but you shut it down immediately. It was bad enough having to deal with all this at home. When you were with Joel, you didn’t want to think about all that. Being with him was the only part of your life that wasn’t marred by your home life, and you wanted to keep it that way.

You wish you could tell him every day you’d love to stay for dinner and for bedtime and for all times. He’d mentioned how he “didn’t mean to keep buggin’ you about it” but that his house is quiet these days and he “misses the company.” He’d cringed at himself and laughed. “Christ, that sounds so fuckin’ pathetic.”

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs how it made you feel warm and appreciated just to be wanted in his presence. To share his personal space with you like it was yours, too. How much you ached for him. How every time you had to say goodbye to him felt infinitely harder than the day before.

You know you’ll get there eventually. Spending as much time as you please with him once you strike out on your own. Away from the toxic homelife keeping you from blooming into more than just a shell of your full potential. Separated enough from the dark cloud hanging around your head to understand how to speak freely and without fear of being abandoned. But, until then, you just have to take it day by day and keep reminding yourself there are good things on the horizon.

Eight times. You’d already turned him down eight times when he asked you to come have dinner with him at his house. Just something casual. No expectations. Just to enjoy each other for a little longer than the end of the work day. He’d only kept asking because you very clearly wanted to say yes. He wasn’t sure why you didn’t. Just another puzzle in the heaping pile of puzzles that already veiled you.

Your brother’s visit had revealed a few things, maybe more than you’d realized, but Joel hadn’t been successful in broaching that topic with you even though he’d tread so carefully in his approach. Your hackles were already raised when he inquired after your brother’s injuries and if they’d healed up. When Joel tried to be sly and ask the same of your father – a roundabout way of indirectly confirming he and Calum and gotten into that bad of a physical altercation – you’d briskly and coolly replied that “everyone was back to normal” and “thanks for asking.”

So, he left it at that, at least outwardly. Inwardly he’d begun to finally admit what’d been subconsciously festering for a while now: your dad was aggressive and volatile, past the point of somebody with a bad temper or an attitude problem. You’d never shown up with any physical indications that someone was hurting you, but Joel wasn’t stupid enough to think that external harm was the only type of mistreatment that could negatively impact someone, especially a parent to their child.

He wanted to get you away from your house as often as he could just because he didn’t know for certain you were truly safe there. If Calum had been on the receiving end of that, what sort of shit was coming your way? What did your dad deem necessary and appropriate when interacting with you? It was driving Joel insane with dread, but he focused his energy on what was within his control instead of worrying himself sick over everything else.

It’s why he’d started sending you goodnight texts that quickly turned into goodnight texts with pictures and sometimes goodnight texts with pictures and a phone call. Sometimes you’d share your screen with him – something he was completely unaware was possible and thus blown away by the concept – and pull up something on a streaming service app. You’d watch a show or part of a movie together and talk and laugh the whole way through.

It was a good way to spend time together, particularly since the opportunity for even moderate physical intimacy was practically nonexistent. Now that he’d had those small facets of you, that small taste of what he was missing, he was ravenous for everything that was you. Luckily for him, you never shied away from taking the lead on that.

10:28 p.m.

Your dad is passed out drunk by now. It should be safe to call Joel without any interruptions. You just hope he’s still awake. You were horny to the point of being antsy, and, while you weren’t sure exactly what it would entail, you knew a call to Joel would help things. The video call rings only a couple of times before his cheesy grin is taking up your screen.

“Hi, handsome,” you purr into your headphones.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greets in return. “You sittin’ in the dark again? Sure wish I could see more of you.”

You tap a low light lamp on your bedside table and dimly illuminate yourself for the call. For Joel.

“Pretty.”

“I, um, I guess I just wanted to call because I wasn’t ready to say goodnight yet,” you admit.

“Me neither,” he says softly. “I’m glad you called. Love seeing your pretty face and hearin’ your voice.”

“What if there was… other stuff that was pretty to look at? And hear?” you propose in a throaty voice.

He perks up at the insinuation immediately. “Yeah? Whatcha got to show me, sweetheart?”

“I was just feeling sort of wound up, I guess, and I thought maybe you could, um, talk to me while I… you know.”

His lip twitches up, devilish and smug. “No idea what you mean. Gonna have to spell it out for me, I guess.”

You huff and roll your eyes, which just makes him chuckle. “When I came over that day and you were saying all that stuff to me, I really liked it. It, um, made me really wet. The stuff you were saying to me.”

Joel groans and tilts his head back. He gets closer to the camera like he can get a better look at you that way. “Yeah? Got you all wet talkin’ about how bad you need me to touch that soaked little pussy of yours?”

You let out a small gasp and nod vigorously. Your hand travels with a mind of its own below your clothes.

“Mmmmm, already touchin’ yourself? Take your panties off and spread out real wide for me.”

You comply and nearly tear your clothing with how forcefully you yank it down and off. You lay on your back and let gravity take your knees to the mattress on either side.

“Lemme see her.”

You hold the phone under the covers and angle it so your glistening arousal catches on the screen. For good measure you ghost a fingertip across your clit and over your entrance to spread the wetness and create more shiny contrast for Joel to gorge himself on.

“Put the other headphone down there,” he husks. “I wanna hear you touch yourself.”

You promptly pluck one of the earphones out and drop it between your legs. You give a test rub and triumph at how well the sound picks up. Joel notices as well and makes a strained throaty sound in response.

“Fuck yeah, that’s so good, sweetheart. Just like that is perfect.”

“Tell me what to do,” you breathe. You don’t want to think about anything. You don’t want to call the shots anymore. You want to hand it over to someone who will do all the decision making for you and turn you out the other side fully satisfied.

“You’re gonna take that finger and rub it right on that pretty little clit. Gonna write out on it who makes you get like this, all needy and wet. I want you to spell it out for me: j-o-e-l. Lemme see you spell it out for me, baby. Out loud so I can hear it.”

You whimper at the simplicity of it that somehow evokes so much command and control. It’s like he’s marking you as his territory without even being in the same room, and it makes the back of your neck prickle and sweat.

“J.”

His breathing is notably heavier as you begin spelling his name.

“O.”

“Nice and round. Just like that.”

“E.”

It’s hard to concentrate on keeping the phone angled so he can see everything, but you do your best.

“L.”

You let out a small sigh and relax your back into the mattress. “I put your name on me, but I know the real thing would’ve felt better,” you pout.

“Soon, okay? I promise real soon I’ll take care of you. For tonight we’re gonna make this work. You tell me what your favorite letter was to write on that pretty little clit of yours.”

“O and L felt really good.”

“Yeah? You do some O’s on it again while I get my cock out for you, okay? Got me fuckin’ hard as a rock over here listenin’ to ya.”

You do as he asks and rub small circles on your sensitive pearl. Your mouth goes a little dry watching him unzip his pants and pull his stiff length from his boxers. Your absentminded swirling grows faster when he grips it and eases vertically in smooth, slow tugs.

“You’re gonna go up and down now when you do L. Now watch me and see how fast I go, and you’re gonna go the same speed, okay?”

“Okay,” you quiver in excitement.

You’ve never done anything like this before, and it’s exhilarating. You study his pace and mimic it on yourself. It’s a heady little exercise to watch him try not to rush, and everything feels like a warm fog around you as he picks up speed.

“Doin’ so good. Just like that. Look at how good you’re doin’ for me. Sound so pretty, too.”

It could be 5 minutes or 5 hours since you started. You’re so locked into following his tempo that time sort of softens and liquifies. The lewd sound of him spitting into his hand for lube takes you right up to the edge, and you tell him so.

“Hang on just a little longer, sweetheart. We’re gonna come at the same time. You just hang on a little longer,” he rasps. Your breathy panting and wet fingering sound loud in your ear, but you can still hear the slick drag of Joel’s fist as he jerks himself faster. His voice sounds ragged and pitched when he speaks now. “Okay, baby. You just – ah fuck – you just keep goin’ until you come for me. Make some pretty – christ – pretty sounds for me to come to, sweetheart. Give me those pretty sounds so I can come for you.”

“You’re gonna make me come,” you whine.

“Keep goin’. Keep talkin’.”

“I’m thinking about if it was your hands instead of mine, and it’s gonna make me come.”

Joel doesn’t get another word in before the hot band in your lower belly snaps. You tuck your head sideways into your pillow to muffle your cries, which becomes much more difficult when you glance at your phone just in time to hear and see him moaning and shooting white ropes of spend.

You stay quiet as you both come down from the intoxicating cloud of each other. You could drift off, peaceful and unaware, right then and there. Joel cleans himself up with some tissues, and, even in a nonsexual context, watching him hold and maneuver himself sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

“You feel good? Feel better now?”

“Yes,” you hum, all loose and mellowed. “Thank you.”

“Should be thanking you. You’re the one that made the call.”

“Next time’s your turn then,” you titter.

“Next time it’s gonna be in person, and next time instead of your fingers playin’ with that pretty little clit it’s gonna be my tongue spelling it out on you.”

One thing to always be grateful for: Joel Miller doesn’t break his promises.

Some of the downright alarming things Joel has seen and learned about your life recently are apparently of no concern to you. Noticeably more buoyant and lighthearted, you were more touchy, more talkative, more relaxed over the past few weeks, and as much as he’d like to claim it all as his impact, Joel knew a huge factor in your sudden radiant ease was getting to see your brother for the first time in months.

He seemed like a good kid if not a little guarded, but at this point that just seemed to be a familial trait. You’d divulged – or let slip – that he hadn’t texted in all the time he’d been away because your dad had cut off his phone line and left him virtually stranded, and he didn’t know your number to reach out once he got a new line. You’d tensed up immediately after sharing that tidbit, but Joel had known you long enough to understand when he needed to train his emotions and make no sudden reactions or expressions. It sounded a bit callous to respond with “sounds like a pain in the ass,” but it was a better choice than ranting about how your dad sounded like a complete piece of shit who didn’t even deserve the title of father.

You’d relaxed again when that’s all he responded with, and he added it to the growing list of reasons why he had to frequently talk himself out of confronting your dad about what the fuck his problem was and threatening him within an inch of his life if he ever, ever thought about treating you with an iota of the same energy he gave your brother.

And the way Calum had seemed so earnest when saying his goodbyes and declaring his appreciation for Joel’s protectiveness for you, his big brave kind strong sister. It felt like an unspoken moment of gratitude, something deeper and weightier than just what was being said. Between everything that had gone down in your house on New Year’s and whatever had happened New Year’s Eve with your friend, he was surprised if not relieved to see you doing so well. It felt a little selfish to so quickly embrace this burgeoning relationship with you, but he couldn’t deny it felt right more than anything.

And when your file came across his screen when he was double checking stubs for payday, it felt like a sign from the universe that he caught the tiny numbers next to your name that revealed a February birthdate. It was roughly a week and a half away, but that was enough time to plan something for you. He wasn’t sure if Calum would be coming to visit or if your friend from the store would be celebrating with you, so he decided to just go as big as he could without it feeling like too much – just to make sure you were getting the sort of fanfare you deserved without making you feel embarrassed or guilty for being prioritized.

Valentine’s Day was coming up, and he’d been panicking about whether or not he should do something for you. Of course he wanted to, but he wasn’t really sure what was fitting for whatever the two of you had. The last thing he wanted to do was make some big show of his feelings and send you running the opposite direction. Maybe one day you’d let him do that, though. He hoped, at least. He wanted nothing more than to learn every part of you so that he could praise it and show it the reverence he already felt.

He almost blows it a few days leading up to it when he asks if you have any plans for your big day. You skirt around the question, of course – something about not really being the “birthday type,” but he doesn’t believe that for a minute.

“Real believable comin’ from the girl who made me a lemonade cake for my birthday only a few months of knowing each other because she remembered that was the drink I got at her grocery store job every time,” he snorts.

You huff and hide a bittersweet smile. “It’s different when it’s somebody else.”

He nearly told you all the details of his surprise right then and there just so you could know that he saw you for you and wanted to celebrate ever being lucky enough to know you.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans, you care to indulge me with my little gift idea?”

Joel clocks the way you shoot him a dubious look, no doubt thinking back to the numerous Christmas presents he couldn’t help himself from giving you. It makes him feel a strange sense of pride knowing how much that had meant to you. Hopefully lightning could strike twice in the gifting department and this birthday could be as much of a success as Christmas had been.

“Yeah, because you famously do impersonal, thoughtless gifts,” you deadpan.

“Everybody has a different spectrum of gifting, okay?” he chortles. “So, you gonna be nice to me and let me take you somewhere?”

“I dunno. Depends on what you had in mind,” you tease.

He leaves out the finer details but tells you the date and the timeframe, and your face falls. “Oh. I can’t be out that late. My dad wouldn’t let me do that. Thanks for thinking about me, thou–”

“Just tell him you’re stayin’ at your friends like you were on New Year’s Eve. He doesn’t have to know you’re just around the corner.”

It’s a simple enough scheme, and your eyes light up. You know it makes sense, and, best of all, you know it could actually work. He’s relieved you didn’t take it as some loaded, suggestive offer because in all honesty he just wants this birthday idea to work out. If you get to stay in his house overnight again, that’s just the cherry on top.

When he drops you off that evening, the kiss is long and tender. He's more determined than ever to make you see how much you deserve to be celebrated.

You’d been reserved to your loss of doing anything fun for your birthday with your and Kenzie’s falling out. Calum had sent a little text to say happy birthday earlier since he was going to be swamped with work on the actual day. But then Joel had stepped up – a tendency over the last several months that had now formed into a full blown habit of his – and informed you of some “simple, fun” idea he had to celebrate with you. It was a relief to know he hadn’t bought you a gift like he’d done at Christmas because you still hadn’t completely gotten over the weird feelings of guilt over it.

You had never been fond of surprises and had more than your fair share of bad ones in your lifetime to turn you off the concept entirely. But for Joel, you’d let him surprise you with something. He’d earned enough of your trust to have your blessing to do that. It sounded silly when put so simply – I trust you enough to let you spoil me – but it was genuinely how you felt. You knew there was nothing he expected in return, and you were going to try your best to accept the genuine gesture without any feelings of guilt or unease that you weren’t giving something back tenfold.

Accept the affection and attention from a person who solely wants to give them because they care about you. It was a difficult concept that didn't quite resonate in your mind yet, but you were trying.

Your dad had slowly given into the wedding planning with Denise. Her parents and sister had taken an interest in it as well as in him from what you could gather, and that meant it was time to pull out all the stops. Beguile and soft soap them all until they would never suspect the wolf in sheep’s clothing, would never think in a million years this was a man who would readily and without provocation put his hands on those weaker and smaller. Sometimes you felt sick to your stomach knowing what awaited Denise and her kids, but there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. You know even if you tried to warn her, she wouldn’t believe you.

You weren’t going to dwell on any of that tonight, though. A gift of grace from the universe left you in your house alone to get ready and pack an overnight bag. It also left your thoughts in overdrive trying to figure out where and what this “simple, fun” gift was going to be. Joel had said to wear something comfortable “but not like pajamas or anything.” It was as helpful as it was vague, so you opted for a comfortable t-shirt and some wide legged lounge pants that were probably pajama bottoms but whatever.

Kenzie still had all your best pair of jeans at her house since you’d never gone back to get your stuff left behind. Her dress and tights as well as your bra and panties from that night were still somewhere floating around Joel’s house. You’d have to grab them tonight. Maybe you could mail her things back to her, and she’d return the favor.

Joel’s truck barely shifts into park before you’re bounding down the front steps and wrapping yourself around him.

“Hi, birthday girl,” he greets with a warm, tight hug.

“It’s technically not until two days from now.”

“Okay, then it’s a three day affair. Party starts tonight and doesn’t stop ‘til 12:01 the day after your birthday.”

You grin and giggle, planting a soft kiss on his chin and jaw. “What happened to ‘simple’?”

“Gotta adapt to the times, Pluck. Things change, and now we’re turnin’ this into a full blown event.”

You groan and shuffle to the passenger’s side where Joel cuts you off and opens it for you. He takes your bag and loads it up and doesn’t let you get out of the car when he drops it off at his house before heading out to the mystery location. It’s about 10 minutes of driving before you realize his energy has shifted into something uncertain and nervous.

“So, listen,” he starts and clears his throat. “Your birthday bein’ all close to Valentine’s Day — well, it sorta – it’s kinda ended up a little romantic themed, but I don’t mean for – I don’t want you to feel like it’s a — I don’t want you to feel pressured like it’s a date or anything, okay?”

You force down the pitched cackle that’s threatening to burst from your chest. That is what he’s so worried about? That it might be too romantic? That it might be so thoughtful and tender-hearted that it was unmistakably intimate?

“Well what if I wanted it to be a date? What then?”

His head practically turns off its axis with how fast it whips your direction. He’s never looked so excited and jubilant in all the time you’ve known him.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “So, is it a date?”

“I guess it’s a date then, sweetheart.” His cheeks go round and flushed with delight as he beams.

You faintly recognize the shopping center that the truck just passed, but you can’t remember what all is out this way. You’re in the parking lot of the “fancy cinema” before you recognize where Joel is taking you.

“Alright, birthday girl. We’re gonna go inside and get some popcorn and whatever else, and then we’re gonna go grab our seats,” he informs you brightly.

“We’re gonna go see a movie? What are we gonna go see?” You’re excited to know what kind of movie Joel picked out for you.

“Well, not just one movie. It’s a special double feature with an intermission in between and everything. Figured we’d make a whole night of it since this is the Year of Movies for you.”

“Really?” you squeak.

“Yep. They’re a little older, but they’re good. I’ve seen both of them, but it’s been a long time. Pillow Talk is first and then it’s Some Like It Hot for the second one. I think it’s about an hour and a half for the first one and then a little break before the second one, which I think the site said is a little over two hours runtime.”

“This is amazing,” you gasp. “I didn’t even know we had something like this around here.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“You weren’t even joking when you said this was going to be a whole event. This is so… I can’t even believe— I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m so excited! Thank you, baby!” you gush.

You lean across the seat and draw him into a brisk, intense kiss. You pull away and plant several pointed pecks on his cheeks and jaw and chin for good measure.

“You called me baby,” he notes in a soft, low voice. “You’ve never called me anything but my name before.”

“Oh, is that okay? I didn’t even realize I said that.”

“I liked it,” he admits sheepishly.

“Well, baby, let’s get outta this car before we miss our double feature,” you croon.

He chuckles a little and kisses your cheek before hopping out of the truck and coming around to your side to open your door for you. It’s almost dizzying how floaty you feel walking next to him. There was something about just being out and about with him like this so publicly, how freely and easily he wrapped his arm around you, and you don’t even care if you run into somebody you know. A fellow Miller Construction employee, an old coworker from the grocery store, or even your dad. It felt like it didn’t matter if someone saw you. It didn’t matter whether their reaction would be friendly or hostile or favorable or neutral or dismissive. It didn’t matter because Joel was with you, and, even if you couldn’t exactly say how, you just know down to your bones that he would face it head on and handle it for you both, no questions asked.

There’s a sort of implied promise of safeguarding with Joel that makes your brain feel quiet and sharp, like it can fully receive information and expunge all the burdensome, defunct neural pathways that were forged in all the years of stress and loss and fear you experienced prior to knowing him. Mental faculties refreshed and favoring clean new circuitry that optimized your well-being and happiness.

You sip on the bubbly, bright Coke he got for you to share as he grips a comically large bucket of popcorn in one hand and various sweets in the other. This place is like no theater you’ve ever seen before, and you start to wonder if this actually was a super expensive gift after all. When you see the dual pod reclining seats and swiveling side tables, you know without a doubt this costs way more than your average movie date night.

There are a handful of middle aged couples dotted throughout the gorgeous theater space, but it’s mostly older couples filling the seats. You’re the youngest person in the room by a longshot. When you locate your seats, Joel pauses and looks over the middle armrest separating the seats. You wordlessly lean forward and push it back, making for one large space without any barriers.

You get situated in your seats and play with all the buttons to see what they do. Joel watches on, amused and smiley, and nibbles on popcorn. You finally settle on partially reclining for both of you so you can still snack. The lights flicker and dim, and the first film starts.

“Can we cuddle?” you whisper.

He grins ear to ear and answers by way of wrapping an arm around you and pulling you snug into his side, his other hand coming to rest on top of yours in your lap. He kisses your temple and takes the pieces of popcorn you feed to him.

The movie is funny and silly even if you don’t entirely understand all the references and older technology mentioned and used. By how mellow and cuddly you both are, you’d think that was your hundredth time having an evening out like this. There was something familiar and comforting about being with Joel, and the lack of pressure or nerves about it all the entire time had you thinking Pillow Talk might just end up being your favorite movie after this because how could you not be biased now that it was associated with something so lovely?

You both get up to stretch and use the bathroom during intermission. Joel finishes first because for some reason there’s never a line in the men’s room, but he’s waiting in the hallway for you when you get out. He wraps you into a tight hug and kisses on you before walking you back to the theater. This feels like the soft launch of your relationship, and it’s hard to not get ahead of yourself with what it meant and why and how it already felt so fucking good and right.

The second movie is another lighthearted feature with solid comedic elements. You burrow and snuggle into Joel’s side this time around, hand rubbing gently across the little pouch of his belly that’s overfilled with popcorn and soda and small chocolate candies. His thumb traces your arm in gentle lines, and you can feel his whole chest vibrate when he laughs. You can’t help but look up at him a few times with a mawkish grin, which he uses as an excuse to dip his head down to kiss you.

Despite the literal hours and hours of movies you’d just sat through, you don’t feel tired in the slightest. Raw energy emanates from you, and you know Joel must feel it, too. You spend the drive back to his house thanking him roughly a million times for such a wonderful birthday and perfect gift. He basks in the influx of positive feedback and appreciation, so you make sure to lay it on as thick as he’ll tolerate.

He’s got a bounce in his step as he walks around to get your door for you. You don’t make it all the way inside his house before you’re already asking if you can stay in his bed with him tonight instead of the guest bedroom like you’d planned.

“Of course,” he huffs in disbelief. “If I ever say no to somethin’ like that, haul my ass to the doctor because somethin’ would be seriously wrong with me.”

He carries your bag upstairs for you, and your chest pounds with errant heartbeats as you pass the guest room and head for his bedroom. You creep up behind him and run your hands over his hips and towards his groin.

“I’m not really tired,” you say soft and suggestively.

“No? You need somethin’ to help get you all relaxed so you sleep?” he returns, none too intent on hiding the darkened want dripping from his words now.

“Kinda wanted to see your dick again,” you hum. “Feel it in my hand again.”

“Oh?” He turns his head sideways to gauge your unexpected admission.

You nod firmly and rub your palm over where his pants have tented and are now straining against his hardening bulge. “Can’t stop thinking about it.”

That much was true. Perhaps a burning curiosity now that you had a male partner, you’d begun imagining all the things you could learn to make him feel good, to touch him in just the right way that makes him cry out for you louder than any other partner he’s had in the past. You might’ve rubbed his name all over yourself at his instruction, but he wasn’t the only one with a possessive side.

“Maybe we could get undressed for bed, and…” you trail off and shrug.

He turns around completely to face you and crowds your body. “Just said you weren’t tired,” he points out cheekily.

“Beds aren’t just for sleeping.”

He concedes to that and runs his hands under the hem of your shirt, pausing for a moment for you to give him the go ahead, and gently pushes it up until it’s over your head and forgotten on the floor. He repeats the action on himself and focuses his attention to undoing your bralette.

“This okay?” he checks.

“Yes,” you say firmly so he knows you want it, no doubts and no hesitation.

He continues on like this - an item of clothing off you followed by the same item of clothing off him - until you’re both bare. You can’t decide what you want to touch first and more of, so your hands just end up traversing his body in frantic little passes. He’s much more methodical – and proficient – when it comes to you. Teasing his thumbs across your hardened nipples, cupping your ass in his warm palm and squeezing it, nosing at your temple, neck, and ears.

You settle onto the bed together, and his deliberate exploration of your body has your mind going blank. He pairs sensual caresses with attentive kneading, and the combination has your entire body feeling like a willow tree in the wind. Before you can’t think of anything other than what he’s doing to you, you prop yourself up and bid for his attention.

“Can I put it in my mouth?” you ask softly.

“Yeah? That what you want?” he groans. “ You wanna taste your first cock, sweetheart?”

“Mmmhhhhhmmmm, yes. Can I?”

“Okay, go ahead.” He lays back and cups your face, tenderly caressing it for a moment, and looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. “It’s all for you.”

The assertion that his patent arousal and carte blanche invitation was all yours sent an intoxicating, simmering thrill through you. It’s just the sort of endorsement you need to delve into this new sort of sexual experience and not be so in your head about it. You shimmy down, planting chaste little kisses along his chest as you work your way to his stiff length, and let yourself pause at the thicket of coarse hairs surrounding the base. You breathe in the scent of him – a concentrated, earthier smell of his usual aroma – and gently run your fingers from base to tip.

You look up at him and feel a rush of power when you see his face already warping into a pleasured frown and pinched brow. You hold his gaze and draw tiny kitten licks all the way up to his cockhead. His breath hitches when you lick at the topmost portion of the underside, so you do it again. He can’t look away as you round out your lips and slowly sink them over his tip before just as slowly drawing them back up with a little bit of suction.

You can already tell you’re not going to be able to fit much of him into your mouth. Maybe with a little practice and just getting used to the sensation, but not a viable option today. You work the rest of what you can’t fit into your mouth with your hand and switch out suckling his tip with messily tonguing at it and the slit. You soak in the small sounds of surrender he’s making and try to just let your instinct guide you to make him feel good.

“Look so pretty,” he husks. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

You could try to save face and lie, but it didn’t feel right to do that. It was feeling less and less right to ever not be completely honest with Joel. “I know I’m supposed to inflate your ego by saying how big you are, but you’re actually — like, you really are big, Joel,” you point out a little bluntly. “How the hell do people do this and not have their jaw hurt the rest of the day?”

He laughs under his breath and brushes some stray hair away from your eyes. “S’okay, sweetheart. You just show me your best. Just wanna see those lips wrapped around it. Don’t gotta take all of it at once.” You nod, and he grins like an imp. “Not today, at least.”

He’s teasing, of course, but for some reason it makes you want to learn how to take him to the hilt. You flatten your tongue and take him down until your gag reflex threatens to go off. Your eyes are watering by the third time, but you don’t look away from Joel.

“Christ, you can’t look at me like that when I’m in your mouth,” he groans. “Gonna make me come way too fast lookin’ up at me like that.”

“Like what?” you breathe, a little teasing and a little turned on by his admission.

“Like you–christ– like you wanna tell me thank you just for lettin’ you suck it.”

“Like I really, really like it?” you tease. “Like it’s all I’ve been thinking about doing since I first saw how hard you get for me?”

His brow pulls in a pained sort of bliss, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. You take him in your hand slowly while you talk.

“Because I have. I’ve been thinking about touching it. And licking it.” You accentuate your words with a flit of your tongue around the slit. His eager responsiveness to your talking gives you the confidence to keep going.

“Thought about how big it’s gonna feel inside me but I don’t even care. I just want you to fill me up with it and stretch me out on it. I know you’ll make it feel so good for me.”

“Oh fuck, yeah. Ah, fuck, I would make that tight little pussy feel so good takin’ my cock, baby.”

You moan and mouth at the underside of his cockhead, letting the fat tip of him smear and bob across your lower face. You think he might just enjoy seeing how messy and uninhibited you get when you’re lost in the buzz of sucking him off.

“You’re so warm and hard. Feels so nice in my hand. I wanna know what it’s gonna feel like to have it inside me,” you say, sounding a little out of breath and needy. “I get wet sometimes just thinking about it, ever since I watched you on the couch that first time. I wanted to know what you tasted like after you were done and it got all over our hands.”

“Christ you gotta—” he grits. His hands are clenched into fists on either side of him, bunched up fabric caught up in his grasp. “Since when have you had a mouth like this on you? Jesus fuckin’ christ.”

“I like you watching me. I like you seeing how much I want this. You taste so good.” You spit loudly onto his cock and mouth at his balls for good measure but decide to pull away from them when the sensitivity and movement of them are a little too foreign for you to feel confident focusing on when he’s this close to climaxing. You flatten out your tongue and run it up and down his length while you work his tip in wet circles with a strong turn of your wrist.

“Thank you for letting me suck your cock, Joel,” you murmur in a syrupy, coy tone. You bat your eyes for good measure and continue getting as much slobber as you can onto him so the noises are louder and louder with each suck or tug.

“Ohhh ffucckkkkkk.” He’s writhing and panting, and you want to give him that final push to where he can’t hold back any longer.

“I want you to fuck me raw so I can feel you come inside me,” you moan. “I wanna feel your cum drip out of me, baby.”

His eyes snap to yours, and then his whole face is pulling and contorting as you lick and suckle along the underside of his cock. Hot ropes of his seed splash onto your face, but you keep your mouth open as wide as it will go so you can wiggle your tongue side to side on him. He’s making the most incredible sounds you’ve ever heard, and it resets something in your brain. You know you want to hear those same exact sounds as many times as humanly possible.

“Wow,” you breathe when he finally starts to come down. “That was incredible.”

“God dammit I didn’t mean to come that quick,” he hisses. “Snuck up on me. You’re a damn devil in angel’s clothing, holy shit. Talkin’ like that and lookin’ at me like that.”

His flushing is attributable to his release, but you also recognize a delightful little nugget: he’s slightly abashed at orgasming so quickly. When he’s walking back from the bathroom with some hand towels to clean you up, you catch him muttering to himself about get a fuckin’ grip, Joel. Considering this was your first attempt at a blowjob, you are admittedly proud of how fast he unraveled.

“Well look who’s pleased as punch,” he snorts. “Over there with that shit eating grin.”

You giggle and cover your face but don’t deny you’ve got a sense of pride at making him come so easily. He playfully pulls you to the end of the bed, and you squeal in surprise and delight. “Yeah, real proud of yourself now, but we’ll see who’s laughin’ when I get back to business down there,” he laughs.

He gently wipes your face clean of his spend and huffs a laugh when you’re lying there beaming up at him.

“You sure you never done that before?”

“Positive,” you chirp. “But I’m glad that out of anybody it was you.”

“Now you’re just tryna soothe my bruised ego,” he chuckles.

“No, I mean it. And… I mean, if there was other stuff we could do that was new for me… I wouldn’t say no to that,” you extend. You roll your hips against him and relish the stifled groan that vibrates through his chest.

“Well, coupla things gettin’ in the way of takin’ it there,” he says after a beat, like he’s trying to let you down gently.

You deflate a little at the rejection, now feeling a tinge of embarrassment yourself, until he clarifies that it’s nothing to do with not wanting it.

“First off, I just came. A lot. So, with guys it’s different. It takes a while to, uh, ‘get operable again’, if you know what I mean,” he explains.

“Oh, I– Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

He’s waving your apology off and continuing on before you can expose just how inexperienced you are with men. The last thing you want to do is come across as naive and incompatible with him. “Trust me, if it was up to me, I’d already have your legs thrown over my shoulder and be drilling down into you, sweetheart.”

Your lips part slightly at the mental image, and he grins knowingly.

“And then there’s also the fact that I don’t have any protection, but I can, you know, I can pick some up soon if you’re feeling like — if you’re sure you’re ready for that. No rush at all, though. There’s no pressure, okay?”

“I want to,” you insist.

His expression is tender and amused with an edge of sleepiness. “Okay, sweetheart. Then we will,” he promises. “I’ll pick some up soon, and we’ll take that step.”

“Okay,” you pout.

“Lemme make it up to you in the meantime,” he suggests, crawling into bed with you and running a hang up your inner thigh and making you gasp.

He takes you apart in his mouth, spelling out his name just like he promised, and it’s him you dream about that night when you’re curled up into the swell of his broad chest.

Something hard and insistent prods at your thighs and finally stirs you awake. The sun hasn’t come up all the way yet. The heavy scent of Joel fills your nostrils when you take a deep breath. Sleeping next to him in his room was ecstasy on an entirely different level, a rehabilitation for your nervous system if there ever was one. You’re very much awake now when you realize just what it is that you’re feeling pressed against you.

You stay on your side as you were when you woke, but you turn your head enough to see the gentle rise and fall of Joel’s chest. He was still knocked out with no indication that he’d be conscious any time soon. He’s not on his side, but he is angled towards you enough that his hardon continues to make direct contact. You turn in nimble, measured movements so as to not disturb him until you’re facing him completely. Your eyes are drawn to the hefty length of him, thick and resting on his thigh.

You reach a hand down and curl around it with featherlight touch. He shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. You get a firm hold and give an experimental stroke. This garners a stronger, definitive response. His forehead and eyebrows twitch and wiggle, mouth drifting open a little and making small, silent shapes. Heartened by the effect you have over him, you stroke a little faster and study his face for any changes.

He lets out a soft grunt and subconsciously ruts towards the friction. He’s got a sour little shape to his mouth now as he becomes half-conscious of his surroundings and fully hard.

“Mmmmmm, what’reyoudoin’?” He sounds groggy, voice thick with sleep and dazed arousal.

“Woke up to it,” you whisper throatily. “Looked like it needed a little attention.”

He sighs and opens his eyes, and they twinkle back at you with something challenging and playful. “You decided to give a helpin’ hand, huh?”

“Hand. Mouth. I’ll give you whatever you want,” you murmur.

“Missin’ a couple orifices for that list to be complete,” he chuckles. His eyes are resting shut, still not entirely awake for the day, but a big grin spreads on his mouth. That is, until you say to hell with it and resort to begging.

“Can you fuck me without a condom? Just once? Please? I wanna feel you so bad. Please, Joel. Please.”

His eyes are wide open now and darkened by your shameless appeal. “We really shouldn’t…..” Even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“I won’t ask again,” you promise, doing your best to not sound too let down. “Sorry. I just keep thinking about it.”

He studies your face for a moment, and the flicker of a decision dances on his own. “Maybe just once. Right? Just for your birthday. Just a little gift for your birthday, just this once, okay?” he rambles, sounding eager in the way his voice pitches up the longer he speaks. You nod, a yes yes yes whispered, and resume stroking his now leaky cock.

He’s quickly between your legs and making out with your pussy. It’s only been a handful of times, but he works you like he already knows every little spot you like and every little tell you have. You come when he adds a second finger. He wipes his glistening mouth and chin on the sheets and crawls back up your body like a cat on the prowl.

“Think you’re ready?”

“Yes, please. I can’t wait any more. Please.”

He notches himself at your entrance and holds your eye as he begins pushing inside. You’d expected more of a painful sensation, but it doesn’t go past slight discomfort and stinging as you adjust. Joel looks worse for wear as he tries to keep a level head and not go too fast.

God you feel so good and so warm and fuckin’ soft and fuckin’ chokin’ me spill from his lips as he feeds you his cock inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside you. You whimper at the stretch and fullness, clawing at him to hold you closer while your body accommodates him. He obliges and cradles you against him. It’s overwhelming in the best of ways feeling him above you, inside you, all around you.

He slips a finger between your legs to work your clit and help you fully relax around him, and you’re both caught off guard when the simple motion elicits an orgasm. You’re making insane noises, you’re sure of it, but you don’t care. The sensation of clamping down onto him is otherworldly. He himself is making little grunting noises of effort – to not move or to not come, you’re not sure.

The spasming begins to subside, but you can’t stop whimpering. It only worsens when Joel starts to shift his hips and gently fuck into you. Your head snaps back the first time the drag of his cock gets plunged all the way back inside you.

“Feels good, huh? Comin’ all over me just from a little touch. Coming just because you’ve got this fat cock in you, huh?” he goads. “You gonna choke my cock again, sweetheart? Gonna come all over this cock again once I start fucking you just how you wanted?”

You speak, but it’s mostly just babbled whines. You tilt your hips slightly and cry out when the change of position gives him an open range of motion.

“There you go, there you go,” he rambles. “Takin’ it raw, aren’t you? Didn’t want anything else for your birthday, did you? Just wanted to open up this cock and have me shove it into this tight fuckin’ pussy. Never had a cock before and now she can’t get enough.”

He bends his head and latches onto a peaked nipple, and you’re gone. Your entire body seizes up with the force of your climax, and you swear your vision goes flat for half a second. Joel fights against the drowning clutch and pull of your cunt as he hastily pulls out and finishes on your mound with a gravelly moan.

By the time you both regain enough energy to speak, the sun is fully in the morning sky. Joel convinces you to get up so you can shower together and eat breakfast. He tends to you every step of the way of your blissful morning together.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

tagging:

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@jupiter-soups @heartstoptrying @beelzebeth87 @copperhalfcent @gay4magnetobutfanfiction

@ficrecreblo @witchy-and-persnickity @lyuir @indiegirlunited

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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seventiesweetheart · 3 days

Note

hiii~ how do you feel about writing something about ghostface x reader (either billy or danny) inspired by "sweet serial killer" or "queen of disaster" or thag line from cinnamon girl "if he's a serial killer then what's the worst that can happen to a girl who is already hurt?" IDK I JUST WANT LANA DEL REY FT GHOSTFACE 😭

𓆩♱𓆪 sweet serial killer.

ghostface! billy loomis x fem! reader

INSPO. happiness is a butterfly by lana del rey | “if he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt?”

WARNING. mentions of gore and violence. yandere billy. ghostface breaking into her house. manipulative behavior. fluff! no smut in this one :>

A/N. so sorry anon, this came in so late >< but i hope you like it !!

for a whole week, y/n has done nothing but cry and mourn the loss of her best friend, casey becker. she’s avoided coming to school cause the poor girl couldn’t stand not being able to see her in the hallways. no, she couldn’t bear it, even after her friends have insisted on her being there.

billy and stu were so determined to keep her company, always showing up with new movie rentals and her favorite comfort foods. they hated seeing the poor girl so broken, even if one of them do believe casey deserve what she got for constantly stealing y/n's attention away from him.

but no matter what billy and stu did, it was never enough to fill the void. the horrific image of her best friend's intestines strung around the tree outside her house haunted y/n. who would honestly do such a sick and cruel thing?

y/n sobbed uncontrollably at the thought, her body trembling as she wrapped herself tighter in her (fav color) fleece blanket. she curled up on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest, feeling small and utterly alone. the dim glow of the tv cast flickering shadows on the walls, reflecting off the tear tracks on her cheeks, her eyes swollen and her nose red and runny.

it was already 1:00 a.m. on a saturday, and she remained wide awake in the dimly lit living room, staring blankly at the romcom billy had picked out for her. the lighthearted scenes on the screen felt like a mockery of her current state. but at least it kept her company.

her parents were out of town, too busy sailing away in some vacation beach while their daughter was drowning herself in her own misery. she would never admit it to her friends but it does get lonely isolating herself in her house. and it’s even more frightening to think that whoever killed her best friend still hasnt been caught. besides, who knows? she might be next—

suddenly, a loud ring pierced the quiet, making y/n jump slightly from her position.

who the hell would be calling at such an ungodly hour? the muffled noise from the tv only added to the eerie silence that she was now acutely aware of as the phone continued to ring incessantly.

with a slight pout, she realized the phone wasn’t going to answer itself. and so she mustered all her courage and stood from the couch. it was most likely just her parents checking in; they must be worried sick after hearing the news about the masked killer.

her soft knee-high socks touched the cold hardwood floor as she carefully padded toward the sound. realizing it was coming from the kitchen, she drew closer, the ringing growing louder with each step.

the kitchen was quieter and darker, the only light coming from the moon casting a glow through the window. with trembling hands, she reached out and picked up the phone situated on top of the counter, her pulse quickening at the unknown caller's silence on the other end.

"…hello?" her soft, timid voice asked as she waited for a response.

“hello, y/n.” the voice was low and gravelly, y/n fought hard not to end the call right then and there.

“w-who is this?”

“i’ll answer your question only if you answer mine first.”

y/n face twisted with confusion but she didn’t think too much about it. this is probably just a silly prank call, nothing serious.

“okay… what’s your question?”

the stranger paused a few seconds before finally asking, “what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“i-i’m not really a fan of scary movies.” was the only reply y/n could come with cause it’s true. she despised them. plus, if anything, the recent events had only intensified her aversion to them.

“that’s ashame, never even seen a single one?” the voice prodded.

“nuh uh,” the girl shook her head even if she knew that the stranger obviously couldn’t see her right now.

the voice chuckled softly, “cute.”

“i already answered your question, so answer mine.” she doesn’t know where the courage to say that came from but she immediately bit down on her lip in fear of sounding too confrontational.

“that’s right! and here’s your answer, sweetheart,” the call ends abruptly and all she’s left with is the beeping noise of the telephone.

furrowing her brows, she slowly puts the device back down onto the charging station, unsure of what to make of the conversation. but she decides to push it out of her mind as she backs slowly from the where the phone was.

but suddenly, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, cutting off her gasp. her eyes widened in shock as she felt a sharp metal press threateningly against her throat.

“make a sound and i’ll gut you up just like your poor best friend.” the voice behind whispered menacingly.

y/n couldn’t stop the flood of tears from pouring as she felt the arm around her and the solid chest behind her guide her out of the kitchen. a warm breath brushed against the back of her ear and down the side of her exposed neck as she weakly tried to clutch onto the hand that was still holding the knife.

of course, billy wasn’t actually going to cut her up. he wouldn’t even place a single scar on the poor girl’s skin. he just needed to threaten her enough to make sure she complied with whatever he wanted. and right now what he wanted was to guide her back to where she was and keep her wrapped possessively in his arms.

“i’m going to let go of your mouth now, sweetheart. but you better not scream, understood?” he warned carefully.

he unwrapped his hand from her mouth, revealing her flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. billy couldn’t help but pause to admire her vulnerable appearance as she weakly leaned against his chest, her angelic eyes brimming with tears and wetting her fluttery lashes.

her pouty, petal-soft lips looked so dangerously tempting. in that moment, billy felt a primal urge to claim them, to stain them with his blood soaked violence, a violence so diametrically opposed to her sweet innocence.

but he couldn’t bring himself to taint her with his darkness—not when she looked so fragile and dainty in his arms.

#yandere billy loomis #yandere ghostface #dark billy loomis #dark ghostface #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader #ghostface fluff #billy loomis fluff #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #dark billy loomis x reader #dark ghostface x reader #scream #scream fic #scream x reader

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gatheredfates · 2 days

Note

For the relationship ask thing: Kor & Alphinaud!

Have your followers send you NPCs and you describe your OC's feelings/relationship to that NPC! I have nothing to say except I went insane.

He is just a child.

She reminded herself of this fact through gnashed teeth and folded arms; he is just a child, he does not deserve your ire.

But Kor was very tired of children. She had only recently interred one to the sea — to the crabs, the fish and the three-day rot — and the arrogant intervention wore thin in the repetitive belief that Alphinaud knew better simply because he was the prodigal grandson of a man who gave his life to Eorzea. He intermingled with the potentate, both of city-states and non, and she watched with loosely contained annoyance how he prattled on.

But she watched. That was one thing the Captain was good at, she supposed — watching. Guarding. He monopolised it with lazy gestures and self-assured smiles, and she fell easily into the role of dog to its master. Not because she respected him exactly, but because it was all she knew. Because she couldn't be better.

Should she have said something? Should she have intervened? She saw the way they looked at him like he was a thing to be used, a stepping-stone to their aspirations, armies and Warrior of Light. When Ilberd glanced to her she could see intention in the edges of his easy smile, "Daughter of Ala Mhigo, don't you see the opportunity?"

If looks could kill she'd encase him in the amber of her eyes, right at the juncture where equitable manner bordered on ridicule.

Why didn't she? Because the last time she had said something, the last time she tried to intervene, it only sent the child running.

Right into the jaws of the deep.

He is just a child. He was tired. Alphinaud doesn't complain (perhaps he knew better the limits of her patience), but she could see the weariness in his eyes — exhaustion hugging the corners, hoping to fuse with the rest of the cold truths.

And they were cold. Not just of the temperature, for Ishgard was abysmally frigid, but of the loss of their comrades and the fall of their station; how their pedigree had diminished to the kindness of an foreign nation determined to arise from the ice, even if their sanctuary to accused murders might isolate them all over again.

Or heresy. Koret thought herself more superstitious than religious, though maybe it was all the same in the end. An offering to a deity, a prayer for good luck (give Llymlaen a Dagger just so she can throw it at the bastard again), click your heels three times or whatever-the-fuck. She wasn't praying to anyone when she rescued Tataru and he from the Tribunal. She only knew outrage and the acrid taste of bile in the back of her throat at the thought she could lose them too.

"Are you alright?" It was the first time she reached for him since the banquet, her fingers just a little too tight on the groove of his shoulder. Kor hadn't even thought about it, so natural was the movement, but when he jumped and fixed his gaze to her, she immediately knew her misstep.

"...I am fine, my friend," he answered, and before she could whip her hand away he had laid his own atop of it. They stood there for a far too long in their strange silence until Kor thought to squeeze once and finally relinquish her hold. She stepped back, awkward in her intimacy, and could not look directly in the eye.

"Good."

She soon realised he was learning the values of leadership, too. He saw them in Aymeric's careful navigation, Estinien's brute force and Ysyale's hope. All had their merits but all had their flaws. He internalised them and stepped carefully over the ruins of his mistakes until his friends were whole and hearty again.

Not a leader, just a comrade... a friend.

He is just a child, but fucking hell he's a clever one. Kor couldn't deny his intelligence, especially given what she knew of Sharlayan, but she was reminded of the old idiom of teaching a man to fish: teach a boy bureaucracy and he might become a man through it. Show him what it means to lead, to plan and to prepare; allow him the privilege of the floor, but be prepared to challenge him when he oversteps. Do not squander his inexperience, but allow innovation to bleed through tried methods.

Frankly, she appreciated his methodology, for it allowed her little room to think about herself. He was the enthusiastic foreigner, not the diaspora grasping at the hems of the little culture his father felt prudent to leave him. He could meet the gaze of M'naago, Lyse and Conrad instead of staring just a little too far to the left.

She only had the left these days. When she woke up screaming in the night, disorientated from a lack of vision, his were the hands intermingled among the many that grasped her frantic fingers. "You are safe," he reassured her, squeezing tightly in the din. "Koret, you are safe."

She wasn't sure she believed him, but it was comforting all the same. There was a familiarity in their company now, whether she liked it or not. Kor teased him for his whimsy and his innocence (the art, the sword — fuck, he was a terrible swimmer) while he offered wisdom beyond his years and a hope they could make a difference in the world.

So who was holding him — why did he need to be held? It was her job to protect him, her job to guard; she knew the job well well since the banquet, it was the one thing she was good at. Kor ran to him so desperately, wrenching his lifeless figure out of their arms as if her violence might be the one thing that would bring him back to her, yet his weight was like an anchor that pulled them roughly to the ground.

"Alphinaud!"

She cradled him, one hand in his hair while the other gripped him far too tightly, but he did not wake. Not even when she shook him, not even when the other Scions had to pull her from him, not even when her voice cracked in its snarl. "Wake up you fucking — WAKE UP!"

She wondered if he was a child in body only, given all the things he'd seen. Weeks for her was a whole year for him; a year of separation, strife and sorrow. Alphinaud was so infuriatingly formal when she found him, as if embarrassed by his failings on the Source, and balked when she wrapped her arms tight around him to prove to herself he was real.

"A-Are you alright?" By the navigator did she laugh! It was a desperate, pained sound, but how could she hope to encapsulate anger and relief in the same breath?

"Just dandy. Now shut up."

And he did, bless him. He hugged her tightly back.

She wanted... a lot of things then. Mostly she just wanted to apologise. She wanted to apologise for failing him and forcing him to this foreign world. She wanted to tell him that she was alright, even when she was igniting from the inside and spewing hot ichor across the floor.

Kor wanted to lie to him, but she was a terrible liar. When she writhed on the floor of the Crystarium, and the veins in her hands turned a vibrant gold, she wanted to scream that he was just a kid! He was a child discussing how much time she had left, contemplating how they might survive if she were to purify in front of them. He did not deserve it. Alisae did not deserve it. Ryne did not deserve it.

He had weathered the brunt of her suicidal ideation for far too long. Enough. Enough.

"If the fucking bastard is going to disown you, I'll just adopt you myself. It can't be that hard. You're like, what, seventeen —?"

The way Kor paused was enough to make them snort with laugher, so stunned was she that she rendered herself speechless. The Captain looked like she had swallowed a lemon, as if she only just became reacquainted with the passage of time, and her single eye narrowed to glare at the twins suspiciously.

"How old are you?"

"Literally or figuratively?" Alisaie asked, slicing through the tension of the hour with impish wit.

Koret Swan threw up her hands as she came to the horrific realisation they weren't really children anymore. But they were hers — they were her kids — and they only laughed harder despite it.

"I think I should like to watch you contemplate a bell longer," Alphinaud teased, that self-assured smile appearing when Alisaie snickered, and she had a mind to strange him anew.

"I think I should like to kick your arse," Kor answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fuck me."

"Brother, we graduated! She swears openly in our company!"

Never mind, she was going to kick both their arses. They could be orphans.

The end of the universe was no place for anyone, least of all them. They held her hands in theirs, small when pressed against the leather of her gloves, and it was their steps that carried her to the precipice of apathy.

It wasn't that Kor would not continue (they had come so far, seen so much, done too much), but that she knew what taking those last few steps meant.

She thought she knew death a thousand times. She swore It was her friend when her sister died, a siren calling her so sweetly from the craggy rocks as it ushered her into the king-tide. It wore the faces of friends — occasionally her enemies if it suited — and soothed her aching bones when exhaustion became almost too much to bear. "There is a solution," it cooed, "if you're brave enough to take it."

No! She wanted to live! For fuck sake, she wanted to live — and she wanted them to live! She didn't want to walk towards the yawning void with its songbird's dead-eyed stare; she wanted to be home in Mor Dhona with the their annoying merrymaking and cheap, frothy beer. She didn't want to keep stepping over ground earned with her loved ones' lives while the Endsinger herself prised her ribcage higher with her butchers knife. I will take everything from you, and you will only know despair.

Kor did not feel worthy. Tears streaked her cheeks as she tried not to cry, and the tension in her jaw was excruciating when she stalled.

There was no bravery in death, but they were so brave. Alphinaud sensed her pause and took the first step forward, turning just enough to face her, and smiled as he squeezed her fingers in his.

"Come, my dearest friend," he softly encouraged, "There's not much farther left."

I love you, I love you, I love you. She wanted to tell them more than anything but her mouth would not make the sound. Instead, Kor looked to both of them, desperately trying to memorise every inch of their faces on the chance she might lose them forever. I love you. I don't want you to do this. I don't want to do this.

Acceptance was the swallow that felt like ingesting razor wire. When this was over she would bring them back, and she would give them everything.

They deserved everything.

Hence, she walked.

#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : koret #my writing #THERE'S PROBABLY STILL ERRORS IN THIS BUT Y'KNOW #WE DIE LIKE MEN #i went insane i went feral #'i'll just do an npc ask'#nearly two THOUSAND words later #can you tell i have a lot of feelings about this game #can you

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m1ckeyb3rry · 15 hours

Note

Mira congrats on your milestone!! I wish I was good at coming up with requests… hmm… do you ever get more ideas for pomegranate ink? Maybe a scene of them much later in the future? I loved that fic so much ☹️ I hope they’re happy and living a super fluffy adorable life after all they went thru 💔 (can you tell I’m still heartbroken over JJK leaks) - @yutaleks

── CLOUDS

Synopsis: A snapshot of your life with Yuta Okkotsu, some time after the events of Pomegranate Ink.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 1.9k

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, kind of angsty, yuta is insecure, yuta is fundamentally different because of what he did for reader, spoilers for the ending of my ultra mega long fic pomegranate ink (which you all should definitely read)

A/N: on this blog we pretend like the jjk manga doesn’t exist and pomegranate ink is canon LMAO 😭 i haven’t thought much about what y/n + yuta’s life after the main story would look like hence why this is so short, but aleks i hope this heals your yuta-loving soul a bit!! ty for requesting and also being like. my first tumblr follower ever i’m pretty sure 🥹🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

Yuta was rubbing his eyes again. He did so frequently — it was a new habit he had picked up, ever since that final battle against Sukuna. They itched sometimes, he told you, because they were trying to see something they no longer could.

Ever since he had brought you back to life, Yuta had been a normal human. Like Maki, he couldn’t see curses, but unlike her, he couldn’t even sense them, their presences nor their effects. His movements were dulled and slow, and he was far clumsier than he used to be. You knew it frustrated him, the blindness, the childish tripping over his own feet when he was so used to having a sleek body that possessed the grace of a jungle cat.

It wasn’t just his cursed energy that had been depleted. His strength, too, was all but gone. His hands shook when he tried to hold his katana, and although he once was able to carry you around effortlessly, it was now a struggle for him to lift you even a few inches off of the ground for more than a couple of seconds.

He had given up everything for you. You hadn’t understood the magnitude of it until you saw it in action — he was so prone to downplaying his suffering that you all had dismissed it at first. So what if he couldn’t see curses or use his technique anymore? That only meant he was safer.

But giving up a cursed technique was something unprecedented and new. None of you could have been prepared for what it would do to him. Ieri’s theory was this: because a cursed technique was engraved onto one’s brain and soul, the loss of that energy would immeasurably alter one, had immeasurably altered Yuta, permanently.

Once, his memory had been nearly photographic. Now, he was forgetful, requiring reminders about birthdays and anniversaries and appointments. He no longer seemed so deadly, either — there had always been a malevolent aura following him, a sort of viciousness to his otherwise-kind demeanor that made him so frightening, but now, he was so unassuming and gentle that it was impossible to imagine anyone cowering from him like they all used to.

His eyes bore the most significant shift. They used to be a blue like poison, sharp and dark and predatory in an uncanny way, but now, they were faded and gray, sensitive to the sun and entirely unable to see the world to which they had once belonged. He blinked a lot more, too, and Ieri suspected he might need glasses in the near future — not to see curses in specific, but just to be able to see at all.

“Stop that,” you said, pulling his hands away from his eyes before he could turn them bloodshot. “Ieri said it’s not good for you.”

“Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut so that the momentary pressure could relieve the discomfort. Resting your palms against his temples, you used your thumbs to soothe over his eyelids, kissing his forehead as you did so. “I’m sorry you have to take care of me. You’re the one who just came back from a mission.”

“It’s okay, Yuta. I don’t mind. It wasn’t a particularly difficult assignment; any curses left have gotten so weak that even an untrained first year could take them on and win. We should finish the clean-up job within the year,” you said.

“I should be out there, too,” he said. “I should be able to help. Maki can do it without a cursed technique, so there’s no reason for me to be like this.”

“Maki has a Heavenly Restriction. It’s a bit different than not having a technique or any cursed energy at all,” you said, as gently as possible. It was difficult for Yuta, who preferred shouldering the world’s burdens on his own, to sit back and watch as the rest of you fought and he stayed behind. Maki, Toge, Yuji…even Noritoshi and Elakshi had returned from their trip abroad to help in your efforts. Every remaining sorcerer had dedicated themselves to the cause, so that you could eradicate the remaining curses and then move on with your lives.

But Yuta Okkotsu was no longer a sorcerer. He was a normal person, and normal people had no place facing off against curses, especially when they could not so much as see them. In this manner, he was weaker than even your mother, who as of late had dedicated herself to running a charity caring for the displaced survivors of the Shibuya and Shinjuku incidents.

“I was the second strongest sorcerer in the world,” he said. “Now I’m nothing. I swore I would always protect you, and I can’t even do that anymore. You’re the one who has to look out for me.”

“You brought me back to life,” you said. “There’s nothing greater that you could do for me than that.”

He wrapped his arms around your midsection, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. It was another new habit of his — now that he could not use cursed signature detection to constantly be aware of your continued existence, he had developed an obsession with feeling your heartbeat, that steady rhythm which reassured him that you were still alive.

“Do you resent me?” he said.

“Why would I resent you?” you said, running your fingers through his silky hair. “Yuta, what could you possibly have done that would make me resent you?”

“When you brought me back to life, you were unchanged. You didn’t become weak; if anything, it made you stronger. It wasn’t like that for me. Don’t you find me pitiful? I couldn’t even resurrect you properly. I had to give up so much to do it. You must find it humorous,” he said. “You must think of me as some half-rate sorcerer.”

“Of course not,” you said. “What you did was ten times as impressive as what I did. I had Rika helping me, and your own natural Reverse Cursed Technique, and of course the heightened emotions which fueled Composition. Beyond that, Composition as a Reverse Cursed Technique was designed for such feats. You had none of those advantages, and yet you still brought me back. That’s not half-rate; that’s the kind of thing that only happens in myths and fairytales.”

Something scalding splashed against your skin, and then you realized that his body was shaking in your embrace. He was sobbing, clinging onto you in a rare display of weakness. Yuta hated falling apart, and he hated falling apart in front of others even more, yet here he was, doing just that. He always told you that he was supposed to be the one that others relied on. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that crumbled, but of course, no one could say strong forever.

“Do you still love me?” he said. If he had held you like this a year ago, then his grip would have crushed you, but now, it was you who had to be careful with your power, with his softer body. “Y/N, do you still love me?”

“Yes, how could you question that?” you said. “I love more than anyone.”

“You loved Yuta Okkotsu,” he whimpered. “Yuta Okkotsu, special-grade sorcerer. Yuta Okkotsu, who was powerful enough to save you from anything. I’m not him anymore. I’m someone else. Someone weak and stupid, who can barely see and whose body always aches.”

“Hey,” you said, holding him at an arm’s length, using the hem of your shirt to dry his tears. “Hey, hey, look at me. Are you looking at me?”

His eyes, the soft color of clouds, settled on you. You weren’t sure what you had done to deserve that kind of trust, that kind of affection or devotion, but you did the best you could with it, holding his face in your hands and squishing his cheeks fondly.

“Yes,” he said.

“I didn’t fall in love with what you have up here,” you said, knocking on his head lightly. “Nor here, nor here.” This was accompanied by pinches on each of his arms. “What I cared about, what I still care about, is this.”

You placed your hand on his heart. He tilted his chin to gaze at it, and you took the moment to flick him, earning you a small whine.

“My heart?” he said.

“Your heart,” you agreed. “In all the world, I don’t think there’s any other that could claim to be its equal, and that’s a fact independent of your cursed technique or your strength. I’ll always love that heart of yours, Yuta. There’s nothing you can do that’ll stop me from doing so. Change your name, change your face, change everything else about you — I’ll recognize it all the same, and I will love it regardless.”

“Do you mean that?” he said.

“I’ve never meant anything more,” you said. “I love you for who you are, not for what you can do.”

“You really, truly are sure of that?” he said.

“How many times do I have to say it? How many words will it take for you to believe me? I love you, Yuta, I love you, I love you, I love you. Is that enough, or is there something else you’d prefer?” you said.

“There is,” he said. “There’s something else I want you to say.”

“What is it?” you said. “You only need to tell me, and I will.”

“I know I’m not strong or capable anymore. I can’t promise to protect you, and it’ll be more work on your part than anything, so I understand if you don’t want to do it,” he said. “It’s a terrible deal for you.”

“Huh?” you said. He avoided your eyes, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, velvet box, opening it and clearing his throat.

“I’m delicate now,” he said. “But if you’ll still have me, even in this condition, then…?”

“Are you proposing?” you said. He nodded shyly.

“I was going to wait to do it until after everything with the curses was resolved, but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he said. “I guess I kind of got caught up in the moment. I’m sorry.”

I wouldn’t have before, he seemed to be thinking. Before, I would’ve been disciplined enough to deny myself that joy until the perfect moment.

You didn’t want Yuta to ever deny himself anything again, though. He had given you everything so that you could have a second chance at life; it was only fair that you spent the rest of that life with him. It belonged to him already, anyways. Every thump of your heart, every breath in your lungs, every thought in your mind…they were all his.

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “It’s perfect. This is perfect. Everything about it is.”

“Really?” he said dubiously.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, it’s perfect, and yes, I’ll marry you.”

He swallowed, and then slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger, with all the painstaking care of a surgeon. Then he blinked up at you, frowning when tears of your own welled against your lashes.

“Is everything okay?” he said.

“It’s more than okay. I’m happy,” you said. “I’m so happy that I can’t help but weep. I never thought that I could be so lucky.”

You wished that you could tell your younger versions that the two of you would end up like this, that everything would work itself out in the best way that it could, that eventually, you would again find something like happiness. Maybe it was true that you both were different now — Yuta was missing his cursed technique, and you could never again simultaneously heal and fight — but you had made it. Somehow, despite everything, despite all that you had lost, you had made it.

In the end, what more could either of you ask for?

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x y/n #yuuta x you #yuuta okkotsu #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #canon au #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #reader insert

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ponderingmoonlight · 2 hours

Note

hi lovely ! you asked for kny requests and i've just finished my kny volume 22 re-read, so thats perfect timing 💙

I was wondering if you could write something with Yoriichi — (tw for potential child loss)

Maybe a hurt/comfort fic where his pregnant wife actually survives the demon attack while he's away (but maybe she gets quite badly injured and their unborn child doesn't make it, if you want to add a little extra angst to it. If not then that's totally fine, this man deserves a happy ending after all 🥺)

Of course, you're the writer — feel free to take any creative direction you'd like or ignore this request if you're not comfortable with it. Have a lovely day/night! <3

Again, I'm beyond sorry you were forced to wait for this so long! But here you go honey, let me know what you think <3

Yoriichi saving his pregnant wife and unborn child just in time

Pairing: Yoriichi x pregnant!wife!reader

Word Count: 4,2k

Synopsis: You never expected to face a demon ever again, especially not when you are about to deliver your child while your beloved husband Yoriichi is in search for a midwife. Will you and your child be alright? Will your husband make it back on time?

Warnings: injury, horror, child birth, tortue, description of death, extreme angst to fluff, last part is not proofread

Notes: Since the first Yoriichi fic I wrote, I'm so deeply in love with his character that I adore writing him so much! Since this fic took a while, I would totally appreciate your support through liking, commenting and reblogging this fic - thank's a lot babes <3

He can’t get enough from simply looking at you. You with your head in the clouds, you with your hand mindlessly roaming around the soft grass underneath, the other one caressing your heavy pregnant belly, you when you give him those surprised eyes as soon as you notice his presence.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you’re already here”, you say in a small panicky voice.

You didn’t expect your beloved husband back this soon. If you would have known that he’ll be here by know you would have cleaned the whole house, made him something to eat and-

“I can only imagine what is going on inside your head again.”

His soft but at the same time rough hand touches your cheek gently, the loving gleam in his fuchsia eyes making you blush in an instant. All the voices in your head stop right in their track when he’s around.

Yoriichi Tsugikuni. Your savior, your best friend. And most importantly, your husband and father of your future child.

“How are you feeling, love? Did you enjoy your afternoon?”, he questions, eyes wandering down your body to your swollen belly.

It was hard leaving you alone in a state like this, but he wasn’t able to resist the urgent call from last night. He might be nothing but another simple man holding a sword, but it is his responsibility to save those who are in need. What else is he able to give to this world?

His hand lands on your belly, feels the tiniest kick of his unborn child against the palm of his hand. At least he was able to create a smaller version of you. Is it a boy, a girl maybe?

“I hope our child is a reflection of you”, he finally mutters into the silence, a small but somehow sad smile forming itself on his lips.

You suddenly forget how to breathe, glossy eyes fixated on his captivating sight. Oh, oh much you hate the stinging fact that your husband thinks so negatively about himself. Why can’t he see all the heroic things he has done so far, how respected he is in the demon slayer corps? Why can’t he see that every inch of his body is flawless? Out of instinct, you let your head rest against his broad chest, breathe in his strong scent. If you could only stay like this here forever, his hand resting against your body while the sun tickles your skin-

A violent moan escapes your lips when a sharp pain runs through your stomach. A kick. A really rough kick, to be exact.

“Are you alright, love? Did something hurt you? Is it the baby?”, your husband asks feverishly, his usual neutral face garbled by worry lines on his forehead.

“Just a kick”, you press out, still fighting to regain your composure.

“I will search for a mid-wife, (y/n).”

His words make your eyes widen in an instant, a wave of fear crushing down on you. Is it really time already? You look down at your swollen belly, so big that you aren’t even able to sit down properly anymore. This has to be the ninth month of your pregnancy.

Your heart sinks. The ninth month. If the books you’ve read are accurate, it really is time.

“I can’t do this, Yoriichi.”

Thick panic runs through your veins, forces your heart almost out of your chest. You aren’t ready to deliver a child, let alone to be a mother. All the things you haven’t read yet, the things you’ve probably never heard of…What if you mess it up? Until you met Yoriichi, all you were able to do was trying to survive. Your mother never had the chance to tell you about those things, isn’t here anymore to stay by your side.

You are…on your own.

“Look at me, (y/n). I will go out and search for a mid-wife and I’ll be back at sunset, you hear me? Just stay inside the house and nothing will happen. I promise to return as early as possible.”

Fuchsia eyes that radiate through your soul immediately. An angelic voice that calms down your tingling nerves with only four sentences. Strong arms that lift you off the ground and lead you back into the warmth of your home.

But know, it’s not the wooden cabin that feels like home. Your eyes wander to the neutral expression he wears on his face, only betrayed by a worried glow in his orbs. It’s him, your beloved husband.

“Are you feeling alright, love?”

You take a deep breath in, a deep breath out. Eyes focused exclusively on him until your mind finally silences. It’s just you and him. You and your beloved husband, the man you would trust with your life without battling an eyelid, the man who made you the person you are today.

“I do”, you breathe out.

Your heartbeat tames down as well as the kicks of your unborn baby, Yoriichi’s hands keeping you from falling over.

“Promise me to lock the doors and wait in bed until I return, (y/n).”

A seriousness you only know from him when he is forced to leave at night veils his calm eyes.

“But…you will be back before the sun sinks, right?”

He gifts you a small smile, hand caressing your cheek so gently that you almost forget about the worry lines decorating his face. The truth is that the next midwife lives miles away. Even if he gets to the village as soon as possible, the sun will be about to set when he returns. Yoriichi can’t help but clench his other hand into a fist next to your stomach. The sheer thought of not making it in time, that you’ll be defenceless.

“Don’t worry, love. Rest your eyes and be assured that I’ll return as soon as possible.”

But he cannot allow himself to fail you, to leave you alone in those oh so merciless nights. He will return, no matter what it costs.

He presses a soft kiss against your forehead before grabbing his sword tightly.

This. This is his fate, his family. You are his whole life.

And he’ll do everything to protect you.

-later that evening-

You are exhausted. Over the last few hours, your body was haunted by waves of pain coming and going like the seasons. Again, you dig your nail into the wooden floor, your heavy breaths hanging in the thick air. You definitely don’t need a midwife to tell you it’s time. Yes, your baby is on its way.

And your husband didn’t return yet.

Your glossy eyes dart towards the window, witness how the sky outside turns bright red in the down-going sun. Is Yoriichi alright? You know how cruel life can be. Maybe he met a person who needed to be saved on his way, maybe the midwife is too old to rush to your side in time.

“Rest your eyes and be assured that I’ll return as soon as possible.”

Those words. Even though he’s not yet by your side, you are able to feel his powerful presence around you, how he calms down your aching heart.

“Everything will turn out alright”, you mutter to yourself while caressing your tummy.

“Everything will be alight…”

You allow your lids to rest, body relaxing for the first time since your husband left. You will get through this, you will deliver your wonderful child tonight. A tiny bundle of joy, an image of its father. Is it a boy, a girl? As long as your child is healthy, you couldn’t care less.

Carefully, you curl up on your futon, snuggle yourself into the blanket that still holds his scent. Maybe you’ll be able to catch a few hours of sleep until he finally comes back. Sleep sure does sound very appealing at the moment.

But just when your breath begins to steady, a violent scratch forces you to sit straight up. It came from outside, without a doubt. Is it an animal, is it…

Your throat gets tight immediately, glossy eyes staring at the closed window in sheer horror. The trees bend back and forth peacefully in what looks like a tender night. But that scratch, it sounded exactly like claws digging into hard wood, sent shivers down your spine immediately. You know that sound all too well, experienced what it means to get slaughtered by a demon before. Just before your whole family died violently, this was exactly what you’ve heard.

Out of instinct, you bury yourself into the corner of the room, the blanket that holds Yoriichi’s scent still pressed against your now shivering body tightly. Please, let it be nothing but a wild animal, let your husband come back home soon. Maybe this is nothing but a nightmare and you’ll wake up any given minute-

A violent pain runs through your body so suddenly that a shriek escapes your lips. Suddenly all air escapes your lungs, the way your belly cramps making you see start. No, you know exactly what this means, that this is not the right time to deliver a baby. Isn’t there anything you can do to stop this? You still need to wait for your husband, the midwife, for this gut-turning feeling to vanish. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, sharp and fast breaths hanging in the thick atmosphere.

But it doesn’t stop there. As if this wasn’t enough already, you can only stare at the door that gets opened painfully slow, claws digging into the wooden frame.

Without any doubt, this is a demon.

You press your sweaty palm against your mouth, force yourself to stop screaming, to stop breathing.

“I know you’re here, human. You smell like a…woman.”

It’s like all life is drained from the dead shell of your body, widened orbs staring at the frightful creature that makes its way into your home. Get up, fight, defend yourself like you saw Yoriichi do countless times, use the knowledge you gained from him.

But you don’t move an inch, don’t dare to look away. For a brief moment, time seems to stand still. Out of all the nights you’ve spent together with your husband, this is the first away from him, the first without his protection. Is all of this a dream, a hallucination to test your nerves?

The second the monster’s deadly red orbs meet yours, you get hit by reality. No, this isn’t a dream.

This will be your death.

“I knew you were here, lady. Let me help you up, okay?”

“N-no. Please d-don’t”, you whimper under your breath.

Your coward of a body doesn’t even fight back when he lifts you off the ground with ease, his nails digging into your soft flesh.

“Oh, you’re expecting a baby, don’t you? Well, does this count as a double kill, then?”

Your baby getting killed? If that thing ends your life, it means your unborn child will never experience dawn, will never get to see the face of its father, will never take in his scent. Your glossy eyes widen in sheer horror, tears now streaming down your face like waterfalls when a single frown form on your forehead.

You couldn’t care less about your own life. After all, you were lucky that Yoriichi saved you back then, didn’t even deserve to survive when your whole family had to die before you. But that oh so innocent child that might have the eyes of its father, the blessing of your life right after your husband. That innocent life cannot be taken.

There is no way you will let this creature lay hands on it.

Your body reacts faster than your mind. With a surprisingly well-placed kick, you free yourself out of the monster’s casual grip. You need to get out of the house, out where you are able to find shelter, to run away. Your lungs feel like bursting any given minute, legs trembling underneath the weight of yourself and the unborn baby you still carry right under your heart. Even if it means you’ll die in vain, even if you won’t be able to see Yoriichi’s tender eyes ever again, you have to make sure your child is safe.

“I underestimated you, stupid woman. As it seems you didn’t give up on life yet”, the creature purrs what feels like right next to you.

A new nauseous wave of panic rises up your veins, makes you sprint even faster through the thick woods that surround your house. This has always been your favorite place to be. The calm trees waving back and forth in a soft breeze, your husband right by your side-

Your husband. Just the thought of never getting to see him again makes your heart ache. You didn’t even get the chance to thank him one last time, to let him know how much he truly means to you, that he’s way more than the man who saved your life back then.

He’s everything you ever wanted, everything you ever needed.

A sharp pain that radiates through your lower body sends you straight onto the ground immediately, figure cramping so violently that you can’t catch your breath. No, this is not the time labor, not when a demon is this close.

“Oh, there you are. Did you really think you can run away like that? You, a little human? You made me so man that I will kill you as painfully slow as possible.”

You try to lift your trembling figure off the ground, try to get back onto your feet, to sprint down the forest you know so well. But just when you’re about to get back onto your knees, a stinging pain in your right thigh paired with a contraction sends you straight back.

A violent scream escapes your lips.

Red. Everything around you is discoloured red. Is this your blood? Did this thing kill you already, are you going to die? Despite the way your guts start to turn when you follow the trail of blood, you can’t look away. And there it is indeed, a gaping hole in your leg, throbbing and bleeding.

All color that is left now drains from your face. With an injured leg, your chance to escape this demon’s claws is non-existent. Which means…

Your heart skips a beat, threatens to fail you any given second. What about your unborn child? A violent storm of anger and determination clouds your mind, makes all logical thoughts vanish into thin air.

“You can’t kill me”, you press out.

Since the day you first laid eyes on a demon, you accepted your own death. Your life is worthless anyway, compared to great warriors like your husband himself. But that oh so innocent child, that tiny life you were given to. You ball your hands into fists so tight your knuckles stand out white and lift your throbbing self off the ground. You cannot allow a demon to take the life of that unborn baby.

“I won’t allow you to touch me.”

You realize the stupidity of your words after they spill out of your mouth in rage. You, not allowing a demon to touch your puny figure? Another contraction makes your guts turn and vision almost go black.

As expected the frightful creature draws closer, its unpromising pair of razor-sharp teeth glittering in the dim moonlight. You never expected to see a demon this close again. Oh, how much you hoped you’d never find yourself in that situation again. But you have to get through this, have to make sure you will survive long enough for the mid wife to deliver your child to this world.

His child.

“I’m sorry Yoriichi. I never planned on leaving you alone like this”, you mumble to yourself, shaky lips tinted in salty tears.

“But this all I’m able to do.”

-Yoriichi’s POV-

Something seems off. Is it the way the trees bent back and forth in the soft breeze of the already set sun? Is it that distant smell that hangs in the air, the one that reminds him of fresh blood and lavender?

“We must make haste. I can sense that danger is ahead of us”, he speaks out with firm voice.

He promised you that he’ll be back before the sun goes down, that he will make it on time before demon are able to roam around freely. Are you feeling alright? Is the pain unbearable at this point? Do you still hold trust for him in your heart? His footsteps pick up instinctively, eyes set on the visibly stressed man behind him. In contrary to most people, Yoriichi doesn’t fear the night or the demons it brings. The only thing he fears at the moment is what you have to endure without your husband by your side.

With every he takes forward, the stinging smell of blood mixed with lavender becomes more urgent in his nose.

Lavender.

He always wondered how you did it. Even after washing, all your clothes kept that calming scent that surrounded you as if you were standing in a lavender bush. A smell so sweet that it caught his interest back then before he caught a glimpse of your fascinating orbs, a smell that always reminds him of home. Yoriichi’s home will always be where you are, where the sensation of lavender is the strongest.

Lavender, the stinging smell of blood that hangs in the air. His eyes widen when his mind starts to race. The smell, it radiates from the direction of your shared home, from the direction that usually fills him with excitement. Can it be…?

His heart starts racing uncontrollably while he dashes forward and draws his sword. Let it be nothing but coincidence, a cruel joke his thoughts play on him. But the stinging fragrance of lavender mixed with iron fills his heart with dread, makes his mind go numb. What if you got attacked by a demon, what if you are in great danger? All because he didn’t live up to his promise, because he didn’t make it on time. His eyes roam around the dark area, desperately searching for a sign.

And then his eyes find you.

Yoriichi’s heart stops.

There you lay, leaning against a nearby tree with a puddle of blood surrounding you, widened eyes starring straight into the face of a demon who hollers above you.

“No one is coming to save you, stupid girl.”

He doesn’t waste another second. With a swift motion of his sharp blade, Yoriichi beheads the demon on top of you while a toe-curling scream escapes your lips. Just one look at your sliced-up kimono reveals countless injuries, especially a gaping hole in your thigh. You hold onto your swollen belly for what looks like dear life, eyes still widened in nothing but shock.

“(y/n)”, he gently speaks out while letting himself fall down next to you.

You have to blink a few times. The demon, it was just about to dig its sharp teeth into your sensitive skin, to take the life of your unborn child in front of your eyes.

Maroon.

But those aren’t the deadly red orbs. No, those oh so gorgeous eyes look so familiar that your heart tames down in an instant. Could it really be, is it possible that it’s…him?

“Yoriichi.”

You breathe his name into the night like a prayer.

Maybe this is nothing but an illusion, a cruel trick your own brain plays on you.

“Words can’t express how sorry I am for arriving too late. I will never forgive myself for leaving you alone this long, for causing this to happen”, his oh so familiar voice blurts out.

Yoriichi’s usual so composed face twists in sheer agony, eyes filling with salty tears. All of this is his fault. He should have arrived sooner, he should have made hurry, he-

“We didn’t come this far to worry now. Please, help be delivering this child, let it all make sense”, you press out while grabbing his hand tightly.

It doesn’t matter that you’re severely injured, it doesn’t matter that your beloved husband took longer than expected to come back to you. All that matters now are you, him and your unborn child that waits to be delivered.

“Allow me to assist you.”

A foreign man suddenly speaks out with sweat dripping from his forehead in waterfalls. Just when another wave of nauseous pain hits you with full force, as if you got kicked into your stomach by a horse. You fail to breathe for a second, hands holding onto your husband for dear life.

“You are already close, it won’t be long now”, the man reassures you while gently opening your legs.

“You can do it, (y/n). After all the things you had to endure today, you will be able to get through this. With me by your side. I love you more than any words could ever say, darling.”

One more push.

One more wave of pain before your body goes numb, before you lose the ability to feel anything except for sweet nothingness.

Until a loud shriek finds its way to your ear.

A violent scream, almost frustrating. When you open your eyes again, you are greeted by a crying but alive bundle of joy, carefully wrapped into a white cloth and placed onto the arm of its father.

Those eyes.

“I prayed every night that he would have your eyes”, you whimper with tears running down your cheek uncontrollably.

You did it. You saved your beloved child who looks just like its father, you managed to somehow stay alive.

“She”, the midwife corrects you gently.

“She…”, you mumble with a small smile.

The last thing you see are the troubled maroon eyes of your husband before your world goes dark.

-the next day-

A foreign but still so familiar laughter fills the atmosphere around you with joy while you see nothing but black. When your stubborn lids finally open, you are greeted by the wooden ceiling you know so well. This is your home, without any doubt.

The home a demon invaded.

The home where you feared for your life while your husband rushed to the midwife in order to deliver your child.

Your child.

You get up way too quickly, glossy eyes darting around the room without a real aim. Is your baby okay? What happened after the delivery? All you can remember are those familiar maroon eyes that looked so much like the orbs of your beloved husband. Your husband…Where is Yoriichi?

“Don’t move too quickly, love. The doctor strictly forbids you to be in a haste”, his gentle voice speaks out next to you.

Just a few moments later, you get invited by the warmth of his arms swallowing you whole. Out of instinct, you let yourself fall against him, press your very own body into his despite the scorching pain that immediately takes over your whole self.

Right, you were attacked by a demon the night you gave birth. How did you manage to escape? Are your injuries critical.

But most important: How is your baby?

“Look what you have accomplished. A little wonder. Just like you, my love”, your husband murmurs, carefully lifting a little bundle off a blanket nearby.

Your heart nearly stops when you catch a glimpse of her. Those maroon eyes are the last thing you remember before everything goes black. With shaky hands, you start caressing her puffy cheek. This. This is what you fought for, what makes it all worth it in the end.

“She has your eyes”, you hush, tears now streaming down your face in waterfalls.

“And your hair”, Yoriichi replies with a soft smile towards you.

“(y/n), I promise I’ll do anything in my power to protect you and her from something like this. I promise I will stand by your side no matter what. And I hope that someday, you will be able to forgive me for not being there for you when you needed me the most.”

The second your husband’s voice cracks, you can’t hold onto yourself any longer. You wrap your arms around him and your daughter longingly, take in the scent who gave you strength that night.

“There is nothing to forgive and nothing to feel sorry about. You did your very best and that is all that matters. I love you, Yoriichi. And I have to thank you for saving both of us just in time.”

“You are my greatest treasure on earth”, he mumbles against your lips while giving you a passionate kiss.

What a plot twist, what a happy end after all. Yesterday you were sure your life is over, that you won’t live onto the next day. And now you’re lying in your house, holding your giggling daughter while pressing your heavy head against your husband’s broad chest.

“Well, I fear I will have to share this special place by now”, you comment while gazing at your perfect little daughter.

“This might be true, love.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @kayleegomez @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san

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blazingstar24 · 2 days

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And if I say that both Anakin and Thrawn suffered the same childhood trauma and it manifests in completely different ways that makes their dynamic very interesting, what then? The loss of a family member and how they reacted to it is crucial in their characters. It is the loss of Shmi that turns Anakin’s love into a possessive, obsessive, abandonment fearing mess. It is the loss of Vurika/Borika, that informs Thrawn’s view of himself and others as just assets to a larger cause.

Regardless if Anakin could or couldn’t have saved his mother if the council listened, Shmi’s death in his mind is framed as an event in that Anakin was too late, he wasn’t there. It is a loss that turns into this idea that if he doesn’t protect what he loves, someone or something will take it from him. We see this in the Rush Clovis arc, we see it in the way he immediately jumps to jealousy at Obi Wan in ROTS despite Obi Wan never having such a relation with Padme. For Anakin, loss is always framed as someone took something from me. Even platonically, we see this in the Rako Hardeen arc. And it is evident that this started after Shmi’s death because Anakin does not have the same sort of hatred for Maul who killed Quigon.

For Anakin, it will always be that someone took something from me, so I have to do something about that. And it’s why Palpatine can manipulate him so easily, because all Palps has to do is point at someone, give him a target to blame and say kill.

For Thrawn, yes it is slightly different as Borika isn’t dead. But it is a loss nevertheless. Thrawn on the flip side of Anakin, registers loss as something inevitable and thus why harbor deep attachments? Not to say he doesn’t care because we know he does. Thrass, Ar’alani, and Eli all speak to the fact that he does very much care and love. But in every instance, he does keep them at a distance, he pushes them away just as they get close. And it stems from Borika because the reason why he loses her is so she could serve the Ascendancy. It is not a choice she made and he knows this. And that informs why everything he does is for this goal, because all he knows is that everything, even things that caused him pain is supposed to be for this goal.

Where Anakin sought to justify the loss in blaming himself and then others, Thrawn justifies the loss by trying to give the pain purpose. If it meant something then he shouldn’t be upset. It is what it is. Yet, just like how Anakin’s possessiveness leads to his downfall by Palpatine, by pushing all his friends away instead of keeping them close, Thrawn leaves himself vulnerable and surrounded by his enemies instead. All those friends will serve the larger goal, the Ascendancy, but who is left looking to him?

Idk what I’m really trying to say other than yeah that’s some interesting character dynamics. The idea that both these characters are defined by loss as much as they are also defined by hope as their shining moments of good.

#thrawn #anakin skywalker #and lol my thranto loving ass has to stick this in here: this is why Eli Vanto needs to come back #b/c it would be so perfect for him to haul his ass home because fuck ur bullshit u can’t push me away #like ‘when one is remembered by a friend’#but aren’t u tired of remembering? don’t u want to gain new memories #and it would further parallel Anakin because how does he come back?#luke. luke who rejects the possessive love of anakin/vader in ESB and in ROTJ Luke steps forward and claims Anakin as his kin #not the other way around. and that inspires the selfless love of anakin to return to kill Palps

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twinsunstars · 2 days

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Wherever Your World Is - Chapter 1

Fanfic Summary: A young mermaid filled with hope discovers secrets about her past and seeks to reunite with her family at many costs, getting her chance to be with the land dwellers she had grown so fascinated of. The mermaid strikes a deal with dark magic and begins her mission of becoming a human again. (A Bad Batch + Little Mermaid AU)

Chapter 1 Summary: A group of brothers remember the little sister they had lost, a sprinkle of hope igniting during a ritual of loss.

Notes: Hey friends! Back in early May, many of you had liked my idea of a Little Mermaid AU with the Bad Batch, and it is finally beginning! I can't promise weekly chapters or anything like that, so chapters will come out whenever I finish them! Thank you to @kurlyfrii for being my mutual partner throughout this project and for other mutuals always patiently listening to my ideas! I hope you all enjoy the ride this fic is in for! Read Chapter 1 below either on here or on AO3! Reblog to share!! divider by @stars-n-spice !

taglist: @kurlyfrii @orion-tyche @magicandmundane @biancadiangelosghost @sntofbirbs @half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk @fritoley @omegafett99 @bossboudicca @amalthiaph (let me know if you want to be tagged for future chapters!)

Oceans hold many secrets. The waves crashed against each other while sea creatures swam freely, playing their part to survive among the actions of land dwellers. The depths of the sea were dark, hiding away all those secrets.

Tales often sprung from those oceanic secrets that became rumors and myths on land. Krakens, sea killers, aquabeasts, the sea leviathan, and even mermaids. The stories of mermaids became the most loved tale, land dwellers either visualizing them as the most beautiful kind of creatures or the most dangerous. No one knew the true pain a mermaid could suffer under the sea. Their lives were stripped away from living freely on the surface of land. If they were to shed tears, each drop would simply just carry on with the waves.

Many sea creatures able to reach the ocean’s surface happily relished the soft ocean breeze. They squealed and chirped at each other, enjoying their travels.

A large sea ship painted in the dark colors of black and red moved swiftly across the waves. A large red skull was painted on the ship’s body, the signature emblem of the royal family. Sea creatures quickly swam away from the ship’s path, watching it pass by under the water.

Sailors reigned the sails high into the air. The mast could be visible to any who would be coming nearby. The wind passed through strongly, matching the cloudy weather of the day.

“My princes.” A tall middle-aged man approached four young men positioned in the center of the ship together. “We are approaching the ritual site.”

“Thank you, Shep.” Shep Hazard bowed his head, giving the men room to prepare.

One of the men, who had a tattoo matching the view of a sniper located over his right eye, glanced over at a man standing over the ship’s edge, looking out at the horizon. “Hunter.”

Hunter looked over at his brother. “I know. I’m coming.” His brother gave him a small nod, following his other brothers towards Shep.

Hunter held his red bandana in his hand, allowing the wind to make his dark brown hair fly. He watched the waves move violently, a few small sea creatures hopping up to the surface before falling back into the water. Hunter’s mind remembered how the waves acted the first time his brothers escaped to Pabu, making a new life for themselves.

His family fought as soldiers, a batch of enhanced clones proving themselves useful in the fight. Escaping the war was a hard decision, especially when they were bred specifically to fight one. But things were taking a dark turn. Many clones were disappearing, worlds were becoming more corrupt, and trust was starting to become something nonexistent around others. The enemy was advancing much rapidly and many more lives were being lost every day.

When Hunter and his brothers found out that there was a little clone created for the purpose of destruction, it got them thinking. The clone would be raised and used as a vital weapon for the enemy’s needs once the clone had grown old enough. It was something that could not happen.

After many debates, the clones made the decision to steal the young clone away from their creators to prevent the enemy from getting their hands on the clone. Finding out the clone was a female instead of a regular male was another shock. She was genetically engineered differently and was never going to be a simple soldier thrown into a war. She was meant for much more, and the Batch was not going to let the enemy take advantage of something that could make them win.

The little unnamed female was only a year old, frail to the touch while tubes and injection needles treated her like an object. Hunter remembered holding the clone in his arms gently while they made their escape.

A female clone. Their young sister.

She was safe with them where they were heading, but that didn’t last for long. Someone had taken her away from them, and she was unable to be found for the next thirteen years. The brothers looked as hard as they could with help from others, but there was no sight of their little sister.

Today was the day she had gone missing. The little youngling was ripped away from the family’s hands one dark night on their new home island, her cries echoing in the night until they dropped dead silent. Hunter remembered crying out for his sister, but he couldn’t remember what words came out of his mouth.

A bark broke Hunter’s trance. He tied his bandana around his head, fixing his hair. A large border collie looked up at him, and she appeared to be smiling up at one of her owners. Hunter knelt to give Batcher a scratch behind her ear.

Batcher was rescued by the family when she was found to be one of many creatures being experimented on for her strength and capabilities. Batcher had helped the brothers protect themselves while escaping with their sister, and the young dog had taken a liking to one of his brothers. She always went wherever her family moved, following along and being there whenever she was needed.

Hunter looked over at his younger brothers, who were gathered near Shep. He walked to his brothers, while Batcher followed behind. Shep smiled at Hunter, handing him an exotic golden flower. His brothers also held the same flower carefully in their hands.

To remember their young sister every year on this day, the Batch performed a traditional Pabuian memorial ritual which was commonly used to remember loved ones who were lost. It was a way of blessing their loved one’s soul and honoring their life, as the flower was a symbol of protection and said to be the flowers blooming in the afterlife. The ritual was mostly done in silence to allow those who grieved loss comfort, along with some Pabuian words said to initiate the ritual.

Hunter’s tallest brother, Wrecker, looked down at his flower with a pout. He could remember their sister’s tiny laughs she would make whenever Wrecker tickled her small tummy or Batcher licked her cheek. Hunter put a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder, managing to light a small smile to comfort his brother. Wrecker smiled back. They both missed their sister dearly.

Shep began reciting words in Pabuian almost like a song, beginning the ritual. One sailor kept the ship steady while the ritual began, saying a prayer to themselves. Batcher sat on the ship’s floor, listening to Shep and watching the ritual.

This part of the ocean was said to be the most sacred near the island according to Pabu’s legends. It was often used as a spot for rituals and other traditions for generations. Today it would be used once again to remember a loved one.

The brothers walked over to the ship’s right side where Hunter stood earlier, holding the flowers carefully in both of their hands. The Batch had become fluent in Pabu’s native language over the years with the help of Tech’s studious nature. They waited for Shep to pause, listening to every word being spoken. Wrecker stood next to his older brother, Echo stood in the middle, and Tech and Crosshair stayed with each other.

Hear us, oh dear soul

May our prayers reach you

We remember your memories

Let us call to you

Watch over us with all the love we give you

Listen to our blessings

Shep came to a stop, holding his hands together and closing his eyes in prayer. The Batch began the next step of the ritual, reaching out their hands that held the flower. They closed their eyes, mentally saying a prayer for their sister’s soul. They wished for her to be safe and full of hope, wherever she may be.

Shep and a few other sailors muttered a few words in the native Pabu language as the Batch lowered their heads, finishing their prayers. They allowed their hands to become loose, the golden flowers falling out of their hands. The flowers landed on the ocean’s surface, floating away as the waves carried them. The Batch opened their eyes, watching the flowers leave their ship. They spent an extra minute in silence after the ritual was complete.

“Should we head back to land?” Shep asked. He noticed Hunter growing more drowsy. “I think you all need some rest.”

Tech adjusted his glasses, turning to Shep. “Yes, that would be adequate.”

Shep instructed the sailors to return to the island. Wrecker wiped some tears away, deeply missing their sister. She was so small and innocent. They failed to protect her. Batcher pranced over to her family, giving them some needed comfort.

The ship turned around slowly to head back to land. Hunter remained standing, resting his arms on the ship’s side. The flowers disappeared from view, heading to wherever they were meant to go.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, looking over to meet eyes with his youngest brother, Crosshair. Hunter could see the concern in Crosshair’s eyes. Crosshair knew how painful it was for Hunter when they had lost their sister. They both didn’t utter a word, but Hunter took in the sympathy he was getting from his brother.

Crosshair let go of Hunter’s shoulders, standing next to him and leaning on Hunter’s shoulder. He used his tongue to move the toothpick in his mouth to his left side, still staying silent. He felt like using words to comfort his older brother, though he also felt it was better to remain in silence in terms of the ritual.

Hunter didn’t move. Crosshair had always performed this act of silent consolation whenever he saw Hunter needed it the most. Crosshair knew he wasn’t the best at trying to make people feel better, but he did whatever he could.

Hunter exhaled. Thirteen long years. Years spent safely away from the war. Years with his brothers. Years without his little sister.

He couldn’t help but feel that their little sister had to be out there somewhere. Alive. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility that she may be dead. Hunter and his brothers spent years searching as hard as they could, and Hunter never stopped trying while they had the chances.

It would likely take a miracle and the Force to bring back their little sister to them. Hunter spent nights secretly praying to himself and sometimes with his brothers. Wherever she may be, she would find her way home to her world.

End Notes: I know I began the fic on an emotional note, but next chapter will be more enjoyable! I hope you all like it so far, please share with others if you want, comment your thoughts, and also check it out on AO3! You all may have a lot of questions but answers will be revealed as the fic carries on and more characters come in! This is just a prologue! Can't wait to see you all next time!

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whiskygoldwings · 2 days

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can you tel us more about trooper yarn? what’re they making at the moment?

Oooooo yes please! My cutie-patootie!

And that's the honest truth. Yarn is basically my super-gratuitous, such a sweetie, fully aware of it, will use it to manipulate people into good things, sugarplum. Is he a little morally dubious for that? Yes! But he's got the sweetest little dimple and he's two inches shorter then his siblings and can make his face heart-broken at the drop of a hat so he will always get away with it...

Yarn is young when he joins the Guard - The Kaminoans start deploying them younger and younger as the losses are greater than expected. Yarn is basically, approximately 15 years old. A little bit brash and full of himself, because he's a teenager. And with the arrival of the Jedi on Kamino, a lot of the fears and harsher treatment of the clones has been eased. He doesn't fear decommissioning or recommissioning in the same way as his older siblings do. They're almost like the boogeyman, ghost stories told to scare Tubies.

Of course, Fox takes one look at him when he arrives on Coruscant and says - This one must be protected at all costs. He's the youngest one sent to the Guard, and while he thinks it's because of his high scores in all aspects, it's actually because Shaak Ti felt something in the Force that suggested he might be needed there...

He's pretty peeved when he's not allowed near the Senate and gets relegated to the top ten levels of Coruscant. He expected to be in the Senate working with the top people of the Republic! Not walking around giving people directions and letting them take holos with him...

Then he glimpses the Stich n' Bitch session. The brother he's with is indulgent, lets him watch for a little. This particular session is for the older members of the local Crochet group, and very quickly one of the grannies sents small curious child and invites him over to see what they're doing properly...

Yarn takes to crochet with aplomb. He's whipping out granny squares in no time. Thorn gets whispered to by the Captain of his Squad and ensures his patrol is always timed to coincide with the various group meetings. They swiftly claim him as their own, teaching him and sending him home with cakes and gifts for more of the Corries.

Yarn starts making decorations for the barracks, hangings for the beds, bunting, mandalas and cushions that they stuff with fluff they scavenge from thrown out furniture. Others start to take interest and he teaches them, and they start coming to the groups too. The citizens of Coruscant start warming to them all, and swiftly there's Corries getting involved in all kinds of hobbies: baking, painting, writing etc...

Yarn gets a granny square pattern tattooed on the left side of his neck (the diagram style) and gets a hoop in his right ear lobe that he hangs stitch markers from. He has long curly hair (Thorn's his fave and he wants to emulate him) which he pins up with various sizes of crochet hook. Yarn's pronouns are he/him.

His favourite thing to crochet is blankets. He loves coming up with complicated stitch patterns to make beautiful patterns and shapes. He's particularly fond of puff stitches and shells, because they look so dynamic and attractive.

All of the Commanders and his squad have a granny square each that he has personally designed and made for them. It's tradition to pin it to the inside of your chest plate to carry his affection with you always.

(They don't realise that Fox's is picking up Sithly darkness which is getting caught in the knots. Perhaps someone might notice...)

At the moment he's actually making a sweater for Fox. He complains of being cold so often; Yarn hopes it will keep him warm. The main body is red and it has golden-yellow sleeves, collar and ribbing at the bottom (Cody will tease Fox that he's wearing 212th gold. Fox knows it's the closest colour Yarn could find to Thorn's hair).

Thank you for asking about him! I really enjoyed getting to infodump my ideas for him! And it made me come up with that sweater idea, which gives me feels...

*hug*

#Yarn #My OC!#Star Wars OC #Clone Trooper OC #Coruscant Guard OC #Corries and Crochet

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intheholler · 24 hours

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Hi, sorry if this is a weird message but I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your blog.

I've never been to the appalachia region but I was born in Mississippi and only lived there for like 3 years before we moved. My mom was a travel nurse so we moved every year or two and I really loved living like that and being able to live in tons of different places but part of me is really upset that I never really belonged to a specific place.

When I was younger, I was thankful for not growing up in the south. I always heard other people talk about it, how it was nothing but inbred hillbillies and how everyone talked in a weird drawl and I was glad I never picked up the accent.

But now I'm so, so upset about it. I have a very slight accent sometimes and say y'all and ain't a lot but it's definitely not recognizable as a southern accent.

I want to sound like that, but it feels wrong to try and talk with that accent now, because my family doesn't sound like that and I don't live in the south anymore. Even though I was born there, it still feels like I'm not from there, you know? Like I would be stealing something that's not mine.

It just sucks. Especially when I hear people constantly talk shit about the south and how everyone there is stupid and ugly and racist and evil and it's like, ''Oh. Maybe if I lived there a few more years they would hate me like that too."

A lot of time I see people talking about how much it sucks to grow up in a certain culture, but I never see people talk about how much it sucks to grow up without a specific culture(s).

The worst thing is when people ask where I'm from or where I grew up, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say.

So thank you for your blog. I know the south and appalachia are different, with different cultures and climates and people, but it still makes me feel like I can experience something I never got to.

hi there. this is not weird at ALL.

its a topic very near to my heart really. thanks so much for sharing your story not only because it's yours and i want to know it, but because it resonates with me SO hard, and i don't really talk to anyone who was constantly on the move as a kid and questions their identity because of it.

long post below, as is usually the case with me and this subject.

first i wanna say: i agree that the deep south and appalachia are certainly unique from one another, but to me, they share more similarities than they do differences. your story only cements that in my mind.

we have similar politics, are embarrassed by similar stereotypes, have shameful collective histories. we have similar flavors of self-work and unlearning to do. even the accents overlap.

we also know the same struggle of trying to be louder than our region, how it feels to have our individual voices swallowed up by people who don't want to hear it because they've already decided what they think about us as if we are some monolith.

what i mean is you definitely belong in this community, and i'm so glad you are here!

now for the emotional bits: i hate making these sorts of asks about me, but i sometimes feel at a loss as how else to communicate my empathy in this specific situation.

i just hope my experience can extend a sense of solidarity and understanding to how you're feeling, as mine mirrors your own very closely. i can seriously like feel the pain radiating off of this ask and i just want you to feel seen and heard.

"The worst thing is when people ask where I'm from or where I grew up, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

this kicked me in the stomach, because same. it's why being "from appalachia" is so integral to my identity. i'm not from a town or even a state. all i have is the region.

i've talked about this before on here, but my dad was a contractor, and we moved every year or two as well. the longest i stayed in one town was three years, and it happened only once.

i agree that moving around a lot was good in some ways, but, like you, it left me without a sense of belonging.

looking back as an adult, i realize how badly all of that moving fucked me up. i don't have a hometown in the traditional sense. i'm not "from" anywhere.

a lot of my childhood belongings i no longer have because everything seemed to get lost in the moves. i feel like i am scattered across a region, and i am nowhere.

its so bad that, as silly as it is, i get irrationally upset at something as innocent as when i am with someone who has lived in a place most of their life, and they can easily give directions there because they know the place so well. i can't do that with anywhere and so i feel bitter.

i myself moved around consistently in appalachia/the south, though, so i still grew up in the area, as generally as one could. so i also spent most of my late childhood and preteen yearsgetting rid of the accent. i didn't want to sound "stupid" or be lumped in with the racists and the stereotypes of the region.

i thought it made me better than other kids who spoke with the accent, because back then, i hadn't started the self-work i have since undergone and ripped all that hateful internalized bullshit up.

i regret it every day now that i'm learning to love where i'm from--appalachia and the south as a region. i regret ever buying into what i was told about myself and getting rid of all markers of it.

i get it, anon. i really do and i love you and i'm sorry.

THIS IS ALL TO SAY VERY VERY LOUDLY:

you. are. from. there.

you were born in the south. you was raised by a presumably southern family. even if you wasn't, they had to take pieces of mississippi with them. culture is not a static thing--it goes where you go.

you can't steal what's already yours. the accent is yours to use. it feels awkward in your mouth when you try to get it back but that's just because it needs to get comfortable in there again. it doesn't mean you're faking or stealing. it means you are reconnecting, and reunions can sometimes be a little awkward.

don't hold yourself up to rigid standards or fall victim to any gatekeeping, outward or inward. only you get to define who you are, and it seems like you know who that is supposed to be.

i hope you can start to feel a little more at home in your identity. i know what a special hell it is. thank you so so much for being here <3333

#asks #southeast usa #southern dialect #appalachian dialect #txt

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thyandrawrites · 1 year

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Have you seen the outro after Dabi's Dance and seeing the little smile bean again? My heart

Yep and it punched me in the face harder than the flashbacks themselves, somehow. There's something about that toothy, innocent and hopeful grin that just... Kills me

#Something something it's all about the loss of hope #He went from having full faith in himself and feeling like he belonged and his dad loved him #To... 20 years of crushing despair #Do you ever think about how he was 4 when his world fell apart and never recovered?#Suggestion: don't. Or you'll want to throw enji into a black hole #Ali replies #Bnha anime

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transmechanicus · 1 month

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Really fucked up that two ppl can care about each other and make their best efforts to communicate and still end up hurting each other so badly they cannot stand to be in the same room.

#my stuff #i feel soooo bad talking to my therapist about the same topics over multiple weeks #like i feel like they're sooo sick of it like damn can this bitch get Over It alreadyyyy #hi yes actually can we talk about the near catastrophic sense of betrayal and loss that has haunted my soul for over a month?#can we talk about how I overcompensate for other's possible feelings and emotions to desperately mask my terror at feeling out of control #can we talk about how even when I know ppl acted with logical reasons necessary for their situation it still hurt me?#and that this pain fills me up with so much anger and frustration that I'm powerless to put anywhere that won't hurt someone #so it just cooks me inside and makes me grind my teeth constantly for weeks #im so angry i did not deserve to be treated like this it's not fair and I have no capacity to fix it or control when it feels better #i just have to survive and wait until i forget about it and hope they don't decide to reach out and fuck it all up #cause i can see that happening #i'll finally be free of thinking about them and generally going about my day unbothered and they'll ask to get coffee or something #and I have no idea what I should do in that scenario. because I don't think we can be friends.#and you have not treated me with the compassion and warmth I treated you #i would want to say mean things. hurtful things. I would want to bite back for once.#and that's not me. that's not who I want to be.#i don't wanna see you. go away. don't talk to me if you're not going to make the pain go away.

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silveredsound · 2 months

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How you go from harry styles to hockey I will never understand.

I was going to make a little joke, as I do, (would have been v hilarious, best joke ever pls know this) and leave it at that. But like, it's been raining for over 24 hours, it's 2am and it might be good for me to reflect a little.. So sorry anon I am going emote all over your ask (which (the ask) sounds a bit judgey tbh but the written word is NOT a great conveyor of tone so that might be on me.)

On one hand it's just fandom. And, I think it's been pretty clear that as much as I love Henry Stars, I'm not like, a 'Harry is the be all and end all of all music creation and creativity and actions.' I like him for the good and the bad, and I don't leave critical thinking at the door. (Not saying I'm the only person to do this, just that it's hard sometimes in fan spaces and Stans definitely do..)

Which, can make it hard to participate in fandom as a lot of people are not great at irony, or accepting that someone else can say, god damn that is a terrible song - and that it's okay for that to happen. It doesn't mean that the person who expressed the neg opinion is not still a fan of the artist they were speaking about. Same with if the artist you are a fan of does something that gives you the ick.

I def learnt this when Harry went to Google Camp the first time. Like obviously I've been around 1d fandom in some way since 2012 ish I think it was - and it was my own reaction to Harry going to Camp Douchebags the first time that made me go, oh jeez Silv, you are a bit too involved in the parasocial relationship here. Like I was genuinely upset that he'd done something I thought was so dumb and wanky.

Anyway, clearly I still loved - love - him and I celebrated him and spent a fuckload of money on him and engaged in fandom and etc etc. But I just did at that point I think turn a little from heading in a very blinkers on version of fandom to one that's def more me - where you just get to have fun, make fun be creative, make friends! and have a bit of a perv depending on the silk cream vanilla ice cream outfit Harry might be wearing in Nashville.

I like RPF. I mean I like all transformative works and fandom extending and enhancing source material via creation, but I don't have an issue with RPF. I believe in 4th wall. And I clearly have written 1d fic. A lot of my good fandom mates, and real life best friend(s) are people I have met through sharing a love of writing in fandom spaces. Obviously all the best writers in 1d went to Hockey. And I stayed here. And I tried. I wanted to be where my friends where. I had fomo and I was lonely! My fandom had changed in a few ways all around the same time.

But Hockey is very confusing, (for starters as I often say to Angela or Joanna, snow is fake) and nothing clicked for me - it seemed large and I had no idea where to even start and I didn't really try.

But I think the change in some fandom fellow participants, and also anons being mean when they would get even a glimpse in their peripheral that I might have vaguely indicated that Henry did something that I thought was dumb or embarrassing, or just not that good, (it's no fun sharing a thought and feeling chatty about it, and wanting to engage with other people's thoughts if some random is going to anonymously tell you that you are a dumb c*nt and should delete etc etc so I stopped sharing any thoughts at all.) Of course Nick leaving breakfast and then R1 altogether - as well as obviously my whole life narrowing to a point that was just tend Mama- work - tend mama - work - tend mama - sleep - grow a tumour - tend mama left me not so much time for proper joyful engagement.

And then, in Jan/Feb this year, I think as I'd been looking at book reviews and as soon as you search for a book on tik tok they push book tok romance reviews into your feed and I think then that pushed an actual hockey clip (which is a really shite 4th wall issue as is the whole Kraken thing etc) and I can't even remember what it was but I know I then swiped through and watched other videos on the account and like 1d being adorable shites repeating stock answers and sitting on top of each other I was intrigued by what seemed to be very dumb and very entertaining.

But Silv, you cry, what about the emotions! You need emotions! Ah, yes, see, because I am nothing but devoted I had followed Angela and La's hockey blogs, and something La posted grabbed my attention and I followed a link and read an article and I was like. Oh, I want to read more about these kids. So I did. And after a little while I reached out to La and was like, um, I think I get it. And I posted something about the Fantilli Bros and then Max reached out and tbh I don't think anything says it better than my wide eyed enthusiasm reply. (You are probably by now thinking, Silv why is your answer to Max so short, why didn't I just get a paragraph? This is an endless essay with no conclusion or indeed a thesis statement, (that is if you have even made it down to here) & anon I can only apologise.)

I am really enjoying learning so many new things, being welcomed into a new space of connection and joy and silliness and emotional breakdowns. It's been so lovely to meet new people who are so excited to share their niche interest with you and no one minds how many questions I have and everyone searches out Primera and Important Past Instagram Posts from the archives - and of course reconnecting with people who I have always been friends with, fandom changes didn't change that, but it's delightful chatting much more often. The other day Angela and I watched an Avs game together via Tumblr chats, which was delightful, to learn about the team and to talk about random other things, and I've spent my last month of Saturdays watching umich with lovely people who La introduced me to, and having MANY EMOTIONS. (It's like hanging out all posting about a show's fits and one liners and if he's going to sing medicine but it's many pantomime gooseberrys. The performative homoeroticisim, wild hair, jokes, punching (only now during not pre show work outs ) and very goddamn impressive skill and physicality is actually pretty similar). Meghan and I have been able to chat through our very similar horrible experiences with cancer and mums with cancer and it's been so lovely and strengthening to be able to share that experience with a person who beyond gets it, and then also I've been able to announce to her that I want to write a fic about 5 ways Nolan saw god with the UMich Bible Study Group but didn't find faith. which is obviously a completely ridiculous concept but equally worthy of discussion. It's this that I love so much about fandom friendship - you share SO much because you are sharing something that gives you intimate joy, so the relationship always starts from a place of an automatic mutual understanding and empathy - and from there we make it our own.

But also, I really like the game. Like I love watching them play, all of them! It's fast (obviously - and oblig have to say - ice is slippery) and it's hard - and they make it look easy. When one of the special players (they are all special, but one of the ones who play almost with innate ability) makes a pass or a turn sometimes it's almost almost magic, like how the fuck did they see that gap between four players, and did you see how they kept the puck a moment longer so they could release it perfectly into the lane !! Hot.

The game can be all encompassing and it's SO SO SO silly. Like it's the dumbest sport. It's The Show. I'll put on ESPN and stream a match while I'm working during the day (the time difference is perfect for once) and I'm spending time cos I want to, learning the rules and the logistics and business side of it all. And of course, the differences between college hockey and the show. Idk. It just clicked on so many levels for me.

And so, I have no idea why it took me so long to transition from Henry to Hockey, but I am not surprised I did now that I have - it def wasn't something that I was bloody expecting. And Anon I will say this, the last few years of my life have been sad, hard, and tbh shitty. Now, I know what it's like to have fucked years, so I am not saying this to try to be and show off but 2024 feels a bit better. I feel clearer, I have started to lose some weight (15ish kg so far depending on the time of the month) and now I have a meeting w a PT on Tuesday as I actually don't care what I weigh but I want to get stronger and reduce my visceral fat as it will be better for hormones which is better for lessening my cancer reoccurrence %.

God knows it's (2024) not all roses, I literally had surgery again a fortnight ago and the cost of living in Sydney is giving me so much anxiety. I am still a terribly disorganised mess, my work is undergoing a complete restructure (thanks NSW gmnt) and my clean washing is NEVER folded and put away, it's always in the basket - but I feel so happy and entertained and creative - I am writing again! like it's joy. It's ye olde you are who you are at this moment but you are also the 4 year old you and the 15, 27, 34 year old you - girlhood (non gendered concept of not literal interpretation) and I love it. 💛🩵🌱

#sorry anon this is very much non con silv thinks about fandom and emotions and processes on main #there's a boy who has harry energy although more spoiled and sarcastic and this is delightful as i do actually think #which also i got a rude anon about once #that harry is not as nice as eveyone thinks #i think hes professional as fuck definitely #but i think hes a sarky little perfectionist and this delights me #but chemistry with everyone - thats the harry curse and blessing and the **** ****** one #sorry anon i know this was annoying #but i genuinely just really needed to get this out of me and acknowledge it all #fandom and fandom participation is something that is so important to us all #otherwise why would we have a little blog #let alone create posts of fic or gifs or edits #and god last year i said multiple times to shifty that i wished i had a fandom that i could wallow in as a happy place distraction #its very nice to feel engaged and delighted by something #i hope we can still be mates #i am a popstars and radio dj lover for life #i didn't even touch on teams i like and players and such cos not the point #tw: cancer #tw: death #tw: weight loss #sorry! i should have added those tw before!

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