#all that struggle and suffering and she still dies at his hand

[redroomreflections]

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story Chapter Three

Natasha Romanoff x Black!Fem! Reader

Note: This is a repost from my since deactivated account Natsxaddiction. I will be adding the shorter stories to here; 20 chapters or less - sorry TLH fans =(

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Chapter 3/20 (A completed story)

Summary: Natasha and Reader are married. They get into an accident where Natasha suffers serious injuries including amnesia. Natasha no longer remembers her life with reader and their children. All she remembers are her days loving Bruce.

W/c: 3.1k

When Natasha awakens she finds herself in an empty bed. She spreads her fingers out over the cool sheets beside her, it lets her know your spot has been empty for a while. She turns her head to see the first few rays of sunlight shining through the windows. She can hear the birds chirping as she closes her eyes again. She stretches all the while yawning. She pushes the sheets down towards her feet. Where could you be? Almost as if you read her mind, the bedroom door opens to reveal you in nothing but a plain white scoop-neck t-shirt that barely reaches your thighs and a plate of food and two cups in your hands. She has to wonder how you’re balancing all of this.

“You’re already awake?” You’re a bit surprised as you step further into the room. You set everything on the nightstand closest to Natasha. Before you have a chance to say anything else, her arms are tugging you to straddle her. She doesn’t mind the weight of you on top of her. In fact, she enjoys it. You struggle with where to place your hands so you opt to leave them by your side. Natasha on the other hand doesn’t.

“Hey,” She murmurs. She runs her hands over your bare thighs, as she finds the waistband of your panties. She pulls the elastic from your skin to snap it back. “You look good in my clothes.” She scrapes her nails down your thighs causing goosebumps.

“Hi back,” You lean down to kiss her lips. Realizing her fingers are traveling dangerously close to your center you sit up again. “Was last night not enough for you?” You smirk. “It’s never enough,” She returns her hands to a safe space.

“I’ll remember that,” You nod. “We have about a half-hour of silence before the girls are awake.” You reach over to the nightstand to take a piece of chocolate chip muffin for yourself. Breaking it in half, you push a piece between her waiting lips. “Good right?” You nod between chewing.

There’s a shared silence between you. You simply chewing while Natasha’s eyes have traveled elsewhere along with her fingers that are again tracing the outline of your center over your panties. She’s insanely horny this morning though you’re not complaining. Not one bit.

“I was on the phone this morning,” You begin and her fingers still. “With my doctor. Just routine stuff and I was asking her about the process of IVF and everything like that.” Natasha looks at you with an eager expression on her face.

“She said that everything looks healthy and we could start whenever we are ready,” You take a deep breath. “Nat, I think that I’m ready.” You finally get it out. She has this wide smile on her face. One that’s only reserved for you. It screams love and adoration. You let out a scream once you’re flipped over. Natasha is quick with her movements. She’s showering your face with kisses as you giggle under her. Finally when she feels like you’ve had enough she kisses you on the lips.

“We’re having a baby?” She questions. She leans over you as she slots herself between your legs.

“Well not at this moment,” You quip. “But yeah, we are.” You nod. Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. You look to the open door of the bedroom and then back to Natasha. “If we ignore it they’ll go away,” She groans. The knocking continues much to your chagrin.

“I don’t think it will,” You sigh. The knocking is louder. Just three taps.

Natasha is torn from her dream, opening her eyes to darkness, as she attempts to breathe deeply. The pain in her side shoots through her and she mutters a curse under her breath. Squinting her eyes, she reaches out for the nightstand finding what feels like a familiar piece of metal. Her phone. It’s new it seems. Not a crack or dent in it. Did you buy it recently? She presses the power button, flooding her eyes with light, to see the time. 9 am. Had she slept an entire day? Everything from last night is a blur. She remembers coming home, you carrying her up the stairs, and then falling asleep. Surely she wasn’t that tired?

Her stomach growls right on time. She has to find the bathroom and then the kitchen. She pushes herself to stand, ignoring every fiber of her being screaming at her not to open the bedroom door. She can hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet on the first floor. The girls are home. There’s another voice along with yours. Maybe a woman. She can’t tell. Deciding that her bladder could wait, Natasha walks over to the steps. She goes down each one getting to the bottom at the same time you close the front door.

You turn around to find her staring back at you. You would be a bit startled if you couldn’t feel her energy. It’s different and you hate to admit that it may have something to do with her memory loss. Either way, it’s not something to address right now.

“Natasha, you’re awake,” You breathe. She’s reminded of her dream and how happy you sounded when uttering those same words.

“I heard the door,” She nods towards the door.

“Oh, yeah, that was my sister bringing the girls home,” You walk over to her in case she needs help. “It’s time for your pain medicine,” You remind her.

“Why’d you let me sleep so long?” She questions as she helps herself to solid ground.

“You seemed tired,” You drop your hands to your side. “The girls are in the kitchen. They’re excited to see you.” You walk with her. You’re not really expecting a response. Natasha’s entire demeanor changes when she sees them. Which gives you a bit of happiness. Olivia and Lily are sitting on the floor, sharing cheerios, and passing the bowl between each other.

Lily spots her first. She abandons her food to toddle over to Natasha and hug her legs. She raises one finger, her sign for up, and you’re there to intercept. You scoop her into your arms to stand close enough to Natasha so that she can give her a kiss. Next is Olivia who’s content with a hug.

“Mama, you’re home from the hospital?” Olivia lifts her head to look up at Natasha.

“Yes, I am,” Natasha caresses her cheek.

“So you’re all better?”

“Not yet but I’m getting there,” Natasha says truthfully. You leave Natasha and the girls to make her breakfast. A simple coffee and pancakes that you’d prepared only twenty minutes earlier. When she’s sitting you hand everything to her along with the medicine bottle. “Thank you.” She says. She wants to talk more with you but the girls take her time. You don’t mind. You have a bit of laundry to do.

You leave the girls to compile everything before going down into the cellar for laundry. You take your time dividing, organizing, and setting the directions to what they need to be. You’re not purposely avoiding Natasha but you’re not in the mood. The past week has also exhausted you beyond belief. There’s been so much back and forth. Between you and Olivia’s school, you and the rest of the team, you and insurance, you and your lawyer, you and Natasha. For now, you’d just like to sleep and rest.

There’s a sharp pain in your stomach and you bend over to relieve the pressure. The stress of it all is becoming a bit much. You rest your hand on your arms, breathing in and out, as you listen to the hum of the washing machine.

“Is everything okay?” Natasha questions and this time you are startled.

You stand up straight, your hand resting on your hip, as you take another breath.

“Jesus,” You look over to her. “Do you need anything?”

“Nope, just taking a tour of the rest of the house,” She purses her lips. You guess that’s fine. Though you can tell when she’s lying. “I have a question and I want you to give me a straight answer.”

“Okay,”

“Are you pregnant?” She gets straight to the point. For a moment, you’re wondering if she’s remembering bits and pieces of life before. That would certainly explain the odd question.

“No,” You shake your head. “I’m not.”

Natasha swallows thickly before nodding.

“What gave you that impression?”

“Steve said something. Don’t worry about it.” She turns back to go upstairs.

“We were trying,” You find yourself explaining. Anything to get her to talk to you. You just miss her is all. “Before the accident.” You continue when she meets your eye again. “We both decided to try for a baby and I’ve been taking hormones and preparing for the first cycle. Our first appointment for insemination was the day after the, um, the accident.” You finish weakly.

There’s an awkward silence.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha apologizes. She doesn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t be,” You finish the folding. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” You regret saying that last part. Natasha is going to ask you to elaborate before Olivia comes to the door.

“Mama, Mommy, what you guys doing down there?” Olivia asks.

“Laundry, Mouse.” You answer. “Are you done with your cheerios?”

“Yep,” Olivia answers. “Lily says she has to potty. You have to come quick.” She urges and you know there’s no time to waste.

“I have to get them,” You point to the stairs where you scoot past her. “Explore more if you want.” You encourage. You leave Natasha on her own once again.

She doesn’t step further into the cellar. Instead, she follows the path you’ve taken up the stairs. She does a general sweep all the while listening to the noise the girls make as you help them with the bathroom. She searches the kitchen first. She kneels down, opening the cabinet that leads to the kitchen sink, reaching her fingers to find a locked box. She pulls it towards her, finding there’s a combination before she shakes it. What’s the pin? It’s easy for her really and it comes to her. Yelena’s birthday. 05-23-89. The box pops open to reveal a sleek back gun. A Glock 43x. She closes it quickly, hiding it once again to finish what she started. She finds several more guns scattered around the first floor. No doubt her doing. They’re all locked away in places the girls won’t find. The house is efficiently babyproofed and then some. Next, she checks the security system which is controlled from her office. It’s amazing what this thing does. She knows Tony may have had a hand in building it.

Everything here is so safe. So new. So domestic. From the toys on the floor, the pictures, the decorations. It’s all a bit overwhelming. She doesn’t move from her office chair, clicking out of the many applications she opened, to find a picture of her family as her screensaver. It’s a fall shoot. Had to be recent. You’re all dressed in various shades of brown. Your arm is wrapped around her waist, holding her close, as the girls run towards the camera. There’s pure joy on her face and yours as the photographer snaps a photo. She moves the mouse, scrolling through a few more files when she reaches one titled Top Secret - Do Not Open - Mission Only. Naturally, this piques her interest. She clicks on the file only to realize it requires a password. She attempts Yelena’s birthday again and it’s wrong. This only makes her want to enter it more.

“Mama, what you doing in here?” Olivia interrupts again. Natasha is a bit amused. She’s never had someone want to be with her 24/7. “Working?”

“No, I’m not working,” Natasha denies. “I’m trying to get this file open.” She pushes herself back enough for Olivia to climb into her lap. “You wouldn’t happen to know the password?”

“Um, I don’t know,” Olivia shrugs. “Try Mommy’s birthday. That opens the iPad. I not supposed to play the iPad though. It’s a secret.” She presses her finger to her lip.

Natasha smiles at that. “I won’t tell.” She promises. Natasha clicks through a few of her calendars to find your birthday. She returns to the file, opting to view it in front of Olivia since she can’t read, and low and behold the file opens. There’s a series of pictures and videos that are way too small for her to see. So she clicks on a random video. She and Olivia view it with interest.

It’s you stepping in front of the camera. You’re dressed modestly. A simple trench coat, your hair slicked back into a ponytail, and she can’t see your shoes. Natasha’s eyes narrow when you begin to unbutton the coat. If she were any less aware Olivia would be getting an eyeful as you drop the trench coat to reveal yourself in a thin piece of lacy black lingerie and no bra. Thanks to her quick reflexes she’s able to cover Olivia’s eyes while clicking out of the video.

“Mama,” Olivia whines at her lack of vision. Upon further review of the files, Natasha realizes a lot of these are sex tapes. Varying lengths and scenarios. She has to shoot down the arousal she feels in favor of cutting the computer off. Her snooping was done for the day.

“Liv, where are you?” You call out. Natasha pushes her chair out and away from the desk as Olivia slides down from her lap. You enter the office where you find both of them.

“Mommy, why you didn’t have clothes on?” Olivia asks and you look down at yourself.

“What? What are you talking about?” You ask and Natasha answers for her.

“Nothing, she just saw a random picture of you in a swimsuit I found on the computer,” She lies so easily. You nod though you’re not so convinced.

“I was going to take them on a walk through the neighborhood if you’d like to join,” You offer though you’re not really expecting her to say yes. “It’s just a couple of blocks and it won’t be too rigorous.”

“I think I’m going to hang back,” Natasha says.

“I want to stay with Mama,” Olivia adds and you’re a bit surprised at that. You look to Natasha for confirmation and she nods. It’s fine with her.

“Okay, I’ll be back.” You promise. You take Lily in her stroller, signing to her that you’ll be taking a walk before you head out. The walk is refreshing. You’ve been feeling a bit anxious all day and putting that energy into something that feels productive is best.

Lily seems interested enough. Her head turns every which way, and she waves at strangers, as you walk further into the neighborhood. You don’t have a particular destination in mind. All you know is that you needed to think.

**************************************

Back at home, Natasha is on her very first episode of Peppa Pig. She’s not paying attention. Not truly. It makes Olivia happy and that’s all she's really thinking about. She figures Olivia could be alone for a few minutes. She goes up to the second floor to search for one thing. She finds her phone right where she left it. This time there's no password. She scrolls through her contacts, finding the only one she’s been thinking about, to press call. It rings only three times before someone picks up.

“Dr. Bruce Banner,” He greets.

“Bruce,” Natasha breathes.

“Natasha,” Bruce says back. She can hear him rustling papers in the background. “Hey, how are you? I heard what happened? Is y/n okay? What about the girls?”

“They’re fine,” Natasha answers. “ How are you?”

“I’m good,” He says and Natasha figures there’s something about his tone that he’s not saying.

“Is this a bad time?”

“N-no, it’s just, Natasha you haven’t called me in years,” Bruce explains.

“Yeah, well, I lost my memories and everything went left. The last thing I remember is Ultron,” She shrugs to herself.

“Jesus,” He curses. “Nat, that’s, wow. Retrograde?” He guesses.

“That’s the one,” Natasha’s voice is lower. Like silk. “I was wondering if we could meet up. I figured you wouldn’t lie to me about everything that went down.”

“Why haven’t you asked your wife? She was there.” Bruce says instead.

Natasha furrows her brow. “She said we met during Ultron but she wouldn’t know about everything. Right?”

Immediately Bruce understands the details you kept out. It may be for her own good. Natasha is a lethal weapon. She also has a bit of a temper at times and he’s been on the receiving end of that once or twice.

“Look, Nat, it’s complicated.” Bruce holds the phone to his ear. “I’ll meet with you but I really think you should speak with Y/n first.” He tells her.

“Yeah, I will.” Natasha looks to the bedroom door. “I’ll give you a time and date later.” She hangs up without a goodbye. If you’re hiding things from her she’d like to know. Natasha returns downstairs to sit with Olivia. She’s curious now. She doesn’t like things being hidden from her. She has to know.

*************************

When you return you find what you consider to be the cutest sight ever. Natasha is lying on the couch, Olivia curled into her side, as Peppa Pig reruns play in the background. They’re both clearly tuckered out and you don’t want to interrupt them. Lily is sleeping in her stroller. You opt on taking her to her crib. Then maybe you can shower. Lily doesn’t stir when you set her down. Next is the shower. You strip slowly stepping under the water to allow the heat to ease your aching muscles. Maybe a visit to Wanda where you could cuddle with her was needed.

You close your eyes, leaning your forehead against the cool tile of the shower, and you think about everything that’s happened the past week. You picture yourself in the car, you see Natasha, the music, and the way the steering wheel feels under your hands. Everything feels like it’s right here at your fingertips.

You’re not able to control your breathing and it all becomes too much. You can see the purple forcefield surrounding you as you raise your hands and brace yourself for impact.

The sound of crunching glass is all you hear before you slide down the wall.

Was it all your fault?

When you finally remove yourself from the shower you feel refreshed. You’re dressing when Natasha steps into the bedroom.

“I want you to tell me about everything that happened after Clint’s farm,” She demands. Her voice is not what you’re used to. At least not when it’s directed towards you. She’s Black Widow right now and not any version of Natasha you know intimately. “How did we meet?” She demands.

You’re amazed she hasn’t put it all together by now. You grab your shirt from the dresser to pull it on. Here goes nothing.

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff smut #natsxaddiction

[scorpiomindfuck]

Just finished season 2 of Into the Badlands.

I have so many emotions

#into the badlands #daniel wu #sunny #nick frost #bajie #aramis knight #mk #madeleine mantock #veil #bawling #all that struggle and suffering and she still dies at his hand

[kenjakusbraincum]

can you pls write something about reader being sick and like not the cough and cold kind of sick- like really really sick, and sukuna realising how much he doesn't want to lose her to this sickness and how if she dies, he'll be alone again..🥺

You have NO idea how much I love this idea!!! I did go a bit overboard with it cause I love suffering though 👍 Still, this was SO much fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Vows

Sukuna x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, true form! sukuna, master/pet dynamic, fluff but most importantly ANGST, mentions of weight loss, mentions of violence, implied nsfw, reader dies in the end :( (sorry)

It's not the first time Sukuna has been made aware of your mortality. He recalls many instances when he's been reminded that you are human. Finite. The first time he wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed with calculation while you were laying under him, and you looked up at him in fear for your life. Your little hand couldn't even wrap around his wrist, much less provide resistance. Or when he'd pull your hair a little too roughly, and hear a crack in your delicate spine. When you'd get sick, and humbly refuse his healing. So little as a tummy ache had you writhing on your bed.

You are so weak, so small, clinging to life like there was anything for you in it, beyond Sukuna. By all means he hates all of these things. So what witchery is this, and why does he care about you so much? Why does he keep you for years, and why does your company bring him comfort he hasn't ever known in his lifetime?

Still, as much as he cares, he doesn't notice when it starts. He's trained you to tolerate pain, after all. It's no wonder you hesitate to tell him. Little things like tummyaches and colds occur to you all the time anyways, and you never complain. Sure, you've grown closer to Sukuna, but he was still your master, and the rules he instilled in you from the start were always fresh in your mind, not to be crossed. Bothering him with everything that feels off always seemed inappropriate.

And Sukuna is just like that. If you're not screaming or crying, he won't know you're in pain. But he notices that you're acting off. And how he reacts really doesn't help your case, or encourage you to speak up about your condition. ''I don't have all day. What is wrong with you?'', he sneers when he catches you pacing too far behind him.

So you just sleep longer and preserve energy for when you are with him. You don't skip around as much anymore, or spend time doing your hobbies. Food doesn't taste so great anymore. You have a cough that gives you sleepless nights because it just won't calm down. And the time you owe Sukuna starts to feel like an obligation. You start to dread it. Dread slipping up, dread annoying him or failing to satisfy him. Dread being disposable.

When things start getting worse, it's hard to hide it even from him. He was taking you from behind one night, and you were grateful he couldn't see the look on your face. You thought you could do it. Sukuna was always demanding, but he would never force you to do anything. If only you told him before you felt yourself struggling for air, and your chest closing in on itself in tightness. You reached one hand back, frantically grabbing his wrist.

''Feathers, feathers!'', words came out as gasps, and you slumped forward when he let you go. You were panicked and crying by then, this kind of discomfort being foreign even to you, even after weeks of pain behind you. He hovered next to you with a puzzled look on his face. He wasn't even being that rough.

''What's wrong? Tell me.'', he said, and reached his hand to feel the warmth of your tears streaming down your face. He swiped your cheek gently. He didn't seem mad at all. Why didn't you say anything from the start?

''I just feel so sick.'', you muster up in between sobs, and shut your eyes. You were too embarrassed to even look at him.

''I see.''. His hand leaves your face, and he traces it from your neck down your spine. The pain subsided slowly, allowing you to relax and find comfort in his arms.

But the effects of his healing were short lived. Just a week later the feeling of fatigue creeps back into your life. Manageable, but lingering. And the cough persists. And it gets on Sukuna's nerves too. He's been quite patient with you, but his patience was reaching it's limit.

You're sitting by his throne as you often do, and as hard as you try to hold the cough in, you just can't help it. His hand finds the back of your neck and squeezes, turning you to him. And he looks at you with all four, terrifying eyes. ''Can you shut up?''

''I'm sorry, I'm trying -'', you stutter, but just end up coughing more. He doesn't wait for you to stop.

''Get out of here.'', and pushes you away. You stumble down the pile of bones and fall, landing on your hands and knees. You don't remember him being this cruel to you in a long time. You look back at him with teary eyes, and he looks back like the merciless monster he is. The villagers awaiting him moved to make space for your fall, taking note of the tense situation.

That day, Sukuna sends word that he doesn't want to see you until you get better. You're forbidden from going outside again, in fear that that is making your 'cold' worse. It's a lonely week in your room, until Sukuna starts to crave you again. It didn't take him a while, counting the couple days he spent convincing himself he doesn't miss you. He does. So when he sends word for you again, and the servants come back to him saying you're still not feeling well... he's worried. So worried he comes to see it for himself.

Sukuna rarely comes to your room. It's the only space you have for yourself, and he doesn't want to take that away from you. Your room is modest. You have a bed, a carpet, and a couple shelves to house the books he's gifted you. There's a desk where you can eat and read, and a doorway to the garden. There's an empty glass of water and a napkin next to your bed. You're still sleeping, but the door shutting behind him wakes you up, so he doesn't get to enjoy observing you in your natural habitat for long.

It's not the first time doors opening and closing woke you up. But you know this time is different. The servants are always quickly shuffling around the room, cleaning up and moving around. Uraume clanks with plates. There is no noise now, other than your strained breathing and a cough brewing in the back of your throat. Besides, the aura that Sukuna brings with him everywhere he goes is recognizable. Especially to you. Heavy.

You turn around, and meet the gaze of his four eyes. ''Master...'', you struggle to sit up, and even a little action like that has spots forming in your vision. Then a coughing fit hits you. You pick up the napkin and put it to your mouth.

Sukuna sees your whole body strain with the effort of coughing. And when you call him master, even your voice sounds different. He knows your morning voice. He missed hearing it, but this... this is not it. You sit with your head hung low, staring at the napkin between your hands. There's a fresh splatter of blood on it. But Sukuna scares you more than the progression of your illness.

''Are you mad at me?'', you ask timidly, meeting his gaze.

''I'm concerned.", he says and sits next to you. You curl up to make space for him. "Two weeks is a long time for a frail human like you to be sick.", he looks at you, scanning your form up and down.

"I rested and drank every tea Uraume told me to!", your defense mechanism kicks in, and you start babbling.

Sukuna dismisses you with a hand and a pained facial expression. "I know.", he says. His brows are furrowed now, and he's looking at the ground, lost in thought.

You feel guilty for annoying him again. You feel guilty for the whole thing, getting sick, draining the energy it takes him to heal you, robbing him of the time with you that he deserves. Owns. He is very generous with the way he treats you, having all that in mind.

You tug on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Master... You deserve better.", and you're sobbing again. Sukuna gives you a pathetic look, but smiles as he pulls you into his embrace.

"Silly pet. I can survive a couple weeks without your assistance.", he says, rubbing your shoulder.

You run your fingers against the back of his hand mindlessly, not knowing how to respond. Caressing his knuckles, bones, veins... feeling his nails and their sharp tips against your sensitive skin. When you bring his palm up to your lips, your kiss stains it red with blood.

-

You still sleep with Sukuna sometimes. Less frequently, only on days when you feel well enough, and those are rare. You've lost weight by now, sickness making itself visible on your body. You're sitting on his lap and clinging to your robes, scared that he won't like you as much, that you won't live up to his standards. But Sukuna's demeanor about your illness has changed, as he seemed to sense something unusual about it. He flips you over so gently, like you're made of glass, and peppers kisses from your neck downwards, slowly undressing you as much as you allow him. When he takes you, he's so careful. Constantly checking you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. You feel so loved and relaxed, and pleasure comes so easy when you're in this state. It's not the first time Sukuna is this caring with you in bed, but this time is different. This time you can't help but feel like he's saying goodbye.

He holds you afterwards, tracing his fingers over the ridges of your spine and your shoulders. You were always little in his grasp, but now that he feels your protruding bones under his fingertips, you seem all the more vulnerable.

"Will you kill me?", you ask, breaking the silence.

Sukuna frowns. "Nonsense. Why would I do that?"

There's a gulp in your throat. "It won't be long before I can't even do this. I won't be of any use to you then...", you say.

"Stop.", he says sternly. "There's a lot more to you than what you provide me with in bed."

You smile to yourself, but there's still a hole in your chest. Your statement is still true, and you aren't comforted. But this is Sukuna, and you know that he's offered you quite a lot even with that little bit of reassurance. To your surprise, he speaks again.

"Don't upset yourself. It's been a long time since killing you crossed my mind.", he says. "Save the energy for something else."

You nod and thank him. Just moments later, you're asleep. Quicker than ever before, he notes. You usually love it when he lets you cuddle and talk to him. You would force your eyes open when you were sleepy, just to enjoy it longer.

He feels guilty. He's your master, he's responsible for your well being. Yet nothing he does seems to help you long term. Healing you is temporary and he knows that without accessing the source, it will never work. If he could, he would find what was making you sick and rip it out of you with his bare hands, crush it with the force of his palm. He would have to look deeper, open you, and for once, he thinks he can't open a human being. He thinks of you trashing, screaming, and worst of all, looking into his eyes. Just the thought of you like that makes his chest feel like a gaping cavity. Worst of all, he's sure you would let him. He's sure you would forgive him for spilling your blood, and find comfort in his arms again. If you survived, that is. What has he done to you? And to himself?

Now, your head rests on his chest, and you're snoring lightly. For once, a repetitive noise like that doesn't annoy him. For once, he wishes he could listen to it every night. One day, that noise will be the only thing audibly confirming you're still alive.

-

Months pass and you're only getting worse. You barely leave your room now, too weak to even do so. You eat little, and it's showing in your sunken cheeks and eyes. You feel yourself withering away, loosing color, drying like a dying flower. Sukuna is in grief. He struggles to look at you, and visiting you falls heavy on him every time. He always finds himself thinking afterwards. Regretting that he let himself get this attached, wishing that he could simply forget you. But it doesn't work that way.

He goes to see you, after avoiding you for a week. He's Sukuna, he doesn't have any shame. You're sleeping, like you usually are when he comes to visit you. Your snoring is laboured, and it sounds painful. This time, the doors and the silence don't wake you up. He watches you, curled up under a stack of blankets, rising and falling with your struggles to breathe. How foolish he was, to think forgetting you would be as easy as avoiding you for days. How evil he was, trying to forget you while you are still alive under his wing, still his responsibility. Still his.

He sits next to you and leans over you, fingertips ghosting over your face. The snoring stops and you flutter your eyes open, turning in bed and feeling his body next to yours. You smirk at him, eyes adjusting to the light, and smile when you recognize him. ''Master.'', your arms wrap around his neck as you welcome him, your voice dry, but lively as you beckon him closer. ''I missed you.''.

He comes down to plant a kiss to your forehead. ''I missed you too, darling.''. Oh, the things that escape his mouth when he's alone with you. He cups your face, enjoying how much healthier you look with a smile on your face. ''Feeling any better?'', he rubs your cheek, lingering closely above your face.

You nod, but both of you know you only feel better because you saw him. Still, the little surge of happiness that brings you gives you more energy than you've had the whole week. You wiggle to the edge of the bed, making space and inviting him to join you. Sukuna lies down, hooking one arm underneath your neck and pulling you flush against him.

You wrap your arm around him and lean your head against his shoulder. He's still as big as you remember him, unfaltering in the face of your illness. It's comforting. ''You didn't visit in a while. Were you busy?'', you ask, stroking his back. ''How were your days?''

''Monotone.'', he says. ''The villagers bring remedies for you every day, and wish for you to get well.'' It's no wonder. So many times, Sukuna found himself hesitating to kill just because you were sitting on his knee, dressed in something too pretty to be splattered with blood. In the local villages, word spread that you have ''domesticated'' Sukuna. As if such a thing was possible. Or was it?

''Oh?'', you smile. ''I didn't think they would notice my absence.''. You always were supposed to be Sukuna's accessory and nothing more. Remedies and good wishes make it sound like you're more important than just a pet. So it really is that obvious...

''They did.'', he says, and lowers his head, brushing his nose against your face. ''Some took that as an opportunity to gift me new pets.''

You blink at him, a bit taken aback by his honesty. You keep smiling anyways. ''Did you take any?'', you ask, and he sees nothing but genuine curiosity in your eyes. The truth is, you've had a lot of time to think about your place in Sukuna's mansion. You knew, especially in sickness, that you were never entitled to exclusivity with him. You knew that at some point you would have to be replaced, just by the virtue of being a mortal. A human, who would age and become ugly, wrinkled and useless. You were just unlucky enough to meet this fate sooner than you should've.

Sukuna sighs, the weight of the conversation shifting to him. ''Not to bed, no.'', he says.

You're quiet while you think of what to say. You still have a habit of picking words when you're with Sukuna, but the times when he would punish you for improper formulation are far behind you. "Why not?", you settle. You hope the implication is there, that you wouldn't be so mad even if he did.

Why not? Because he thinks it might break him. Because the image of someone else in your place, under him, feels unnatural and wrong. He thinks the guilt might eat him alive. For once in centuries, someone else's needs come before Sukuna's. He is gone, so far gone. You've raised his standards, and he's not sure anyone he takes now will be able to live up to them. Besides, training a new pet to fit your mold would take years, and even then... He couldn't train someone to love him. Not like you do.

''I wouldn't want you to hold back because of me.'', you say, and he realizes he's been quiet for too long. Years ago, if you dared to imply that Sukuna would do such a thing as hold back because of you, that he cared, you would've been minced meat ready for dinner. Now, he looks down at you tenderly when you say it. Well, a tender look from Sukuna is a docile one. You've gotten used to the way that Sukuna communicates love. Subtly, innocuously.

''Worry about getting well, pet.'', he shuts down the conversation, and moves away from you, sitting back on the bed. ''Any wishes? Food? Activities?'', he asks, and feels your forehead with the back of his hand.

Food? No, but... ''I'd like you to stay, please.'', you say, and take his hand with the two of yours, feeling it up with your thumbs.

Sukuna resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the thought of annoying him would upset you greatly. ''That's a given. Anything else?''

You pretend to think, then just babble your favorite food. Sukuna takes your order to Uraume. But when he comes back, you're already asleep again. He waits by your side, but you don't wake, so eventually he leaves. By the evening, the plate of your favorite food remains untouched.

-

You can't leave the bed on your own anymore. Sukuna carries you outside when you're feeling good enough. You barely have the strength to latch onto him securely. Still, it's hard to slip out of the grasp of his four arms. He says you've gotten pale. You lay in his lap and bask in the sun, while he tells you about his day or reads a book out loud for you to enjoy. You wish you could talk to him more, but your voice leaves you as days of endless coughing wreck your throat. No herbs and teas ease your condition anymore. You wait for your final day.

And Sukuna doesn't know when he's given up on the idea that you might get better. But he starts spending whole days with you, leaving your side only to sleep in his bed. He tends to almost all your needs personally. You think that if you asked him to get on his knees for you, he would. He is not familiar with this ache that brews in his chest when he looks to his side and doesn't see you there. It feels violating. To be as powerful as he is, and yet completely helpless in the face of the sickness that drains you in front of his very eyes.

He plays with your thinning hair one morning, and you look at him from his lap, as adoringly as always. ''Isn't it funny?.'', you say, and he snaps out of his thoughts to look at you. ''I always imagined dying by your hand.'', you kiss his hand again, planting your dry, blue lips against his knuckles. ''Who would have thought?''.

You, you little human. You made him feel like a fool, like a coward. You made him feel powerless. Who could ever get away unscathed with making Sukuna feel like this? The thought of killing you now, even out of mercy, fills him with horror. He thinks he couldn't live carrying the burden of your death on his back. It's already hard for him as is.

When he's not with you, he withers away in his room, waiting. And when the servants finally come, and tell him you're at your last strengths, he feels as tense as he feels relieved. The servants shake in fear of his reaction, and he simply dismisses them. In a thousand years of his existence, he doesn't remember having to prepare to enter a room. His hand trembles as he brings it up to push the door open. He dreads what awaits him inside.

He expected blood, hysteria, chaos, yet there's none of it when he walks in. Just the pained noises of your breathing. A servant, your favorite, sits by your side and wipes sweat off your forehead. She talks to you in a comforting tone and pats your head gently. When he walks in the room, she lowers her head and moves to leave. It's only a second, but he sees the sad look on your face. ''Stay.'', he orders, and the servant bows and thanks him.

You move your attention to him, raising your hand to greet him weakly. He picks it up and bends down to kiss it. There's tears in your eyes as he settles into a seat next to you, and you open your mouth in an attempt to say something.

''Easy now.'', he shushes you, and helps you into his lap. You lean back, looking at him through a blur. His features appear even more doubled through the tears, and you still find his beauty mesmerizing. Your master. Your own little god and protector. Although he regrets it, you've never claimed the title of his spouse. Yet, he still stuck by your side, until parted by death. In sickness and in health.

He wipes your tears, and the mouth he conjures onto his hand kisses your forehead. One set of his hands caresses your face, the other massages the tension out of your bony shoulders. Sukuna knows how important it is for you to pass in peace. He doesn't want to curse you, or have despair turn you into a curse. "Relax now.", his voice is so soothing, as if lulling you to sleep. "It won't be long". You weep. What did an ordinary human like you do to deserve this honor? To be comforted on their death bed by a god. To be guided to death by him.

"Master.", you sob. "I'm so scared..."

Delicate touch against your skin. Sharp nails grazing your cheek ever so slightly, just barely enough to make their presence known. "Have no fear.", Sukuna looms over you like a snowdrop. "Where you go now, pain won't follow.". You speak to him a little longer. Tell him all the things you always wanted to tell him, but were scared of the consequences. Dangerous words, ones that were rarely associated with Sukuna. Love. And Sukuna is attentive, so human. Your blinking slows and you find comfort in his voice, as he returns every loving word back to you. Your pained breathing follows, and your eyelids are so heavy. But the sight of him is so hypnotizing, you wish you never had to look away. "You are so brave, my little dove. Go now, be free.". You were too good for this wretched palace anyways. The sight of him is etched in your memory as you close your eyes. "It was a pleasure to have you by my side.", you listen, feeling control over your body slip through your fingers. When you can't move, or feel his touch, you still hear his calm voice. "When you're ready, come back to me. I'll be waiting for your return.". Then everything is quiet, for you and for him. The servants cries are muffled by the sheets, where she has her head pressed by your side.

The hallways, silent except for the busy tapping of feet. Outside, the wind blows petals off of blooming flowers, leaving them bare and stranded. Autumn is here to carry you away.

Servants hold their breath when Sukuna walks by. One wrong look at him and the walls would be painted red. Just like before. Before you. And it's not long before Sukuna looks like a monster again - red eyes and a permanent frown etched on his face. Villagers bring bouquets, and lay them to the right of his throne, where you used to sit. He stares them all down, and only for a moment thinks that maybe, humans are not the scum he thought they were. But then he remembers, they only mourn you because you held him back from his destructive tendencies. Scum.

And he kills again. The first is a villager from afar, where news of your passing hasn't reached. Ripped to shreds for mentioning you. The women who screamed, their blood soaks the carpets and seeps through the wooden floor, dripping down to the cellars. He feels like himself again, unhinged, unbeatable.

Until the day is over, and he goes back to his empty room. His cold, empty bed, and the old habit of reaching for you in his sleep, only to grab nothing instead. And the crocheted figures of the two of you on his nightstand, watching him as he struggles to sleep alone. He can't bear it. So he leaves, and doesn't come back for days, weeks, months.

Smoke clouds the skies on the horizon once again, after years and years of peace and clarity. As far as the eye stretches, the world will know of Sukuna's wrath. But as thrilling as it feels to conquer again, when the village is burned and ash covers the grass on the ground, the thought of you still lingers. Your devastated eyes the first time he's killed before you. The first time he's felt guilty about his monstrous nature. When he comes back, no one's warm embrace awaits him. No one's there to brighten up his day. No amount of blood shed and villages burned replace the emptiness you left behind in his heart.

The grief settles, and sits heavy in Sukuna's chest, as he assumes position in his lonely throne again, and gazes at the row of people waiting to beg, talk, offer... bore him. Another eternity of boredom. An eternity of picking through thousands of humans, in vain hopes of finding you again. In vain hopes of recognizing you, even if it's lifetimes from now, when the last memory of your face has already faded from his mind. When generations change, and the thought of a monster like Sukuna being capable of tenderness vanishes. When the fire in his chest, ignited by love, is already a memory so distant, that recalling it feels surreal.

Maybe he will forget you by then. Maybe times will harden him again, and the idea of a pet becoming his lover will make him laugh. But for now, the thought of finding you in a crowd, taking you in his arms and never letting go, is his comfort and safe place. For now, he will wait for you. As long as it takes, like a stone, unyielding against the passing of time.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #sukuna #soft sukuna #i love bastardizing sukuna in my fics #also this is totally leading me into a part 2 w reincarnated reader #yes weve heard it a thousand times #idc it makes me happy

[spicyhamsamson]

I am. So fucking tired of Batman being portrayed as a bad parent and a toxic person. And it’s so goddamn widespread. Fuck, it might be as bad as the whole “Superman being a kindhearted Boy Scout is boring” take.

I get it, the man’s not exactly stable, he watched his parents get murdered in front of him and spent years of his life training to fight crime dressed like a giant scary bat, of course he’s not perfect.

But to say that Bruce Wayne isn’t caring, isn’t empathetic, to call him abusive…it just misses the point of who the character is to me.

Why do you think he fights crime? Yes, part of it is because he’s bitter and sad because his parents were cruelly ripped from him as a child, and he’s lashing out against the corruption of his city. It’s arguably the focus of his earlier years. But he learns to become more than that. He learns to bring hope, a chance to be better.

Harleen Quinzel is the Joker’s right hand lady, but she’s also a victim of an abusive relationship and a woman with a surprisingly strong moral compass and a love for animals, and wants to get better. That’s why we see time and time again that he has a noticeable soft spot for her, because he knows that she’s a good person at her core.

Harvey Dent is a man who will decide someone’s fate on a coin toss(and a pretty inaccurate depiction of DID), but he’s also Bruce’s close friend who clearly needs help learning to live with his condition, rather than try to get rid of it, and someone who he still goes out of his way to visit, even after everything, because he recognizes he’s not just a criminal with a weird gimmick, he’s a man who is struggling with a condition that he’s mishandled his whole life.

Victor Fries is a cold, emotionless man who will callously discard allies and blame them for being careless, but he’s also a man who’s either lashing out because he had the love of his life taken from him, or just desperate to make sure she isn’t taken from him, and is willing to do anything just to guarantee her survival. Of course Batman would understand, his whole life was defined by having people he loved taken away from him.

Even the Joker, arguably one of the most morally bankrupt characters in all of fiction, is someone that Batman has offered a chance to. After the guy shoots the daughter of his friend, a girl he cared for like she was his own kid, and paralyzes her from the waist down, he tells the Joker that he doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to get him help. He looks at this monster who has taken countless lives and says “You don’t have to be alone.”

For fuck’s sake, he sat with Joe Chill in his last moments so that he wouldn’t be alone. Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, who took so much from him, the person responsible for all of the misery and suffering he’s gone through. And he sits with the man to comfort him while dies. Do you know how much emotional intelligence and maturity that must take? To comfort someone who arguably ruined your life?

And you’re gonna tell me the man who did that would abuse his kids?

That he’d hold up the young man whose death was his greatest failure, the boy he grieved, and say this?

That he’d look his goddamn son in the eyes and say this to him?

Why the FUCK do you think he took in Dick Grayson in the first place? It wasn’t because he saw the kid and thought “Ah. A potential soldier.”, it was because he saw a boy experiencing the same heartbreaking loss he had so many years ago, and wanted to make sure he didn’t end up as bitter and miserable as he was.

Why do you think he smiled when Tim Drake presented him a broken watch for Father’s Day? Because he was just happy to see the boy alive and safe.

DAMIAN LITERALLY POINTED AT A COW AND SAID “I’m keeping her. She’s Bat-Cow.” AND BRUCE JUST WENT WITH IT. DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO ARGUE WHY BRUCE SHOULD LET HIM KEEP HER. HE SAID “this cow is my pet now” AND BRUCE SAID “aight, bet”.

The thing about Batman is that he wants to make sure nobody else ends up feeling the way he does. That’s not just about stopping a mugger so a boy’s parents aren’t gunned down. It’s about giving his loved ones the support and care that he couldn’t have, because it was taken from him. It’s about comforting someone who just went through a traumatic experience and letting them know that they’re going to be okay. It’s about going to someone locked away in a cell who thinks that they’re a lost cause and a burden to society and telling them that he wants to help them get better. It’s about EMPATHY and COMPASSION.

That’s what makes him a HERO. He’s meant to inspire us, to show us that we can have that same empathy for others around us, that we can turn our suffering into hope for a better future.

I just wish more people at DC would start recognizing that. But I might as well follow that example myself. Maybe through this struggle of having to see this hero mistreat the people around him and act like a grade-A jackass, people will start to recognize that missing compassion, and slowly but surely, it might come back. After all, what is this post, if not trying to bring attention to the matter in the hopes of fixing it?

#batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #Robin #Nightwing #Red Hood #Red Robin #DCAU #DC #Dc comics #Batman: The Animated Series #BTAS #The Batman Adventures #Harley Quinn #Harleen Quinzel #victor fries #Mr. Freeze #Harvey Dent #Two-Face #The Joker #The Killing Joke #Joe Chill #spi rant #haven’t used that tag in a while

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

By Your Side Always

Summary: You comfort Astarion after he breaks down due to your near-death experience.

The last thing you feel before the ground hits you is a burning hot pain in your stomach where a sword had run you through, your mouth opening in a small ‘oh’. The last thing you hear is a familiar voice screaming out your name, filled with anxiety and fear. The last thing you think about is how Astarion would react when he saw your body. Would he mourn? Would he continue on with his life as though nothing had happened? You hoped that he would find the strength to carry on and become his own person, unafraid of others. With the last of your strength, you try to search for his face, wanting to see the vampire you had fallen hard for one last time, but darkness claims you before your eyes can lock with his.

“Y/N!”

The first thing you feel when you wake up is the coldness of someone’s hand tightly wrapped around yours. The first thing you hear is the soft whisper of his voice telling you that you’re safe, that he’s right here with you, sending waves of reassurance through you. The first thing you think about is whether you’re in heaven or hell, but that wouldn’t make sense since Astarion was here. You were pretty sure you died or something when that sword ran you through.

“Y/N.” You look up into ruby red eyes filled with concern.

“Star.” The word catches in your dry throat, sending you into a coughing fit. Astarion quickly hands you some water and makes sure you finish it all before speaking again.

“Where are we?” You rasp.

“At camp, darling. Don’t you worry,” he presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

“The goblins –”

“All take care of, dearest!” He chirps, far too chipper for your liking.

“Astarion, what happened to me?” The smile falls from his face, ruby red eyes downcast. He stares at the bedroll you’re lying on, playing with the cloth of his tunic before looking back up at you, his smile no longer reaching his eyes.

“Nothing Shadowheart couldn’t fix.” The smile is plastered to his face, a facade perfected over the course of almost 200 years but you see right through it immediately.

“Did I die?” You decide to go straight to the point.

“Well, I don’t believe I’m dead dead so I doubt you’d be seeing me if you were in the afterlife,” he gives a hollow laugh.

“Astarion,” you frown. “You don’t have to fake anything around me, I won’t hurt you.”

His face falls, his genuine feelings shining through at your words and you automatically reach out but he pulls away to compose himself. He fears he will simply break down if you were to hold him right there and then, giving you more problems. He’s on the cusp of baring himself to you, and the very thought scares him. He searches your face, looking for signs that you will tear him down after he’s shown how vulnerable he is but as per usual, finds nothing. The nagging voice in his head, however, says otherwise and he’s torn between trusting you and trusting that voice.

“If it’s too much for you, you don’t have to say anything. I’m just worried about you bottling it all up, I don’t want to see you suffer.” You force yourself to sit up despite the sharp pain the action brings, schooling your face to ensure Astarion doesn’t notice the pain you’re feeling. He’s already struggling with his own emotions, you don’t want to add to his burden.

“I thought you were dead.” The words leave his lips in a whisper. “I was afraid, far more afraid than I’ve ever been. Your barely conscious body scared me far more than Cazador ever could. You were lying so still with that damn sword sticking out of you and all I could do was wish that you were still alive, still breathing as Shadowheart did everything she could to heal you.”

He squeezes your hand so tightly it begins to hurt, his bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it to stop the trembling. Astarion can feel tears pricking at the edges of his eyes, a lump swelling in his throat that he tries to choke down.

“Didn’t work for me,” you grin, pressing a kiss to his tear-stained cheek. “I’m right here, alive, and the goblin who tried to kill me is dead.”

He clutches at your sleeve, desperately hugging you as he inhales your scent and feels the warmth of your skin against his. You’re here, alive, warm. Your heart is beating, a steady thrum in your chest that fills his ears and reassures him that you’re safe.

“I’m sorry,” he presses his forehead against yours, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left your side, I should have been faster, I should have seen the attack coming.”

“I failed you.”

He shrinks at his words, body tensing up. Sharp nails dig into his palms as terror floods his mind. He failed you. You’d punish him for it, kick him out of the party, leave him to fend for himself. He can’t bear the thought of leaving your side, he can’t envision a future where you’re not there, lying right next to him as you hold him in your embrace. He doesn’t want to.

“My star,” you murmur, reaching out to wrap him in your arms despite the twinge of pain in your chest. You can feel him shaking and your heart shatters, an ache that is replaced by a wave of anger at Cazador for what he did to your lover. You nuzzle into his soft silver hair, pulling him close so that you can tuck him in your embrace. The pain from your stab wound is nothing, not when your beloved so clearly needs you right now.

“You didn’t fail me. I’m alive, you killed the goblin who attacked me, and you’re right here, by my side. That’s all I need.” Pressing your lips against the top of his head, you gently rub circles on his back all whilst cuddling him. He leans into your touch, gripping your shirt and curls against you, biting back his sobs. He’s supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around and yet here he is, getting all emotional while you console him.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you whisper, pressing comforting kisses all over his face. “I promise, I won’t leave or abandon you. You’ll always have a place with me.”

“You…mean it?” He hates how pathetic he sounds but the soft look in your eyes eases some of his worries. You look at him with such genuine love and care, eyes devoid of the lust he’s used to seeing in the prey he brought back for Cazador and devoid of the malice Cazador’s eyes always held. Your every touch is filled with gentleness and warmth, flooding him with a nice feeling he can’t quite describe, he only knows he can never get enough of it.

“Of course, Astarion. You’re my star, I’ll get lost without you.” If your younger self could see you right now, they would never believe their eyes. It wasn’t long ago when you would do anything to avoid physical contact, hissing whenever anyone brushed against you, even if by accident, and yet here you were, initiating a hug so tight that Astarion would have suffocated should he have needed to breathe.

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut, imprinting the feeling of your arms around him in his mind. He feels safe, loved, needed in your embrace.

“Promise me,” he chokes. “Promise me you’ll never put yourself in such danger again, innocents be damned. I don’t care what happens to anyone else, I just need you to be safe.”

“Then I’ll need you to continue fighting by my side to guard my back, don’t I?” You run your fingers through his hair, admiring how soft it is despite its owner clearly not having taken care of it in a good while.

“I suppose you do. After all, what will you ever do without me?” A hint of confidence floods back into him, a small smile playing on his lips. He gives you a grateful look, undead heart soaring at your declaration of your need for him.

“Hmm, I don’t ever want to find that out,” you give him a peck on the lips, “but I would like my star to at least clean himself up before cuddling with me any further.”

“Anything for my love,” he happily nuzzles you. “I’ll see you in a bit, Shadowheart should be here any time now to check up on you. After that I’m all yours.”

“And I’m all yours too,” you smile. “Now go.”

With one last kiss, he reluctantly leaves your side and you let out a sigh of relief. He was dealing with your near-death experience rather well considering how new he was to having someone to call his own.

“No more martyring then,” you chuckle to yourself, “not when there’s someone who cares so deeply about me.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance

[akindplace]

The thing about romanticizing the tortured artist trope is that it takes very serious health conditions, physical, mental, and emotional ones, and it turns it into a very empty aesthetic made for consumption. It takes a life story, and it turns it into a punch line, an easy way out to explain a lifelong struggle while having no regard for the person who actually lived it.

It’s a way of simplifying something so complex as a whole life story, take away the good parts, the artist’s talent, and atribute years and year of studying and practicing their craft to an illness. As if it makes people feel better that maybe they aren’t geniuses but at least they aren’t “insane”.

Artists are constantly working to the bone to get people to see and understand their art, to change the current status quo, to perfect their craft. The most important thing is not how an artist died. It’s the life they lived, the work they’ve left behind, their mark on the world. Reducing people to a tragedy is not a way of appreciating their genius: their art is.

No one is a genius because of their illness, their trauma, their suffering, but because they studied and worked hard to develop the aptitude they were born with. Talent is not a miracle, it’s a lifelong effort.

This stereotype is extremely harmful to people who are currently struggling with those health problems, and it should not be used to “give pain a meaning”, because there is always so much more to someone’s life than suffering, and there is always so much more to your own life than romanticizing your own struggles and those of others.

Pain is meant to be worked through, not fed. And when you feed yourself the myth that an artist was brilliant because they were sick, you are erasing a big part of their life to try and make sense of yours. But you won’t find true meaning in life if you’re only feeding your sorrow instead of maybe, just maybe, doing what those artists did and work through it with your own art.

A lot of them did not have any access to healthcare because their conditions were unknown, but they did what they could to keep going. Their deaths don’t mean they gave up in a big tragic ending, and reducing them to that means you’re erasing everything they did to keep going, every fight, every effort they put into their own health and into their life’s work.

I love impressionist art ever since I was in elementary school, my favorite artist being Vincent Van Gogh. I was first introduced to his story as a man who had a mental illness and died a tragic death, while struggling financially and never being recognized properly during his lifetime.

But you see, Vincent Van Gogh had his brother Theo, who kept all the letters his older brother sent him, and sent his brother words of admiration, support, and unconditional love in his own.

He helped Vincent financially so he could pursue his paiting career. He saw the talent in his own brother even when others might’ve not. The period when Vincent was doing a little better with his health was actually when he was most prolific in his painting, which shuts down the idea that someone must be on the gutter and on the deepest pain and sickness to produce great art.

Most people in really poor health have a hard time managing daily life, and they probably won’t miraculously produce their best work yet while they in extreme suffering (I dare you to make the greatest work of art you’re capable of while you’re down with the flu, now imagine being in constant physical, mental and emotional distress and people think you can just make just about anything). Great art takes a lot of work. Genius and suffering don’t go hand in hand, and it reductive to explain away talent by an illness, as if any effort artists put into their craft was meaningless.

Theo named his own son after his brother, and after Vicent died, he still wanted to make his work known, and after his own death, his wife Johanna kept working on Theo’s mission besides her own political activism. She published the letters between the two brothers, and her own son helped in making Van Gogh’s work even more well known. Even though he was just a baby when his uncle died, he kept his memory alive by founding a world famous museum in his name.

Vincent Van Gogh was able to keep working because he was helped by his own family, financially, emocionally, and was given every encouragement so he could go on with his own career. He painted more when he got medical help, even though in his own time he would have had access to much simpler treatments, since the understanding of illnesses has largely changed in the last centuries.

Healthcare, support, compassion and understanding go a long way, and that’s why it’s important to keep pushing society to be more inclusive to people with illnesses - so they will get the help they need, so they won’t leave earlier than they should.

Vincent Van Gogh’s name is not well known just because of his own efforts, but also by the efforts of those who loved him and kept his name alive long after he was gone. He is not famous because he was a tortured artist. He is famous because those who loved him tried to help him in the ways they could, even after he was gone. His fame is not the result of his death, but of his life’s work and the work of those around him.

Love made him known. Support allowed him to keep working. Getting some help even at a time people did not understand his condition well enough meant he could paint more.

Van Gogh was only human, and he felt such a broad spectrum of emotions and lived through so many things, just as we all do. Behind those paintings, there is a person, a story, and so much hard work, and none of that can be reduced to the romanticized ideal of a tragic death of a tortured man.

It is not about his pain, his suffering, his death, you see. It’s about his life. And it’s about the life of those who loved him. He was able to do what he loved because he was loved, and that is the reason is remembered to this day.

I will end this long post with one of his most famous quotes:

“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

#van gogh #theo van gogh #johanna van gogh-bonger #Vincent willem Van Gogh #on being human #on the tortured artist trope #original writing #on compassion #on art #on love

[mediumgayitalian]

The satellite dish at Camp Half-Blood would be better suited as a cereal bowl.

It hardly works. It catches a grand total of nineteen channels, twelve of which are news stations, and the final seven almost never have anything playing that’s actually worth watching. But the DVD player only ever works every third month, and the strawberry plants have to be watered, so on rainy days, the sixteen of them cram into the rec room of the Big House, organised, fight-reduction seating for as long as Nyssa can tiredly maintain it, and squabble over the remote.

“It’s my turn! Give it to me!”

“Quit whining you little twerp —”

“Will! Make her give me the remote!”

“Snitch! Snitch! Sherman, beat him up —”

Nico narrowly dodges Kayla’s dirty sneaker, sniggering to himself as Will and Sherman share, for perhaps the first time in either of their lives, an identical sigh of endless suffering, each grabbing one sibling and yanking backwards. They’ve really dug their claws in, so it takes a couple tries.

“Kayla,” Will warns, both hands clamped around her ankles, “if you don’t let go in three damn seconds —”

“Ellis sucks at picking channels!”

“Everybody sucks at picking channels! We got maybe four to choose from!”

“Seven,” correct several people at once.

Will rolls his eyes. “Forgive me. I forgot about the three toddler channels the rest of y’all babies are so enthralled by.”

“As if you don’t watch Sesame Street with as much childlike glee as the rest of us, Solace.”

“Can it, Diaz. Kayla, remove your nails from his face!”

A hand tugs on his sleeve. Nico glances over to find Austin’s big, pleading eyes, and since he is a massively weak loser, apparently, he sighs, mouth twitching when Austin wiggles happily, and plunges his hand into the nearest shadow.

He digs around for a second, trying to orient himself, and smirks when he sees his hand reappear across the couch, right in between Kayla and Ellis’ heads. He waits, watching for a break. Austin watches carefully next to him, hands still around his other wrist, and when the timing is right — a twitch in Kayla’s knee indicating an oncoming kick that even Will won’t be able to stop — he squeezes. Nico darts between them, snatching the remote for himself. He passes it to Austin with a wink. Austin points it to the TV immediately, clicking it to what everyone has aptly named the ‘Grandma Channel’ — twenty-four-seven footage of gardening set to quit jazz.

Thirteen groans — one cheer by Miranda, their lone ally — sound at once.

“You’re weak as all hell, di Angelo,” Billie informs him, obviously a fake gardener. Shame.

He makes a face at her.

Despite their troubles, the peace of the Grandma Channel does not last. In what can only be a coordinated attack, Nico and Austin are lulled into a false sense of security, entranced by a particularly satisfying timelapse of a grape vine, and when their guards are down, they are ambushed. With a deafening war cry, Harley is flung bodily on top of the two of them, landing with two gleeful elbows to Nico’s shoulder and Austin’s ribs, rendering them breathless and perhaps even close to death.

“No maiming,” Austin protests, wheezing.

“I’m telling Chiron,” Nico agrees, similarly struggling to reinflate his lungs. He glances at his medic boyfriend, also known as Judas, who only shrugs, smirking. His thumb is notably smeared with grease, a consequence of touching Harley no matter how many times Nyssa forces him to shower. Traitor. “No maiming is, like, the only rule here.”

Harley climbs off of them, elbows once again violating the rule on the way off. Nico actually feels his spleen compress into the size of an atom.

“Tough!”

The little twerp hands his prize to his big sister, who points it at the screen gracefully, as if she did not just use said brother as a weapon against two innocent people. Constantly innovative, those Hephaestus children.

Nyssa, on account of having hands like steel wires and a right hook that could make Muhammad Ali fall crying to his knees, is left peacefully alone with the remote. Nico glares at her, as he often does, with equal amount of hatred and awe. His emotions are widely replicated across the overstuffed couches.

She clicks rapidly through the channels, as she always does, fast enough that the sound echoes like static along with the rain.

breaking — jump! — traffic — learn — George — crayon — soil — sale —

She hardly rests in a channel for more than a second, cutting in the middle of sentences and even words, images flashing rapidly across the screen, swirling colour and skipping melodies, steadied by the roll of thunder, the patter of raindrops, the roar of wind and away of bending trees.

kids! — buy — gun — bridge — add — spade — colour — nine — east —

Austin sighs from beside him, sinking into the couch. Nico breaks away from the hypnosis for a moment to glance at the rest of the room and finds everyone else similarly entranced; eyes half-lidded and unfocused against the still-swirling TV, heads tilted back, curled into each other, limbs slow, fingers tapping quietly.

run — neat — rose — pasta — schools — closure — Sola — bumper —

“Wait,” Will murmurs.

gym — roll — climb — bush — accident — bud —

The old couches creak as Will shifts, Kayla pushed gently to the side as he moves forward.

“Nyssa, wait. Go back.”

The rain seems to mute itself. Nico is aware, quite suddenly, of the stiff set to Will’s spine, the odd quality of his voice. Nyssa, too, must recognize it, because she glances over at him, then slowly back to the TV, pressing the channel button once and setting the remote carefully on the coffee table in front of her.

No one grabs it.

“— terrible tragedy,” says a news anchor. “Unbelievably, really, Barbara, and something so sudden —”

“No,” Will says.

“Yes, Dave, always something you read about in old newspapers but never remember happens in real life —”

“No. No.”

He reaches for the remote but misses the first time, patting blindly on the table, and the second time, too, eyes glued to the bright screen. His hand scrabbles, nails digging on the old wood, increasingly desperately, but his eyes won’t move, face won’t pivot. Nico swallows, pushing back the sting of bile crawling slowly up his throat, the dullness in his ear, muffled like his ear is turned to a soundproofed wall. The hands he tells to reach over and hand the remote to Will don’t work.

“— almost makes me think of James Dean. That’s Naomi Solace, for those just tuning in, currently in critical condition from a head-on collision with a semi in Savannah, Georgia —”

Nico’s ears white out completely.

Will’s knees hit the floor.

———

next

#MORE IS COMING DO NOT LET ME FLAKE #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #camp half blood #solangelo #will solace angst #angst #emotional angst #my writing #fic #longpost

[eustasskidagenda]

First of all I really really really love ur writing

Can I request a fem reader dating law and they are like sleeping and law starts to have a really bad nightmare where he is hurting his s/or while sleeping? Like ALOT and she tries to walk him up but when she succeeded he already damaged her so much by accident? So he has her blood on his hands and stuff but he wakes up and he doesn't realise it so she just says u had a nightmare and tried to put him back to sleep while she is in pain

And she waits for him to sleep again to go out and treat her wounds BSc she doesn't want him to feel bad for hurting her

But while she is gone he walks up and the bed is empty and there's blood on him and the sheets so he gets out to search for her in panic and gets mad and feels bad etc

Angst angst angst tk fluff please

I love u so much

Hi sweetie! Tysm for your kind words! I love writing angst, but this one was quite a challenge, I had some struggles figuring out some things. But I hope the outcome will still match your expectations! And sorry it takes me some time for this one, I injured my back lately, I can't write for a long time. Anyway, tysm for requesting. ☆

☆Law having a nightmare where he's hurting his s/o

CW : f!reader, angst, hurt to comfort, blood, mention of bullet, spoiler if you haven't read/watched Law's flashback yet, violence, usage of DF 

WC : 1,9k

Low, peaceful breaths. Legs entwined. Your head resting against Law’s tattooed chest and the silence of the cold, starry night. What a rare and beautiful moment. Law often can't sleep. The second you fall asleep, he usually just sighs and sneaks out of the bed. But tonight, his nightmares remained trapped under the pillows, not in his mind. He is beautiful when he can finally be at peace. The tired and dark expression on his face has been gone for a few hours. In his sleep, he looks for your warm touch. Maybe his body is always cold, as his heart is always kept in a cage, but your body is keeping him just warm. That's what you're in his tortured mind; solar. 

He always finds solace in it.

Dark shadows. Screams of pain. Corazon falling on the ground. Bullet sound. 

The night was supposed to be peaceful. It was peaceful just a second ago! Why are those memories haunting his mind again? What has he done to always be harassed with the same dark thoughts? 

Scream. Corazon. Bullet. Scream. Corazon. Bullet. Again and again and again and a… it's endless. Trapped in his own mind, the world around him just disappears. It's just him, facing the ghosts of his past. That's what he gets for daring to fall asleep. How foolish he was to think that his nightmares would leave him alone, just for a few hours.

The shadows are following him in his gloomy, dark world. Why are they trying to kill him? He's not sick anymore. Corazon saved him. He has the right to live. Suddenly, an invisible hand grabs him and squeezes his throat. Tightly. Squirming on the bed, fighting against his own demons, Law breathes harshly. The real world is far away from his nightmares. All he can think about is this hand squeezing his throat. He can't even breathe anymore. But he can't die. Corazon saved his life. He died. Killed by his own brother.

Now, Law has to survive. That's his legacy. The Heart Pirates will beat loudly, etched in memories forever.

The shadows disappear suddenly, just as the squeezing sensation in his throat. A laugh echoes close to his ear. A large figure hovers over him. Pink feather coat, sunglasses, short blond hair, and big, fidgety hands, ready to steal his life again. 

It's him. 

Doflamingo. 

He wants to kill him and steal his fruit. The one that Corazon robbed. No. Law won't let that bastard destroy the sacrifice made by Corazon. Law ferociously punches that damned heavenly demon right in its nose. Maybe he's a doctor, but he can't let this man live. 

All he wants is to make him suffer. 

To make him pay.

So he punches. Again and again. The only thing he can hear is Doflamingo laughing, as he always does, with his sinister, cold grin. "Just die," he shouts, his voice thick with anger and distress. The reality has vanished in his world of suffering. So he fights back. Harder. 

"Law, wake up!" Why the hell is Doflamingo talking with your voice? Is this a fresh trap? This man is the master of manipulation. He can't be tricked again. "Law, please wake up and stay with me!" That soothing hand on his cheek is so soothing. Heavenly soft. Sweat drips down his forehead as he breathes harshly. 

Doflamingo's silhouette fades away as soon as he opens his eyes. "Y/n-ya?" He tries to reach for your cheek in the dark bedroom. That touch, that skin, that warmth. So it's really you. "What happened?" He asks, his voice slightly shaky. He tries to regain his composure, breathing harshly, his heart racing crazily in his chest. "Nothing. You just had a nightmares." 

Law notices a slight tremolo in your voice. "You're alright?" You just run your hand on his cheek. "Why are you asking me this? You're the one in pain. Just go back to sleep. I'm here. Nothing will happen. You're safe in this room." No, but that was too realistic. And he can't fall asleep right away. Not with a heart beating so loudly. Not with the rush of adrenaline. "Law, you have a lot of work tomorrow. Just try to sleep." 

He tried to sleep so many times. It was never successful. However, he lies back as you gently push him against the mattress with your hands on his chest. You gently rub your thumb against his sweaty forehead. With his jaw tensed, Law obeys and closes his eyes, doing as you say. But those dark memories are etched in his eyes. Whenever he tries to sleep, the figure of Doflamingo is painfully present. 

Bullet. Corazon. Sick people crying and begging for mercy. Again and again.

"Just sleep." You whisper, focused on him, only him, despite your own state of distress. You just hope he didn't notice the blood on his hands. The one that flows down your injured nose. It hurts. Mentally and physically. It's difficult to see him so tormented by his own thoughts. You can't let him see what he has done to you; he kicks you and almost strangles you. It wasn't him, right? Law would never lend a hand to you. He would never forgive himself if he found out. You have to preserve him. So you stay. Reassuring him until he finally closes his eyes, too exhausted to stay awake. 

But a few minutes later, he wakes up, his body cold just as your side of the bed. 

"Y/n-ya?" Where have you gone? Why did you leave him alone? Law grabs the candle lamp and the bedroom is lit by a dim light. There's blood on the bed. He doesn't panic at first. But he's confused because he knows your cycle perfectly, you are not supposed to be on your periods. Afterward, he glances downwards. 

Blood. On his hands.

"Y/n-ya?" He suddenly stands out and looks for you. The Polar Tang is not that big. At last, he finds you in the small bathroom, with a cloth on your injured nose. Law looks at his hands, then at your body. There's slight bruises on your skin. That skin he cherishes so much. "What happened?" He already knows the answer, yet he's hoping for a different outcome. "I just hit my nose by accident, don't you worry." 

You're really a bad liar. 

And then, he understands. That wasn't Doflamingo, but you all the time. At first, he can't even speak. He remains there, his mouth partially open and his eyes filled with guilt. As a doctor, he promised to himself to always protect the innocent. His hands exist to heal. Not hurt. Especially not you. You are his precious girlfriend, the one who takes care of him. What have he done to you? Maybe it was a nightmare, maybe it wasn't him, but the outcome is the same. You're in pain because of him.

"I…" he wants to soothe your pain, but he steps back.  What if he harm you again? He glances again at his shaky hands. There's blood on his tattooed fingers. He is disgusted by that sight. "Why didn't you tell me?" He wants to scream, to break something, but he's too confused by the red liquid on his tan skin. He reaches for the washstand and cleans his hands, watching the red turn pink. "You were already in pain" you whisper. "Damn, y/n-ya, look at you! You're bleeding because of me. I…" He struggles to speak in a clear manner. Law has always been logical, but right now he's acting impulsively and emotionally. "I'm so sorry…" tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. "Please… let me… help you…" he's afraid of frightening you. But you just nod and stop to hold the cloth against your nose. 

Law kneels in front of you, looking at your red skin, slight bruises here and there, slightly swollen lips, and broken nose. His hands are trembling. "Shit," he whispers to himself. He tries to inhale deeply. He needs to calm down before he can heal you. And right now, you really need some assistance. "Law, it's alright…" 

Of course, no, it's not okay! "You're in pain because of me, it's not alright!" Law utilizes his devil fruit to cure your broken nose. Gently, he forces you to throw your head back until the bleeding stops. "Wait a second," he whispers before reaching for a wet cloth. After removing all of the dry blood from your face, Law sighs, sits on the ground and remains silent. 

The guilt is harassing his poor mind. Now, when he closes his eyes, there's Doflamingo, Corazon, and his hands are full of your blood. This thought will never leave him alone. 

He's so unworthy. Despite his efforts, he still fails. Over and over. He failed to save his family. He failed to save Corazon. He failed. Again, and again. 

Failure.

"Law, don't overthink, I'm alright." You whisper and wrap your arms around him. Such an irony. You're the one in pain, but you're soothing him by gently running your hands through his hair. "I'm sorry," he repeats once more. "Law, just listen to me… it wasn't you" 

Perhaps, but it was his hands that did it anyway. Exhausted, tired and guilty, Law has lost all of his usual cold expressions. He never looked that fragile, human. You kiss him softly and lovely. Law struggles to kiss you back. He refuses to touch you because he fears hurting you again. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you.  I still love you. We'll get through it." Nervously, he bites his lips. "Are you still in pain?" His eyes are begging you to tell the truth. "I'm not, thanks to you." He exhales with relief. 

"You have to rest. Can you walk?" Even if you nod, Law carries you through the bedroom. He grits his teeth as he sees the blood on the bedsheets. "Wait" He just takes them off and redo the bed with fresh bedsheets. "Now, you can rest." 

While you lay on your bed, Law begins to back away, ready to run to his desk. Nevertheless, you grasp his hand. "Don't run away." You understand that he's simply trying to avoid you. An aloof person like him just doesn't know how to deal with that kind of thoughts. "… Y/n-ya" with a sigh, he complies. That's the least he can do. Law flinches as you lean your head against his tattooed chest, feeling tense and nervous. I have already forgiven you, Law. You have to forgive yourself." 

He simply mumbles. Of course, his tortured mind will never process that quickly. Fine. You'll wait. And you'll stay by his side. You will be the guardian of his peaceful nights. Slowly, you fall right back asleep. Law doesn't shut his eyes, not even for a moment. He stays here until sunrise and finally warms your face. When you wake up, he already left. But there's a fresh drink, some pills, and something to eat on the nightstand. And a short note.

'Please, come find me if you need something. And rest' 

Law is always busy all the day and almost all of the night. And then, he just allows you to 'disturb' him whenever you need him. You can't help but smile. For someone like Law, it's like reading 'I love you' 

Of course he loves you. 

After all, he is the captain of the Heart Pirates.

#one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece requests #law headcanons #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #heart pirates #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #trafalgar d law x you #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x you #law one piece

[remediesremedy]

hazbin hotel characters with a partner with mental health problems

GENDER NEUTRAL READER

WARNINGS: depictions of harm to self, drugs, alcohol, depression, anxiety, burns, crying, self deprecation, sad stuff but there’s lots of comfort and love.

features: lucifer, alastor, vox

comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated <3

LUCIFER

“and then she hugged me! Charlie actually hugged me, oh it felt so nice to see her smile and she was happy to see me. it was so awesome you should’ve been there to see it, and then there was this pesky radio dem-“ Lucifer paused mid sentence, the words that were about to spout from him abruptly stopped. the door he had just opened, inhabited a lump under the covers who hadn’t yet moved.

their shared bedroom had always had happy memories, but it seemed your mind had followed you home this time, and refused to let up on tormenting you behind the closed doors of your’s and lucifer’s residence.

“Love? has something happened?” The fallen angel whispered gently, moving forward to your side of the bed, peeling away the covers from your face to reveal dull eyes.

depression had followed you all throughout your time of being alive, and even with death it had stuck to you like glue, chains bound to you for eternity. As if being in hell wasn’t enough.

“Honey? can you look at me f’me please?” He rasped, a clawed hand cupping the full cheeks of your face, feeling the lack of warmth that rested beneath your skin. Lifeless eyes dragged themselves to gaze upon the king of hell, and they almost phased straight through him. “Oh sweetie.” his heart ached, he had been aware of everything about you when you were living, never bringing up how you died or what you suffered with. and he had no reason to, you hadn’t showed any signs of falling back into depression or struggling mentally, until now.

“I’m here, i’m here for you.” Lucifer mumbled as he scooted forward to place a tender kiss on your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then both your cheeks. “can i come into bed with you?”

a small nod, devoid of any energy.

Lucifer scrambled under the covers, immediately going to scoop his lover into his arms, his strength made it easy to manhandle you as tenderly as he could into a position where your head laid softly on his broad chest. “y’know.” the devil hummed, opting to stroke his partner’s hair, “out of the billions of years of being alive. i have never, ever met someone like you.”

as if by reflex, you had scoffed, almost turning your head away from him.

a part of him panicked, his hand stilling and dipping down until it cupped your chin. “i’m serious.” he had mumbled, quieter than before, before regaining his confidence. “after i fell, i found it hard to love things around me anymore. a part of me was lost in that garden, i- the point is, i met you and my heart.” he breathed a little laugh.

“oh my dear, my heart, it has never been fuller.” he admitted honestly, his hand moving once again to caress your skin, his fingers touched you like you were porcelain. a doll, precious and fragile, but he’d have you no other way. “you are the most wonderful being i have ever met, nothing could compare to you.”

tears that had been welling up began to shed, to unashamedly trickle down his face. “nothing.”

the hands that were drawn into your body to almost cradle yourself moved swiftly, they snaked around whatever they could get their fingers on and squeezed thrice, a simple indication of ‘i love you.’

things would be alright after all.

-is very caring during episodes, finds himself almost sick with worry the more you get worse or if you don’t get better

-helps you with cleaning yourself, brings you meals if you haven’t eaten for a while, cradles you at night.

-will hide away with you until you’re ready to go out anywhere. will chaperone you everywhere if he can, stick to you like glue, always has to be touching you in some sort of way to let you know he’s there

-tries to stay awake with you when insomnia hits you, reads to you, will even sing.

-if you can’t take care of your hygiene, he takes his time washing your hair, hands massaging your scalp, humming as he drags the faucet over your head to get the shampoo and conditioner out. puts on face masks with you, showers with you, even if he has to haul you up (it’s not much effort to carry you). he lathers you up and caresses every part of you, you are his everything. will just smother you in his deodorant, you smelling like him always eases his little protective brain for some reason.

-celebrates every good day with you, a part of him breaks when good days get fewer and far between. he fears losing you, or that you’ll never get better. but he doesn’t know that being with him grounds you more than he could ever know.

ALASTOR

“hey alastor!” Charlie itched to talk to the demon, something in her eyes gave him the impression that it was urgent. Her pale hands waved at him a little too aggressively for his liking.

something was up.

he did not like that one bit.

“Charlie! what can i do for you?” His smile stretched impossibly larger, an arm sweeping to courteously gesture for the princess of hell to continue talking. he fought the urge to grit and ground his teeth, anxiety was never one of his favourite emotions to experience, for others it was.

“Alastor! Hi! Hi.” Charlie jogged to him, standing in front of the demon with a little nervousness in her step. she cleared her throat before sighing, “look i just, i noticed something off about your partner today. i don’t think they’re doing okay, and i was worried and i thought you should know so that you would have a heads up-“

“thank you Charlie.” Alastor’s words came out borderline grateful, softer than his normally charring static voice. “is that all?”

“yes! i- uh, i hope they’re okay!” She beamed, lingering for a second longer than alastor liked before getting the message to leave. As soon as Charlie’s back was turned, Alastor phased through the floor, becoming one with the shadows, after a moment of plunging into an abyss, he rose back up from the depth into his room. Nothing seemed awry, until he picked up on the sound of the shower running, the water spewed out rhythmically.

and then the radio demon noticed the noise behind the water hitting the shower floor.

crying.

The buck’s whole body froze at the foreign sound, the sobs that wracked through the air caused his smile to instantly drop. Worry clouded his senses and without feeling it, his form expanded, antlers growing larger and sharper and his eyes shone bright as he all but busted through the bathroom door, scouring the place for you. “Dear?” his voice cracked, frenzied state shrinking to his normal size as he found you curled into a ball while water hit your back.

his hands itched to scoop you up and take you to bed, but he didn’t want to make you more upset.

you had looked at him with wobbly lips and swollen eyes, “don’t look at me.” you whimpered, a fresh set of tears crashing down your red face, “i’m disgusting, i’m ugly, i’m fucking putrid to see.” you had humourlessly laughed, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth before another sob was pulled from the depths of your chest.

for a second time, Alastor felt himself froze, conflicted with you insulting yourself. insulting his perfect partner. disgusting? absolutely not. ugly? what a lie. putrid? how far from the truth could you be?

his claws reached to envelop your body, he almost hissed at the temperature of the water, boiling hot, enough to burn. you had been sitting there, getting sprayed by alarmingly warm water. “come now.” he started, an unusually soft tone coming from him, “you’ll get hurt if you stay under that water my love.”

“that’s the point.” you mumbled, “maybe if i’m damaged enough on the outside you’ll see how ugly i am on the inside too.”

“nonsense.” Alastor cut through your speech with an edge of anger, without another word, the demon’s hands wrapped around you, dragging your sore body from the wrath of the water. “we are going to bed, yes? and you will tell me why you think this so horribly about yourself my dear.”

“what? why aren’t you yelling at me? why aren’t you telling me i’m right?” your voice began to raise, and your face, already branded with a waterfall of tears, housed some more, fat globs of tears raced down your cheeks. “why won’t you hate me like i hate me?”

“i could never see anything apart from perfection in you my darling.” the deer murmured honestly, shimmying a towel up and down your body as quickly as possible, he wanted to cradle you as soon as he could. “you are more than i deserve. i would do anything for you.” he finished drying your body, swiftly changing you into dry and warm clothes. “and doing anything for you, entails loving you when you can’t find it in yourself to do the same. my love for you will never simmer, or dull, or lose its intensity. it will never falter, not even for a second.” something cold was applied to the raw and sore skin that was affected by the water, a paste for healing supposedly.

“the moment i laid eyes on you, i promised to protect you.” the radio demon whispered, finally able to hold you properly. he pulled the covers up before sliding both of you in, absentmindedly he undid his suit buttons, letting the fluff of his chest puff out from under his dress shirt. he laid your head on his fur, content to have you smothered by him. “so let me protect you, let me help you fight these cruel thoughts.”

“i’m sorry Alastor, i’ll try be better.” you had mumbled guiltily, nudging into his fur defeatedly.

“no no darling, no apologies, no being ‘better’. be as you are, and let me fight these thoughts with you.” his head dipped down, a smile coating his features as he softly nipped at your neck.

an airy, wet laugh left you, “okay Alastor, okay okay! no apologies.” you had agreed, hands tightening around him in thanks.

but you didn’t need to thank him.

Alastor would do anything for you.

literally.

-unused to caring for someone, unused to love and relationships as a whole. had never had any interest until he had seen you, it had opened a casket full of emotions he wasn’t prepared for.

-when it comes to your hygiene and taking care of you when you can’t, he’s very methodical, brushing your teeth for exactly two minutes, washing your body and hair stiffly. overtime he does try and show his affection through touch more, enjoys cradling you, kisses anywhere he can get his mouth on, mostly chaste kisses, not fully comfortable with long kisses of any sort.

-enjoys massaging your scalp with his claws, how you’ll finally be able to sleep while he caters to you by caressing and stroking your skin or hair. if you wander outside of your shared room, he tries to be around as much as possible, always a hand on the small of your back or a watchful eye on you.

-gets his shadow forms to take care of you and check on you when he’s in the studio or busy. cooks for you everyday, will spoon feed you, even in bed (he’ll change the sheets the day after).

-sneakily gets you to do affirmations with him, makes you stand in front of a mirror with him and says what a great couple you guys look like. tells you that he loves you in front of the mirror while holding or stroking a different part of you each time. will begrudgingly do skin care and make you do it with him, after a while you begin to enjoy it and start just doing each other’s skin care in the mirror.

-sees you nothing short as perfect, even when you can’t get up or cry for hours or don’t want to eat, even when you give up and refuse to try anymore. he finds a way to motivate you and want to try again.

VOX

(disclaimer: getting tired around this point so writing from here on in may deteriorate or lessen in quality)

meetings had been long lately, plans for vox security were kickstarting. he was so busy and it was exhausting, news commercial here, press conference there, meeting here, new tv show there. Vox was tired and he missed you.

between all his schedule and stalking the radio demon unhealthily, it seemed he had almost forgotten about you, even though you flooded his mind at every instance.

he just hadn’t done a very good job at showing how much he had missed you these past few weeks. it left you in a state of loneliness you weren’t quite used to, eyes always trailing to the cameras around the building and in your room, but familiar light of Vox watching the cameras wasn’t there. he hadn’t been checking on in, maybe he didn’t even want to look at you.

self worth was at an all time low, and your anxiety had sky rocketed out of its temporary dormancy, coming back in tenfold. insecurities were on display more than ever, and Vox was nowhere to be seen, falling asleep at his desk or at Val’s and or Velvette’s place.

it was hard not to feel so utterly unwanted.

so you did what every other sinner would do, drink, go crazy on the town and snort some things you shouldn’t have. and at the end of the night, feverish and cold, shaky and nauseous, as you looked into a camera that belonged to vox security, the light didn’t flash on.

he wasn’t there. would he ever be again?

all the substances in your system caught up to you, your stomach began to bubble with pain and you no longer had it within you to keep up the charade that you were fine. you willed yourself to cry, to do something other than rot on the floor of an alleyway street, but no tears came.

instead blood trickled from out of your nose, a telltale sign that you had outdone yourself with whatever atrocities of chemicals you had put in your body. you threw your head back, an expression between a grimace and a smile graced your face, maybe if you fucked yourself up enough Vox would finally come back to you.

needles lay on the ground, no longer sterile but it did not matter. with already shaky hands you grasped one of them, putting it at an angle to inject, you brought it down and the moment it pierced your skin, a familiar hand pulled it straight out of you with a frenzied cry.

“what the fuck were you doing?!” Vox huffed, anger and concern battling to show through his words. worry etched into his features, but you didn’t manage to spot that, only the anger.

“i-i.” no words could come out, the blood from your nose congealed and dripped down onto your shirt, and the injection site pooled with crimson blood too. how could you explain to your partner that you had planned to completely self destruct in hopes he would care for you again?

“are you a fucking idiot? oh my fucking god you’re bleeding.” his palms glided across the blood on your nose and thigh, wiping it away on his skin, his lower lip trembled as he swore at you thoughtlessly. “do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” he bit back the yell, a sigh falling from his lips as he watched your expression morph from embarrassed to complete self hatred.

“i’m sorry, im so sorry.” you whispered, wanting nothing more than to be out of the way, “im sorry that im not good enough, ill be better, i promise, don’t leave me, don’t leave me-“

Vox’s heart, what was left of it, had shattered entirely at your words. regret punched him in the stomach, weeks of little attention and this is what he says in your darkest hour? “shh, shh, of course not, no, no, i would NEVER, never leave you.” his thumbs alternated between rubbing away your forming tears and beading blood.

“c’mere baby.” his voice cracked, he offered you his embrace silently. the look you gave him was utterly heartbreaking, doubtful that he would still love you, god, as if he could ever stop loving you. wordlessly you sank into him, trying to greedily cozy up into him as much as you could, to remember every inch of him. “please, forgive me.”

the words wouldn’t formulate, too drugged up and drunk to even respond, you slumped in his arms, barely able to blink. Suddenly fingers were pinching your cheeks, “hey, hey, don’t fall asleep, i need to make sure you’ll be alright.” he spoke softly, a complete contrast to before. “i’m so sorry, i should be the one saying sorry baby. i’m so stupid, mistreating my whole world.”

the more worked up and upset he got, the more static seeped into his voice. “i’m so sorry. so sorry babe. i haven’t been around and that’s unfair on you, ill book a few days off work okay? just me and you, and i promise ill make it up to you.” his head bowed down, nuzzling against you affectionately, “just stay awake f’me, we’ll get what’s out of your system, and ill make it all up to you, i promise.”

hearing his voice, feeling his touch was pure euphoria for you, a safe haven you had missed beyond anything. “anything for you Vox.”

-is a complete sweetheart, just struggles at first if you’ve done something harmful or destructive to yourself. anything he says in the moment is not thought about and is him panicking.

-makes it up to you every time, bubble baths, washing you and taking care of you like you’re his god. keeps a first aid kit on standby, one is in your room, other first aid kits in other areas of the building too. makes sure from then on in to reassure you, to let you know of his schedule, to bring you with him as much as he can. sometimes comes back from a meeting and just naps with you until he has another thing to do.

-cannot keep his hands off you, super touchy in public now, in meetings you’re new seat is his lap. will try to lessen his schedule more, will spend a lot of his time sleeping with you when you sleep a lot, you two fall asleep spooning or just completely intertwined.

-makes meals for you when he can, hires a personal chef to keep you fed when he’s working. makes a habit of checking his cameras in your shared room a lot more, doesn’t spend as much time infatuated with stalking the radio demon anymore, he’s better at figuring out his priorities now.

-kisses your knuckles when he comes back from work, and then kisses you properly, an intimate lip locking that won’t end until you get the point that he very much wants you. tries to work more remotely, practices affirmations with you and tries to work on his reactions to stressful scenarios so he doesn’t make you feel worse.

-work is important, power is important, but you are above them both, cherishes like you are the only thing to ever exist when you’re both together.

#imagines #x reader #fluff #lgbtq #anons are open #anons open #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin vox #hazbin charlie #angst #angst prompt #remediesremedy #author #fanfic #fanfiction #mental illness #angst with a happy ending #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x gn reader

[bettyfrommars]

Might be too much in line with I'm on fire.. but what about classic a classic motorcycle riding drifter.. that is more than meets the eye... maybe more monster than man and that's why he drifts... idk if that's enough maybe he's drifted into small town USA and he meets reader at like a Truckstop/ Diner that's across from the one hotel in town and over days of her waiting on him (EDS) they strike something up... spicy.. if you will.. maybe he finds her delectable and she finds him mysterious & charming idk just spit ballin

The Drifter

missed connections

out on the highway

monster!drifter!Eddie x dinerWaitress!Reader

18+ONLY, smut, blood, oral (f receiving), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, mention of physical abuse by an ex, mention of PTSD, emotional trauma, 2 lost souls finding each other, a killing, monsterfuqqing, but it’s also a really sweet, fluffy story if that makes sense. wc: 4.2

A/N: I was so excited to get this ask! I had to really pull back on the length of this story because I could've kept writing it forever and will most likely bring back Eddie The Drifter again in some oneshots. I did a quick re-read, but sometimes I just need to post these before I obsess over them for too long.

(Also, when Eddie is thinking about how "damaged" they both are, that is his perception, not mine. I think they are both perfect.)

Eddie had been drifting for a while.  He didn’t want to know anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to know him.  He hadn't been the same since the physical and emotional trauma he’d suffered in The Upside Down.  Steve took him by the arm once and told him he understood what he was going through—that they all understood—and that he wasn’t alone.  Eddie knew Steve and the rest meant well, but they couldn’t understand, and he was convinced no one ever would. Trauma affects everyone differently and for Eddie, it started to turn him into his father, and that was what scared him more than anything.  Dark and brooding with a short fuse, there was a beast living inside of him that had not been there before the ordeal with Vecna; or perhaps, it had just been sleeping.  

He lost his temper with Dustin once, and at the time, he thought he was having a very normal reaction to the situation.  It wasn’t until he recognized the fear in his younger friend’s eyes–the way he backed away from Eddie and put his hands up as if he needed to protect himself—that Eddie knew he had to go.  After years of silent struggle and becoming a hermit more and more, he decided to hit the road.  

He started out in his van, sleeping in it, getting odd jobs wherever he went, staying in town just long enough to make some money, and then he was in the wind again.  He called Wayne from payphones and sent postcards back home to Hawkins once in a while, but not often.  In his mind, they were better off without him.

The second year he was on the road, he ended up getting involved with a biker gang and doing some jobs for them that paid well but were on the wrong side of the law.  Before the Upside Down, he’d been more of a lover than a fighter.  Sure, he had to defend himself a few times, especially from his old man, and he never took shit from people without giving it back, but ever since he almost died, he’d acquired some type of superhuman strength.  There was a transformation that happened in him now, fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, and in the past decade, he’d been paid to hurt more people than he could count. The problem was—he’d started to like it. 

Eventually, he was able to trade in his van for a Harley FXS 80, and he carried most of his early possessions with him.  He put the rest of what he owned in a storage unit in Oregon, and he’d planned to circle back there again one of these days to get it all when he decided to settle down—but years later, he was still on the road.   He’d been using his bedroll to sleep out under the stars the past couple nights, but the clouds told him it was about to rain, and he decided he could use a shower and a real bed for the night.

Red River Junction was less than a dot on a map, a truck stop town with a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to pump your gas, set right plop in the middle of nowhere.  You’d grown up in a town not too far down the highway, and you were still there, in the same trailer your mother left to you when she passed.  You worked at both the Sundown Motel part-time, and at Margie’s Diner, and in your free time, you dreamed about leaving town and never coming back.  

You heard the rumble of his motorcycle before you saw it; chrome pipes growling to a stop as the rider found a place for his bike in the lot.  A motorcycle, or even an entire MC, pulling into the junction was nothing new.  You were the only stop for gas and food for a good fifty miles.

You were staring for so long out the window as he dismounted and took his helmet off, that you overflowed the coffee cup you were refilling and the elderly customer scoffed at you.  He had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail and bangs that had grown out just long enough to tuck behind his ears.  Black leather jacket, and leather chaps over his jeans. Your attention was immediately drawn to his jewelry: the small hoop piercing in his ear and the chunky rings across his knuckles.  My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels played softly from the jukebox while you made your way to the front to greet him.  The kitchen was slammed with only Big Joe behind the grill, and Leslie was the only other waitress, but she was on a smoke break.  

You fumbled the big plastic menu in your hand when he took his sunglasses off to nail you with those star-flecked eyes.  “Just one for lunch?”

He tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked around.  “You still serving breakfast?”

“All day long,” you assured him.  Seats at the counter were all full, so  you offered him a booth, and he slid in without another word or glance in your direction, taking the menu from you with a grunt. You tried not to stare at his scars: the angry, purple one on his neck, and the deep white slash across his chin.  His hands were also flecked with scar tissue from various fights, and punching through mirrors every time he hated his own reflection.

50 year old Leslie was tying her apron and chewing gum when you moved behind her to grab a cup and saucer for his coffee.  “Another grumpy one,” you whispered over the sound of clinking silverware and scattered conversations.  

Leslie raised her eyebrow a few times, resting her elbow on the counter.  “Hell, he can get grumpy with me any day.”

Eddie didn’t say much while you waited on him, and you didn’t think he was paying any attention to you, but he saw the way you splashed a bit of vodka into your soda can behind the counter.  He also caught the way you used that same liquid to toss back a couple pills you scooped out of your apron pocket just before you turned to grab some hot plates from the kitchen hatch.  He didn’t judge you for it or think it was odd being that he’d spent the past ten years trying to find ways to dull his pain.  

He thought you were too beautiful for this deadbeat town; too sweet, too kind.  He noticed the bruise on your forearm and the vacancy in your eyes and he felt an instant kinship with you: the damaged recognizing the damaged.  

When you came to clear his empty plate, he asked you if the Sundown Motel was a decent place to stay.  It was the only motel for miles and he didn’t care how decent it was, he just wanted a reason to keep talking to you.

“Sure, it’s great,” you shrugged.  “If you like bedbugs and carpets that look like a violent crime took place recently.”

He met your eyes, and there was a moment of levity there that lightened both of your spirits if only for that moment.  

“I’m cool with bedbugs,” he brushed his tongue between his lips.  “It gets lonely on the road, it’s nice to have some company.”

He told you his name was Eddie after he read yours off of your name tag, and when you came back from seating a table full of seniors who were on a bus tour to the casino, he was gone.

He left you a generous tip, though, and after hours of getting tipped in quarters and loose change, it felt good to have some solid cash in your pocket.  His motorcycle was gone too, and you wondered if he’d decided to hit the road or stay the night.  

You told yourself to forget about him, that he was just another drifter you’d never see again, but the evening had other plans for you.  

You were supposed to have the night off from both jobs, but Susan at the front desk of the motel begged you to come down and work the check-in desk for an hour while she went to pick her kid up.  You wished you could say you had some big plans, but that was absolutely not the case, and so you rolled your car up to the back lot behind the dumpsters and changed out of your orthopedic shoes and into something less drab.  

You thought it would be an easy hour to space off and read a book, but ten minutes after you clocked in, two guests locked themselves out of their room.  It was a two-tier motel, and as you made your way up the concrete steps with the husband and wife in question behind you, fumbling with the keys, you caught sight of Eddie a few rooms down, and your heart jumped into your throat.

He was sitting in the plastic chair in front of the door to his room, smoking a cigarette, stripped down to jeans and a wife-beater.  His hair was still wet from his shower, hanging down his shoulders, showcasing the patchwork of scars that covered his flesh.  

He didn’t make eye contact, but he saw you. In fact, he knew you were on your way a few minutes before that, because he heard your voice, and it made him stay and light another smoke.   He flicked his ash and waited for you to let the couple into their room.  

On your way back to the stairs, the soda and snack machine blocked your view, but once you rounded the corner, there he was again.  

“Is your room satisfactory, sir?” You put the keys in your pocket and stood tall, pretending to act professional.  

Eddie met your eyes then, staring up through his lashes, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk.  “Disappointed I haven’t found any bedbugs.”

You coughed a laugh, swaying on your feet.  “Give it time. They come out at dark.”

Eddie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’d also learned never to miss an opportunity with how transient his life was.  His attraction to you was not purely physical, which was a rare occurrence for him. 

He shifted in his seat, a silky curl of gray smoke passing from his lips.  “Are you free later tonight? Can I buy you dinner?”  

Suddenly shy and baffled as to why he’d have any interest, you lowered your chin and shuffled your foot. 

 “I-I’ve got a boyfriend,” you cringed as you said it.  Tony had cheated on you and left you more times than you could count.  He took off a couple days ago after he knocked you around, and you had no idea where he was, but you continued to hold onto this strange sense of loyalty for him.  Perhaps it was because you were convinced he was the best you could do.  

“Did the tough guy do that to your arm?” Eddie asked in a low mumble, his eyes lingering on your bruises.

You covered the marks with your other hand, reflexively.  “He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” you always felt like such an idiot when you defended that loser, but you didn’t know how to stop.  

“Well,” Eddie smashed the butt in the ashtray by his chair and stood up to full height. One nipple under his white tank was hard, but the other one seemed to be missing.  “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

You were too stupefied to move, you just stood there holding your arm, waiting for him to go back into his room.

But Eddie paused in the doorway and turned to give you one last look.  “You deserve a lot better, sweetheart. If he puts his hands on you while I’m around, I’ll fucking kill him.”

—------

You thought about Eddie’s words for the rest of your shift.  When it was over, you drove the ten miles back to your trailer, took a shower, and found yourself driving back to the motel, as if your will was no longer your own.  

“What are you even doing?” You hissed aloud to yourself as you parked behind the Sundown in your usual spot.  It was dusk now and you accepted the possibility that he’d probably invited a different woman out to dinner by then, but any amount of reasoning couldn’t stop you.  You checked the scene first, looking up from the main parking lot to catch the flicker of the tv in his room to let you know he was, indeed, still up there.  His motorcycle was safe in its place, too, and you realized you hadn’t even prepared what to say.  You were an anxious mess, but you were also hungry for him in a way that was foreign to you.  

You hadn’t known much comfort or safety in your life, but you felt those things when you were around Eddie.

After standing at his door for a good 5 minutes, you finally found the courage to knock.

Eddie opened the door while your knuckles were still on the wood.  His eyes looked you over, offering a buck of his chin in appreciation. “Well, well. You are a gorgeous bedbug.”

Your cheeks burned hot at the complement.  “I had some free time, so I thought I’d just check and see how you were doing, if you have everything you need.”

Eddie braced his shoulder against the door jam, giving you a squint. “So, you came to check on me while you’re off the clock? Damn, that is good service.”

You flexed your hands, forcing a laugh, trying your best not to just turn around and run away.

“Are you hungry?” Eddie raised an eyebrow.  “Do you want to come in? Cause we can —”

“I’m not hungry.” You answered, bolting inside of his room when he extended his arm as an invitation, before you lost your nerve.

“Neither am I,” Eddie agreed.  But, he was craving something else.  

He locked the deadbolt and made sure the curtains were closed.

—-----

There were very few words left to be spoken as your lips collided with his, meeting with equal levels of urgency.  You kept trying to kiss him deep and desperate while your hand palmed him through his jeans, but he held you off a bit with soft pressure.  He cupped your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb while he kissed you, giving individual attention to your top lip and then the bottom one.  He kissed down your neck, flicking his tongue out every so often to taste you, making you gasp—you’d never been worshiped with someone's mouth before.    

Breathing heavy, he started to unbutton your shirt.  “Is this okay?” He asked, wondering how far you wanted to take it.

“Yes,” you gulped.  “Please.”

Once you had his shirt off, you bent down to kiss and lick his scars—it was an unspoken act of acceptance that made Eddie’s cock twitch.  You weren’t used to being cared for in bed, and Eddie could tell by the way you hurried to push your jeans down and bend over so he could take you from behind.

“Not like that,” he whispered, using strong arms to lower you to the bed while he shimmied your jeans off.  He got on his knees and scooped up your hips, nudging your pussy through your underwear with his nose, and then he planted kisses across the wet spot and along your inner thigh.  The animal inside of him loved your scent; he wanted to bury himself in it, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him.  

You fell back on the bed and covered your face with one hand.  “Wait, I’m—not many people have done that—I’m not sure how to—”

Eddie finger pulled your underwear to one side, exposing your slippery lips for his tongue to flick.  “Do you want me to stop?”

You arched back at the sensation of his mouth on you.  “No, no, please don’t stop,” you urged, putting your hand on his head to gently cup his ear, the one with the silver hoop.  

He moved away just long enough to pull your underwear all the way down your legs and off, maintaining eye contact with you.  He didn’t rush, he took his time, and kissed his way back up your legs to the prize.  

The gentle and precise way he swirled his tongue on your clit had you stammering his name with a few curses in between.  As his attention to your bundle of nerves built your arousal and it spilled down your slit, he dove his mouth down a few times to taste it and drink you, shivering at the pleasure it gave him.  He couldn’t help it, he had to reach down to grab his cock so he could fist it while his mouth brought you closer.  The taste of your hormones in your slick had pre-cum wetting his tip already.  

Tony had only gone down on you a few times, and he never really seemed to enjoy it.  But Eddie was one of those who could eat a peach for hours, as they say.

“Right…there…” you hushed, startled as you felt the wave of an orgasm rise.  Eddie zeroed in on that spot with just the right pressure, fluttering his tongue as he sucked.  His other hand milked his cock in long strokes, taming the beast from cumming too soon, moaning warm breath against your cunt.

“Eddie!” You cried out just as the release took you and wracked your body, like a spring popping out of a tight coil, unraveling.  Eddie pressed his mouth closer to lap you up, feeling your body vibrate as he held your hip in place.

He only broke the seal made by his mouth once you were too sensitive, and your limbs dangled off the bed for a minute, unable to move. 

It didn’t take long for you to start coaxing him up on top of you, spreading your legs out, begging for him to be closer.  He met your kiss with deep, soul-searching need, and you whined at the sensation of his tip sliding up and down your slick.  But, then he hesitated, and pulled up to meet your eyes.

“Inside of me,” you begged, nodding.  “I need you inside of me.”

And yes, that was what Eddie wanted too, but now there was another problem.  

Eddie’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps outside the door.  He sniffed the air, trying to identify the presence.  He slid off of you and stood, watching the door while he pulled his jeans up and zipped his stiff, aching cock into place behind the denim.

Shuffling up onto your elbows, you were about to speak, to ask what was wrong, but Eddie silenced you with a finger to his lips.  He tossed your jeans over and motioned over his shoulder for you to put them on in the bathroom.

There was something about the whole situation, and Eddie’s sudden silence, that unnerved you, and so you scampered off the bed as quietly as you could and did as he asked.

There were no lights on in the room, except for the infomercial on the mute TV, but the bright moon illuminated the walkway outside enough for him to catch sight of someone pacing out there.  

Finally, there came a heavy knock and a voice.  

It was Tony, and he shouted your name.  “ARE YOU IN THERE? HUH? You fucking whore!”

You buttoned your jeans and all of the blood ran from your face.  Eddie turned his head to look at you.  The adrenaline of pure fear pumped through your body as you froze in place. 

Eddie put his hand out, motioning for you to stay right where you were, behind him.  

Tony pounded on the door again.  “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! One of my guys said he saw you go in here with some fucking dude.  IF YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE I’LL KILL YOU, you goddamn bitch!”

By “one of his guys” Tony meant one of the other drug dealers in town, who were generally crawling all over the motel, leeching off of the clientele.  Eddie looked deceptively calm as he stood at the end of the bed, breathing slow, and you walked over to grab his arm, to warn him that Tony was a crazy motherfucker, and you’d just go with him so Eddie wouldn’t get hurt.  

But Eddie motioned for you to hide, so you did.

“Hold up, man,” Eddie was moving now, heading to undo the deadbolt and you cringed, pushing back as tight as you could between the wall and the bathroom door.  

Once the door was unlocked, Tony stood there heaving, looking Eddie up and down.  Tony was big in a stocky way, but not big like Eddie, and he enjoyed that flash of fear that lit over his adversary’s eyes at first glance.  Sure, the guy had some obvious prison ink, but that didn’t mean shit to Eddie.  

“Where is she?” Tony demanded, pushing in.

“Where’s who, man?” Eddie was being so casual about it, and you were  trying not to scream.  

Eddie shut the door and quietly locked it behind him

Tony’s eyes darted around the room, and then he spun on his heel; his eyes were pinned and doped-out.  “Don’t act dumb, man.  My fucking girl.  Someone said they saw her come up here.”

Tony walked up to Eddie and started poking him in the chest.  “Tell me where that fucking whore is before I make you my bitch.”

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next—for the transformation and the carnage.  You witnessed it all through the crack in the bathroom door as if you were watching a horror movie. 

Eddie changed, in an instant; the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the teeth in his mouth turned jagged and sharp, and his eyes went completely black.  His massive, clawed hand wrapped around Tony’s throat, lifting him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground.

You muffle a scream with your hand, watching Tony gargle and spit, his limbs flailing.  

Eddie’s lips stretched to speak around his fangs.  “She’s not your girl anymore,” he growled.

Eddie strangled Tony with one hand  until he lost consciousness, and then he threw him to the bed like a rag doll, pouncing on top of him.  He proceeded to rip his throat open with his teeth; blood squirted on the wall and across the door where you were hiding, misting you in the face.  

When he was finished, you made your way out of the bathroom.

Eddie was still a monster as he got off the bed at the sight of your approach.  His clawed hands twitched at his sides, his hair dripped with blood, and his skin from nose to chest was bathed in crimson.  His black eyes assessed you, waiting for you to scream or try to run—-but you didn’t.

You got close enough to touch him, to run your hand up his chest to feel the blood between your fingers, and then brush some bloody hair behind his ear.

Eddie frowned, wondering why you weren’t afraid of him, wondering why your desire for him didn’t seem to falter.

You parted your lips, watching the red drool drip from his teeth.  “Are you okay?"

Your mouths found each other again, tasting the tang of your own blood as one of his fangs pricked your lip.  You each did frantic work of unzipping each other’s jeans as Eddie scooped you up to lay you on the floor.

While the last few pumps of blood shot from Tony’s artery, monster Eddie spilled his seed inside of you, throwing his head back with a howl.  

Now, there really had been a crime committed in that room, and Eddie would need to be on the road again, gone by daylight.  

Maybe this time, you’d be going with him.  

#Eddie Munson #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson monster #monster!Eddie #drifter!Eddie #requests #biker!Eddie #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #diner au #truckstop au

[life-at-hogwarts]

Crucio (Ominis x GN! reader) HURT/COMFORT

Pairing: Ominis x reader

Warnings: whump, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, alcohol

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: When you get trapped in Salazar Slytherin’s room of torture, Ominis is forced to relive past trauma. Not being able to bear hearing the sound of your screams he insists on taking your place. 

Authors note: This is the first fic I actually finished, hope you enjoy it. Might be a one shot, but I’m thinking about continuing the story.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back.

 “Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

---

“This is where she died. This is where we’ll die! I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!”  Ominis cried out, his voice unusually shrill. While you were searching for comforting things to say, Sebastian, who had been studying the door finally broke his silence. “I’m sorry about your aunt, Ominis. But I know how to get us out of here. It’s going to be difficult,” he murmured absentmindedly. Unlike his friend, the tall brunette did not seem to be bothered by the situation at all, which could only mean he had already come up with a plan.

“What do you mean you know how to get us out of here?” you asked.

“Look around. Tortured faces on the door and ‘Crucio’ etched into the stone. My guess is if we cast the Cruciatus curse the door will open. That’s why Noctua died - she had no one to cast the curse on. Ominis has the most experience with this. He should cast it. You seem to be in Ominis’ favor. Will you ask him about this?”

Knowing how insensitive Sebastian could be, you agreed and carefully approached Ominis, who was still anxiously pacing on the other side of the room. Before you could say anything, he blurted out, “I overheard you and Sebastian, and I won’t do it. The Cruciatus curse is pure torture - I would know.”

“Sebastian told me a little of what happened when you were young. It sounded as if you had no choice,” you replied, hoping he wouldn’t mind his friend sharing this with you. You still vividly remembered how badly he reacted to finding out you knew about the Undercroft. To your surprise, this time he didn’t even mention it. If anything, he seemed glad that he didn’t have to explain it to you himself.  

“One always has a choice. I’m as guilty as the worst of my family. Unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain and for that I shall never forgive myself. That spell is the reason I have no family left,” he exclaimed frantically.

“You’re not a bad person, Ominis. I know you. You are good. What happened was not your fault, do you hear me? You have to forgive yourself.”  

Ominis misty grey eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t make me do it. I can’t. I won’t,” he whimpered and covered his ears with his hands, as if to block out a noise only he could hear.  “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”

Shocked by his reaction you immediately started apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t even have asked. We will figure out another way, I promise,” you assured him, softly placing your hand on his arm. Seeing him this upset rattled you, and you wanted nothing more than give him a hug, but he pulled away and sat down on the floor, cradling his head and rocking back and forth. Unsure what to do you looked at Sebastian for help. He gestured with his head to come to him. You felt awful leaving Ominis like this but obeyed his bidding.

“I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ from Ominis. It’s up to us then. I can teach you Crucio or I can cast it on you.”

“You know how to cast Crucio? Why did you have me ask Ominis in the first place? You know how badly that spell messed him up!” you snapped at him, pointing at his friend who clearly was not doing well.

“I’m not sure I do. But I think I can cast it if I have to. It sure is a better option than dying in here,” Sebastian replied calmly. His composure was truly remarkable, and you were glad that at least one of you was keeping a cool head. Now it was your turn to do your part. You had already made the decision.

“Alright. But you must cast it. I could never bring myself to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian nodded and you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to brace yourself for what was coming next. When you opened them again the two of you exchanged a solemn look, and he pulled out his wand. Before he could open his mouth, Ominis had crossed the room, moving with the stealth and swiftness of a cat and grabbed Sebastian’s arm, forcing him to lower his wand.

“Cast it on me,” he demanded, his face an impenetrable mask.

“Ominis, no. He’ll cast it on me,” you protested but the blonde ignored you, standing his ground.

“Didn’t know you’re all so eager to be tortured,” Sebastian remarked dryly.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back. “Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

You recalled what Sebastian had told you earlier regarding Ominis’ experience with the curse. The thought of his family torturing him as a child, made your blood boil with anger, and now he had to go through it again.  Everything inside of you was screaming to take his place but you knew how stubborn he could be. You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but closed it again when you caught Sebastian quietly shaking his head to signal you that you should leave it alone. This way Ominis at least had some control over the situation. The tall brunette took the lead, by pointing his wand and preparing himself to cast the spell.

“Ready?” he asked, looking at Ominis grimly.

“I’m ready.”

Sebastian took a deep breath and his eyes darkened.

“Crucio.”

The second the spell hit him, Ominis groaned and doubled over in pain, his body twitching involuntarily as the curse shot through him in a bolt of cackling red light. The door seemed to feed off his pain, absorbing every single drop of it. You watched with tears in your eyes as he fell to his knees screaming out in agony. Ominis had been right. This was awful. The sounds he made vibrated through your entire body, making the hair on your neck stand up in terror.  Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop it, Sebastian.” you screamed hysterically, your voice breaking but he shook his head again. The door was not open yet. Not knowing what to do you threw yourself on the floor next to Ominis and took his hand, hoping it would give him some sort of comfort. His screaming had died down to a mere whimpering, which for some reason was even worse. You fought the urge to hold your ears to block out the awful sounds coming from the boy on the ground and held his hand even tighter. At last, the door started to melt away, giving way to the room behind it and Sebastian stopped the spell.

Ominis was on his side, his misty eyes staring into nothingness. “Ominis?” you asked carefully but he didn’t react. Sebastian joined you and kneeled next to his other side, checking on his friend. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?” When this too was met with silence you exchanged a worried look with Sebastian. You had both heard the horror stories of people being driven mad by the curse. “Ominis. Say something.” After another 30 seconds that felt like an eternity, he opened his mouth and whispered, “I’m fine.” Slowly, he sat up and a small sob escaped your lips. He was a mess. His face was wet with tears, his hair disheveled and robes covered in dirt. “Don’t scare us like that,” Sebastian grumbled and roughly patted his friend’s shoulder, before getting up and glancing through the doorway. “You have to see this! We made it. We found Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium.”

Still in shock, you watched Sebastian disappear into the other room, leaving you alone with Ominis. For a moment, you sat in silence, both trying to process what just happened. “Are you really alright?” you asked, even though you could already guess the answer. He most definitely did not look okay. In fact, you had never seen him in such a state before. He was there but not really present. The confident, sassy Slytherin you had gotten to know and love was gone, his body an empty shell. It was like he was trapped in his own dimension of hell, having to relive the torture he went through as a child. He flinched when your question brought him back to reality, then slowly turned his head to face you, “Not really. You?” “Not really.”

You fell into each other’s arms, desperately holding on to each other, trying to find comfort in the warmth of the embrace. You felt his body relax against yours and leaned into him, even more. A stifled sob escaped his mouth, and he buried his head in your shoulder. Following his example, you let your tears flow freely. The sound of his screams still rang in your ears. The sheer agony in his voice was the worst thing you’ve ever heard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your head. You needed him as much as he needed you. His arms wrapped around you, holding on to you as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You let your fingers run through his hair and pressed your face into his neck, inhaling the sweet scent of his shampoo. Your touch seemed to have a calming effect on him, his breathing slowed down and his grip on you weakened. “You’re okay,” you murmured over and over again, like a mantra, unsure if you were saying this to soothe him or yourself. Slowly, the chaos in your head started to ebb down. It was impossible to tell if you stayed like this for minutes or hours but neither of you was ready to let go. Finally, Ominis tightened his grip on you once more before breaking away.

For a moment you looked at each other in awkward silence, both unsure what to say after the intimate moment you had just shared. “Ominis…” you started but he interrupted you. “I don’t want to talk about it. For now, let’s focus on getting out of here.”

With one swift movement he got up and elegantly offered you his hand. A gentleman as always. Glad, that he seemed to be back to his old self again, you let him help you up. After dusting himself off, he took the lead and walked towards the entrance of the scriptorium, with you following close behind. All of a sudden, your gaze fell on the pile of bones in the corner, and you froze. “What’s wrong?” Ominis asked, his voice full of concern. “Your aunt. Her…remains are right behind you.” “Oh.” You guided his hand towards the spot so that he could see it with his wand, watching his face closely for his reaction but he remained expressionless. Then he quietly asked, “Would you mind giving me a minute alone?” It broke your heart how much pain he had to endure in one single night, and you squeezed his arm reassuringly before stepping through the doorway.

When you entered the scriptorium, you were greeted by Sebastian, who seemed to be completely oblivious to what just happened. “What is taking you guys so long? Come take a look at what I found. Slytherin’s spell book. I have only browsed but it looks promising. I think this could be the key to curing Anne.” His eyes sparkled with excitement when he showed you the old dusty tome with Slytherin’s initials on the front.

“That’s great news Sebastian,” you replied, forcing yourself to give him a smile. Of course, you were happy that there was new hope for curing Anne, but the price for this book had been high and Ominis was the one who had had to pay it. Sebastian didn’t notice and enthusiastically continued talking while he showed you around the scriptorium.

“This room is amazing. I could spend hours and hours rummaging through all of these books.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s with the sour face? Ominis is fine, isn’t he?” he grumpily asked, as he turned around to look for his friend, who was nowhere to be seen.

“No. And neither am I. I want to leave. You got what you came here for.” It wasn’t your way to be so cross with him, but you were still on edge and desperately wanted to get away from this place, that was practically vibrating with dark magic.

Sebastian looked at you with a mixture of confusion and defiance. “You can’t be serious? There is still so much to explore.” You let out a deep sigh and prepared to argue, when Ominis appeared at the foot of the stairs, joining in on the conversation. “I agree. Let’s get out of here.” His voice was calm and authoritative, leaving no room for debate. In one hand, he held his wand, the other was clutching a gigantic vase. You furrowed your brows in confusion before you realized what he had been doing while you and Sebastian had been talking. “Is that…?”

“I am going to take her with me. Give her a proper burial.”

Finally, understanding dawned in Sebastian’s face and he gave in, waiting for you to take the vase from Ominis before gesturing to follow him. The exit was hidden in an eerie looking statue of Salazar Slytherin’s face with a snake coming out of its mouth. Sebastian stepped forward and tapped the snake’s head with his wand, causing the statue to rotate and reveal a platform of sorts. “After you.” A few minutes later, when all of you were back in the Slytherin dungeon, Sebastian spoke up. “About your aunt Ominis -”

“Please, Sebastian. All I want is for you to swear never to engage in anything to do with dark magic ever again. You almost got us all killed tonight, with your stupid obsession with the scriptorium.”

“We are so close to curing Anne. I found Slytherin’s spell book in the scriptorium, and I think I saw something that could be useful….”

Ominis face crumpled with pain and disappointment. His best friend truly did not care about anything other than his search for a cure. He turned away from Sebastian, who was still rambling on about some spell he had found. When he noticed that Ominis wasn’t listening he snapped at him, “Why are you not happy for me? I thought you cared about my sister.”

After a long, tiring night, you’d had enough of his selfish behavior and stepped in.

„I know how important finding a cure for Anne is to you, but right now this is about Ominis. We put him through hell tonight, do you understand that? He has every right to be angry at you. You keep putting yourself before everyone else and completely ignore the wreckage you leave in your path.”

Sebastian glared at you, ready to retaliate. “Why isn’t he angry at you then? After all, you convinced him to go in there.”

“I’m sure he is, and he is right to be. Tonight was a mistake. Now take this and find a place to hide it for tonight. It’s the least you can do. Tomorrow we will decide what to do with it. I’m taking Ominis home.” You handed him the vase with Noctua’s remains and held his angry gaze.

“He can find his own way back to the dorms you know. He’s not helpless.”

“Of course he can. I just don’t want him to be alone right now.”

With that you turned around and demonstratively took Ominis hand, interlocking your fingers with his. “Let’s go.” You felt his surprise, but he went along with it and didn’t pull away. Usually, he hated it when people tried to help him in any sort of way, and you almost expected him to snap at you but tonight he was tame as a kitten, letting you lead him down the corridor, away from a fuming Sebastian. He too seemed to be too tired to argue. The sound of your steps echoed through the empty corridors as you walked in silence. When you stopped in front of the entrance of the Slytherin dorms, you waited for him to take charge and decide whether or not he wanted to invite you into their common room. He didn’t let go of your hand when he spoke the password and the gigantic snake revealed the door. After a few seconds of hesitation, he stepped forward, gently pulling you with him and you followed.

You had been here quite a few times with Sebastian, still the elegance and grandeur of the Slytherin common room never ceased to amaze you. The room was filled with eerie greenish light leaking from the windows showing the depths of the black lake. The only sound was the gentle cackle of wood being devoured by the flames. You followed Ominis, or rather let him guide you, to a sofa right in front of the big windows that faced the water. Only then did he let go of your hand and slumped into the soft pillows. You awkwardly waited a few moments before sitting down yourself. Ominis rubbed his face and sighed wearily, “I don’t need you to stand up for me.”

“I know. I just wanted to make it clear to him how wrong his behavior was tonight. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I should have never asked you to show us the entrance. This is my fault.”

“I appreciate that. I have already forgiven you. Everybody makes mistakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that Ominis was usually not one to hold back his anger when someone screwed up. His tongue was as sharp as his wits and not something to be messed with, as you knew from firsthand experience. Tonight, he was oddly calm, it was almost unsettling.

“Yeah, but mine almost got us killed.”

“You know me. I’m a thrill seeker,” he replied dryly, making you snort with laughter. Amused by this, Ominis too started giggling and you laughed even harder. It probably was the adrenaline, but you could not stop laughing, both of you cackling hysterically like maniacs. It took you some time to calm down, but the laughter had helped dissolve some of the stress and you felt a little better.

“Glad you have your sense of humor back. Seriously though, are you going to be okay?” you asked solemnly.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you, silly. You have been through a lot tonight.”

“Please don’t. I can’t…I can’t talk about it,” he whispered, and his entire body stiffened. Trying to hide how much this affected him he dug his nails into the palms of his trembling hands and avoided your gaze.

“That’s alright. Just know, if you do need to talk, I’m here for you,” you replied softly and placed a hand on his outstretched leg. By now you understood that physical touch had a calming effect on him. It was odd, since he was a very withdrawn person, not like Sebastian, who was rather touchy and comfortable with physical proximity. Ominis was a proper gentleman, always keeping his distance, never intruding your personal space. Yet tonight he really seemed to need the intimacy of human touch.

“There should be some firewhiskey in the globe behind us, would you mind getting it?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m inviting you to join me for a nightcap.”

“Well, if you put it like that, how could I resist?” you chuckled and got up.

As promised, when you opened the globe, you found an almost full bottle of firewhiskey. You waved the bottle in the air letting the liquid slosh loudly against the glass, to let him know about your find and returned to the sofa, but it was empty. Ominis had made himself comfortable on the floor in front of it, resting his arms on the seat. Following his example, you sat down next to him on the soft carpet and handed him the bottle. He took a deep swig of the bronze liquid and passed it on to you. You took a small sip and coughed, quickly handing it back to Ominis. After another few sips he broke the silence.

“Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because I care about you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Too tired to talk, you reached for his hand, and he took it. The way his fingers wrapped around yours ever so gently felt like the most natural thing in the world and you felt the urge to never let go of his hand again. For a while you sat in silence, quietly passing the whiskey back and forth, then Ominis spoke up again.

“You know why I like to sit here so much?” He paused for a moment to look at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze. For a moment you got lost in the reflection of the lake in his milky grey eyes. “Because I like the way, the water breaks the light. I can see light and shadow, you know? When I watch the lake, the light is dancing.”

“That sounds beautiful. Tell me about it.”

“It dances with the rhythm of the waves. It’s so soothing it’s like listening to a lullaby. Sometimes, when it’s stormy it gets really fast and erratic, it’s like I can see the thunderstorm.”

Slowly but surely the alcohol was taking effect and he was struggling to stay awake. He rested his head on your shoulder and asked, “Can we just sit here and watch them for a while?" already starting to slur his words a little.

“Ominis?”

“Mhm?”

“Never scare me like that again.”

Instead of answering he nestled his face into your neck and sighed. You rested your head on his and listened to his breathing slow down as he started to fall asleep, still not letting go of your hand. You smiled at his cute little snores before you too drifted off to sleep.

#ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #ominis x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian x ominis #hogwarts legacy ominis #hogwarts legacy imagine #whump fic #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #hogwarts imagine #ominis x you #hogwarts legacy mc #garreth weasley #hp fandom #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hp fanfic #fanfic #hogwarts is my home #slytherin

[futureman]

living in a state of dreaming

summary: it’s been a year since you, joel, and ellie returned to jackson, and you’re finally starting to feel a sense of security. but when the sun goes down and joel closes his eyes, the horrors beyond the walls still hunt him, out to take back the family he’s worked so hard to protect.

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: hurt/comfort (mostly comfort), nightmares, sleepwalker!joel, language, minor injury, mention of panic attacks, ellie struggles, post-season one

word count: 1.5k

a/n: inspired by my own sleepwalking adventures :') i've loved tlou since the first game came out, but the hbo show really made me wanna start writing again, so this is my first fic here! thoughts and feedback are super welcome and appreciated! 💕

“You still mumble in your sleep,” she says, worry lines marring her face as Joel shoots up and off the couch. His eyes are much too alert for someone who was dead asleep moments before. 

You meet Ellie’s gaze from across the room, her concern mirrored in your own. Joel had always suffered from nightmares, for as long as you’d known him, but it was so much worse now. Of course, Ellie notices. She may have moved into her own space out back, but she still watches Joel like a hawk, a side-effect of traveling together, of looking out for each other for as long as they had.

You can’t even begin to pinpoint the cause. Sure, he hadn’t loosened up much since your little group arrived in Jackson—he was still Joel, after all—but it had been a year. Ellie was safe, you were safe, and the delusion that nothing could ever harm you again was almost believable. 

But still, there he was every night, tossing and turning, mumbling evolving into screaming as he reached out for you in the dark. 

You do what you can, but your presence alone isn’t enough. You hold him in your arms, the warmth of his back against your chest a reminder that he's still here with you. "Joeljoeljoel," you murmur into his hair. He smells like suede and wood oil, and you squeeze him a little tighter. "I'm here, see? Go back to sleep, we're safe. Nothing here but you and me." 

He’s still trembling, but you can feel his heart rate calming. Just a brief respite until the monsters come for him again.

For a while, Joel tried not sleeping at all. He occupied his nights woodworking, your home slowly filling up with small statues of animals and cowboys, neatly sanded and coated in a fresh stain. He’d let the bite of guitar strings on his calloused fingertips distract him from the burning behind his eyes, the headache blooming in his temples. 

This isn’t sustainable and you both know it. But he’ll keep going, excuses falling from his lips that you and Ellie pretend to believe.

There’s not enough time in the day, he’d say. How do you expect me to finish fixin’ Ellie’s guitar, I made her a promise.

Ellie smiles for him, treads lightly as if she’s dealing with a child, and you think it’s probably a habit she picked up from the little time she had with Tess. It’s okay, Joel, there’s plenty of time for you to teach me. We’ve got forever, and she means it.

Ellie catches you before your shift one morning, her small hand circling your wrist. 

“We should probably talk about Joel,” she lets go and wraps her arms around herself like she always does when she’s upset. You let out a sigh and it feels like you’ve been holding it in for days. She shouldn’t have to worry about things like this. Joel would be furious with himself if he knew.

“Something’s freaking him out. I dunno, maybe you should ask him about it?” She sounds frantic now. “I mean, what if he starts getting those panic-things again and can’t breathe, or he has a fuckin’ heart attack and dies?” You do your best to reassure her.

“Kiddo, I promise he’s not going to die,” your thumb smooths the wrinkle in her brow. “I think he’s just been through a lot. We all have.” Ellie doesn’t look like she believes you; she wants a better answer than that.

“...Do you still get nightmares?”

Your mouth tips down and you glance away. The front door is open and the chill of the air makes you shiver. 

“Yeah, I do. But when I wake up, I know they can’t hurt me anymore,” you reply. She must still have them too, after the horrors she’s seen and lived. So much and yet so little time has passed, but Ellie’s scars are healing. 

The friends she’s made here make her smile and she laughs more. Her cheeks are fuller and her eyes are less clouded. But scars never fade completely.

She nods stiffly.

“I’ll talk to him, see if something happened.” You hug her and she thaws just a little. Ellie hasn’t really warmed up to physical affection, and you won’t push it. But sometimes she welcomes it when she needs the comfort.

“It wasn’t like this out there, I-...I don’t know,” you continue. “I don’t know what changed, but we’ll figure it out.”

You don’t, and it escalates.

Sunday is the first day Joel sleepwalks. He wakes up halfway out of bed, his foot catching on the sharp, wooden bed frame—the one he built himself, close to the ground just like you wanted—and he can feel the skin of his ankle twisting and tearing. 

He catches himself before he can crash to the ground and you’re on him in an instant. “Christ, Joel, are you okay?” 

“S’nothin’,” he grumbles, bleary-eyed and dazed. You move to check the damage to his foot and he swats your hands away, which doesn’t surprise you at all, but hurts nonetheless. 

The few times he let you patch him up were less a choice than a necessity, to say the least. A memory of Ellie with a syringe of penicillin, and you with a roll of duct tape and the cleanest rag you could find comes to mind, and so you let him go. “I got it, jus’ go back to sleep. Sorry for wakin’ you.” 

The door to the bathroom closes and you follow behind, resting your head softly on the door. It’ll get better soon, you tell yourself. It’s getting colder, winter’s on its way, and Joel’s just stressed about sorting out patrol duties; infected are more unpredictable this time of year. Once Tommy and his crew are back from the dam, it’ll be better.  

On Wednesday, his eyes are vacant as he grabs for the doorknob leading out of your bedroom, but it's gone, stolen away in the dark. He pounds his fists against the wood, desperately fitting his fingers in the gap between the door and the frame in a futile attempt to pry it open. 

You don’t fully comprehend what’s happening until the yelling starts, low grunts becoming frantic pleas. He’s calling out for you, for Ellie.

The lights flicker on, enough to make him aware of his surroundings, of reality. Joel’s chest is heaving, eyes sad as your hands take his, leading him back to bed.

It's Saturday when the front door slams open, startling you awake too early in the morning. The other side of the bed is still warm, frighteningly so, as your hand slams down on the sweat-dampened sheets where Joel should be. 

You’re too late to stop him from running out of the house into the cold, barefoot in the snow, as if something was chasing after him.

Joel can feel his heart pounding in his chest, hear the blood rushing in his ears like white noise, and he can’t seem to draw in enough air. He can't remember what he was running from, but its eyes in the shadows still haunt him. It’s all too much and his body finally reaches its breaking point.

It’s a terrifying sight, Joel dropping to his knees. His eyes are blank and he’s gone so, so quiet.

“Joel, please. You have to tell me what to do, tell me how to help you.” Resisting the urge to shake him feels so hard, but you have no idea how else you’re supposed to bring him back from this. He’s sinking into himself, hands tensing and untensing as he battles the urge to fight. 

You wonder if he can even hear you. 

The commotion hasn’t woken Ellie up, and you’re grateful. You don’t want her to see him like this.

“I let my guard down,” his gravelly voice catches you off guard. “This place is makin’ me weak.” Joel’s eyes are wet and your heart shatters. “Once you stop moving, it hits you all at once. The adrenaline’s gone, there’s no gettin’ it back.” His eyes find yours, and you’re frozen. “The fuck am I supposed to protect you like this?”

You sink to the ground to wrap your arms around him and the snow burns as it seeps through your threadbare pajama pants.

“There’s nothing coming for us, the Fireflies are gone. We got her back, okay? She’s ours now,” you murmur, words gentle even as you grip him tight, tethering him to right now. “And sometimes you have to let me protect you. Even from yourself, especially from yourself. That’s what we do, we keep each other going.”

Joel slumps, exhausted. His forehead drops to yours and his nose is cold as it bumps your own, breath warm and humid in contrast. 

“Trust us,” you hum against his lips, and the remaining tension leaves his body.

It’s not enough to stop the nightmares; they’ll never stop. But it’s enough for tonight. And when the monsters come again, you’ll be there to turn on the light.

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller

[blueskittlesart]

maybe this is a kind of obvious answer but can you talk about the symbolism of the silent princess flower in botw?

YEAH. i can <3 <3 <3 <3

so the silent princess. this flower which is so pervasive as a symbol throughout this game. most of what we are told about it comes directly from zelda in the memory where she talks about it. in the english version of the game, she says "This one here is called the silent princess. It's a rare, endangered species. Despite our efforts, we can't get them to grow domestically yet. The princess can only thrive out here in the wild. All that we can hope... is that the species will be strong enough to prosper, on its own." in japanese, she (more or less) says, "this is... it's called the silent princess, and it's an endangered flower. I started artificial cultivation [of the silent princess] a while ago, but it's not going well. it's... a princess that might become extinct." that discrepancy is interesting, i think, with the english version being altered to give zelda a slightly more hopeful outlook on the fate of the flower, musing about its potential for survival instead of thinking more negatively about the prospect of its extinction.

So. the flower's actual symbolism. It's honestly kind of heavyhanded imo, but sometimes a heavyhanded symbol still works really well. consider the flower's name, the "silent princess." consider, then, the two characters who are most obviously tied to it--zelda, the princess, who is actually named in the flower's compendium description, and link, the silent knight who seems to find the flower at every important location throughout his journey. On a certain level, the flower is representative of these characters, hence why its name evokes aspects of both of them. more specifically, though, the flower is representative of the internal struggle these two characters undergo as pieces of the bigger puzzle that is the calamity.

both zelda and link suffer "in captivity" as zelda puts it--they find themselves struggling under the weight of their destinies, zelda unable to perform to the standards of her father, link terrified to fall short of the kingdom's expectations. neither of them are able to reach their full potential when "cultivated artificially" as it were; link is mute and subdued, never showing even the slightest hint of his true personality underneath the hardened exterior, and zelda is frustrated and depressed, convinced she will never be enough to win the love and praise of her father. On a certain level, being "cultivated in captivity," being forced to live under careful observation, with a clear purpose and clear, unshakeable expectations, killed both link and zelda. link literally died at the hands of the calamity, and zelda killed her adventurous spirit and scientific curiosity in an attempt to conform to her father's expectations. when zelda, in the japanese version of the game, muses that the princess may be destined to become extinct, she is expressing kinship with the flower, believing that she, too, has no meaningful future since she can't conform to the expectations her father and her kingdom have for her. She essentially feels that if she can't be useful "in captivity" there is no way for her to live in this world, and that the only other option is "extinction."

Her more optimistic english monologue, however, is closer to the truth of the silent princess's resilience. While we know that the princess was in dire straits a hundred years ago, post-calamity hyrule sees many of the flowers taking root, often in places that were once highly-populated but have since been abandoned. what we find in a post-calamity landscape is that the silent princess, once thought to be unsavable, is THRIVING in this new world, having been released from the expectations and interference of the people trying to cultivate it. Again, this is symbolic of link and zelda: in a post-calamity landscape, we see link begin to find his voice. we see his personality begin to return--he cracks jokes, he laughs, he cooks, he takes photos, he makes connections, he buys a house and decorates it. He thrives in a world where he is not confined by the pressure to be perfect, to grow in the way that others expect of him. the silent princess can't grow in captivity, but it CAN thrive in the wild, free of outside influence, allowed to just BE.

Also worth noting that there's a side quest in botw which involves a legend that if you swear your love on a freshly-picked silent princess, you and your partner will "live a charmed life." there's definitely something to be said about The Zelink Flower being the subject of a romantic legend. but that's not actually the point of this post. anyway

#i cant remember if it's ACTUALLY implied in game or not but i always thought that that legend was probably why the princess was endangered #in the first place. too many people picking it to try and make their love last #which says something about the way love can hurt i think. especially potent a la zelda and her father #because you know he didn't MEAN to hurt her. he loved her. but he wanted her in captivity and she couldn't grow there #anyway. yeah. breath of the fucking. wild. agh #zelda analysis

[homeslices]

I’m Sorry

A/N: Guess who’s backkk. Sorry for taking so long again, school has been stressing me out. Also my newest hyperfixation is The Last of Us (naturally) and so I’ve decided I want to write for it tooooo. I am still writing for Alice in Borderland but writer's block kinda hit me with that (I’ll be up and writing for it soon and I have all of your requests already in mind). I realized there was very little Ellie x a maternal figure fics and decided I needed to change that.

Summary: A little pre-apocalypse the rest post-apocalypse, you comfort Ellie when she has a nightmare. Ellie may be a little ooc but I tried my best.

Pairings: platonic!Ellie Williams x motherfigure!reader, Joel Miller x wife!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Spoilers for season 1, mention of Sarah’s death, David, mentions of attempted SA

You have always wanted children, wanted to be a mother.

And you got that chance once before in what feels like another life.

You’re step-daughter Sarah, who you helped raise and thought of as your own, was the light of your life.

You, having recently moved to a new neighborhood, couldn’t help notice your neighbor struggling to take care of his baby daughter by himself. You could tell he was running on little to no sleep and when he about had a fit trying, and ultimately failing, to put in a car seat into the back of his truck you finally stepped in and helped him.

All of the pieces soon fell together afterward. You helped him when he needed it, babysitting Sarah when he was about to collapse from sleep deprivation, teaching him how to put in a car seat correctly, and bringing over dinner when you could tell he had a long day at work. Similarly, Joel also lent you a hand when needed as well. Fixing your car when it wouldn’t turn on, helping repair your new house, and also listing that same house when you fell in love and moved into his home with his daughter. That same daughter whose second word was mama- dada obviously being the first.

The day that Joel proposed to you was the same day that Sarah asked you to be her mom officially, by adopting her. Your wedding was when you all decided to sign the adoption papers, and you legally became not only a wife, but a mom as well.

Life was blissful. You had the family you always wanted and were the happiest you could ever be.

But then the world ended, literally.

The day of the apocalypse officially starting, was the same day that a piece of you died inside.

Your daughter died in Joel and your arms that night terrified, calling out for you and her father to make the pain stop.

It changed the both of you.

The person that brought you both together, was now gone, and all that you could do now was hold on to each other.

So when your friend Tess, your husband and you went to see Robert about the car battery, you were also roped into smuggling a young girl to another firefly base across the country.

You tried to keep her at an arm's length. Ellie reminded you so much of your Sarah, the humor, the attitude, the persistence, and you didn’t know if you got close to her and she suffered the same fate as your daughter, that you would be able to recover again.

But somehow, Ellie wormed her way into your heart, and there was no going back now. You love that girl, just as you love Sarah, and the maternal urge to protect her from any harm overwhelmed you.

So when you found out that you weren’t able to protect her from a twisted individual that wanted to do something worse than kill Ellie, it made you see something more violent than red. You could’ve burned the world down with your rage, and honestly you still could.

You blamed yourself in all honesty. Because both Joel and you were injured, Ellie wanted to protect the pair of you. In doing so she got captured and not knowing where she was, you and Joel found her only after she walked out of a burning building, covered in that monster’s blood.

As you take watch a few weeks later, your attention snaps over to Ellie as she mumbles in her sleep. You’ve been more hyperfocused on her ever since him, making a promise to both her, and yourself, that you’d never let anything like that happen again.

With a sign, you return your attention to the darkness surrounding you and the people you care about. Joel was sleeping next to you, still recovering from his injury, and Ellie was on the other side, moving and muttering every once and a while.

However, the sudden jerk of Ellie and the distressed scream she let out in her sleep immediately made you jump in surprise and scramble towards her.

Her eyes were screwed shut, eyebrows were furrowed, and her breaths were coming out in hard pants. She was terrified, you could tell, and the second her mouth parts again to let out another petrified cry you firmly, but gently, try to shake her awake.

“Ellie,” you say in a low tone. “Wake up, it’s just a dream.”

Her eyes immediately fly open, and out of fear and what seemed to be the cloud of sleep plus the threat of her nightmare still hanging over her, she flips open her knife that she recently started to sleep with and slashes it blindly towards your hand.

Realizing your mistake, you quickly pull your arm away, but not before a gash forms on your hand drawing a hiss from you.

Ellie’s eyes were no longer affected by sleep and panic, but now were filled with horror at her actions.

“I-” she chokes. “I-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

You cut off her apologizes with a gentle hush.

“Ellie it’s okay, it was an accident.”

Moving slowly, like you would with a wounded animal, you gently remove the knife from her grip, then hold her hands in your own- albeit after you wiped the blood from your hand on your pants.

“Are you alright?” You ask, scooting closer to her not in a hovering manner but more so she knows you’re there mentally, emotionally, and physically.

“I’m the one who should be asking you that. I hurt you, almost stabbed you! What kind of sick-”

You interrupt the young girl off once again.

“Ellie it was my fault I shouldn’t have woken you up like that.”

She doesn’t reply to that, instead her eyes were focused on your still bleeding hand.

“It’s not bad at all, just a flesh wound,” you try to comfort her. “Doesn’t even need stitches.”

Ellie looks away from you, however, you could hear her mumble, “but it could’ve been,” in reply to your first statement.

Raising your uninjured hand, making sure it’s in Ellie’s line of sight so she doesn’t get startled, you comfortingly rub her arm. Her body seems to relax from her tense state slightly, shoulders drooping as proof.

“I’m sorry,” she says once again, voice small and eyes glassy.

Ellie was emotionally stubborn, similar to your husband, and seeing her like this broke you. You have only seen the girl in this vulnerable position a handful of times before, and it always made you want to hold her close and never let go.

“Ellie listen to me,” You make eye contact with her, just so she can truly understand what you’re about to say. “That was not your fault. You had a nightmare and I startled you.”

You pause for a second trying to figure out how to word the next part of your reassurance.

So with a gentle voice you finally start speaking again.

“I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again and-” your voice cracks with emotion. “I’m so sorry Ellie. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to stop him, and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most.”

Her eyes that were previously glasses were now overflowing and falling down her face.

Then, in a blink of an eye, the young girl that you’ve grown to love like another daughter, crashes against you. Her face pressed against your left shoulder and her arms wrapped around you tightly as if you would make her let go. Not a chance in hell you would.

Your arms surrounded her and at this point, her body was shaking due to her tears.

Soon you heard Ellie’s muffled, shaky voice speak out.

“It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault.”

At that point your tears were falling down your face as well. Gently, you rub your hand in comforting circles on her back and sway the both of you back and forth.

Ellie’s shaking soon died down. It took some time but exhaustion finally hit her, so now she was fast asleep in your arms, snoring softly.

You let out a watery chuckle, emotions still running high, as you continued watch with Ellie in your arms.

The sun soon rises a few hours later. Joel’s eyes flicked open ready to wake up and start the day’s journey. Nevertheless by doing so, he was met with the familiar sight of his wife holding a sleeping young girl, eyes focused towards the sun in the distance, and couldn’t help the small smile that crossed over his face.

Both Joel’s and your thoughts were very similar at that moment.

You’d both do anything to keep your family safe.

#ellie williams x mom reader #ellie williams x platonic!reader #ellie williams x platonic reader #ellie williams x mom!reader #ellie tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou #the last of us #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou x reader #tlou x you #tlou x y/n #ellie x platonic reader #joel x reader

[gffa]

Hi! I've got a 12 hour flight in a few days, so by any chance do you have any more star wars fic recs? I love your rec lists, they're so detailed and amazing and always such amazing recs!

Hi! I have been slowly plunking away at doing a recs list and here are some slightly longer fics (and a couple epics thrown in for fun) I've enjoyed that should hopefully round out your reading list! ✦ wayfinding by night by wrennette, obi-wan & luke & cast, time travel, 10.2k     Before him stood a fellow Jedi, worn and weary with loss. Obi-Wan finds himself on Ahch-To and helps Luke find a path through his grief.  ✦ Birds Fly in Different Directions by Triscribe, jedi & clones, time travel, 14.6k     In the corridor beyond her quarters, other Jedi were emerging from their own doors, most of them wide-eyed with shock. A few merely looked blearily concerned, and Aayla heard snatches of questions as she darted past, queries as to whether everyone experienced the same distressing vision. But those who clutched at their chests or throats, their weak points- those Jedi bore a muted horror in their eyes, and Aayla didn’t doubt they’d just suffered their own betrayals from trusted men.  ✦ Off-by-one Error by Jessepinwheel, obi-wan & cast, 12.2k     A stranger appears in the Jedi Temple. Nobody knows who he is or where he came from. Nobody knows what has happened to him except that it must have been something truly terrible. The stranger’s name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.  ✦ Loth-Cats and Loth-Rats by TessaDoesThings, mace & depa & kanan & ezra, 19k     All Mace Windu wanted out of the Post-Clone Wars world was a simple trip with his lineage to the long-forgotten Jedi Temples of the Outer Rim. However, on Lothal, the three might have bitten off more than they expected. The Republic may have triumphed, but the roots of what could have become the empire are gripped in the corners of the galaxy, and it might be time for some aggressive space weeding. Or a coup d'etat. That would work too. ✦ Unexpected Awakening (The Rewrite) by Rhiw, obi-wan & bruck & qui-gon & feemor & cast, time travel, 130.2k wip The life of General Kenobi is cut short at the hands of his Padawan, but the sight that greets his eyes upon awakening is not that of blinding light of the Force, but the Jedi Temple he knew when he was still a youth. As he struggles to understand the path laid out before him, Obi-Wan unwittingly captures the attention of a singularly unusual Temple Guard, and that of a reluctant Qui-Gon Jinn. ✦ Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi stonefreeak, obi-wan & anakin & padme & bail & palpatine & various jedi, 115.6k wip By an old Republic law, all members of the Jedi High Council are senators in the Galactic Senate, and can thus be voted in as chancellor. A Senator from a less prominent planet has had enough of Chancellor Palpatine's incompetence and calls for a Vote of No-Confidence and the installation of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi as Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. This one action becomes the catalyst that changes the direction of the galaxy. ✦ Reprise by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & mace & anakin & cast, time travel, 558.8k wip Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. ✦ The Intruder by Hollyoakhill, obi-wan & original clone characters, 82.5k When a vicious attack from a strange, indestructible monster traps them on a derelict star destroyer, a young clone trooper fresh from Kamino join forces with Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi to find a way to escape.

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #fic recs #star wars fic recs

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Hello, can you write a story where Jaime seeks the reader for comfort and reassurance after losing his hand? Even after some time he still feels insecure about it? When getting intimate for example?

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Fem!Reader

Warnings: DNI unless 18+, It gets kinda dark before it gets good cause I got carried away (again). Mentions of SA, incest, manipulation, violence, heated makeout sessions, mentions of both male and female anatomy, selling women like livestock, female masturbation, oral, male recieving, fingering, p in v (wrap it before you tap it) etc.

Word Count: 5,588

Summary: Jaime and Y/n can’t keep their relationship a secret for long, and Jaime struggles with his new hand.

Taglist: @gruffle1 (I know you said you wanted to be tagged in all my works and I think a few have slipped through the cracks. I hope this is still okay though)

Author’s Note: I am so, so sorry for this long awaited request! It’s been at least two years and I know I needed my oldest request taken care of. So thank you for your patience, Nonny! I hope it’s worth the wait.

I made the reader Jon Arryn’s young, distant cousin, so that there’s reason for her to be a member of the King’s court and Queen Cersei’s lady-in-waiting. Also another sorry in advance if the story jumps around a bit.

(I do not consent to my works being reposted/copied)

~~~

Several, long months have come and gone since Jaime had attacked Ned Stark in the streets of King's Landing. He had run off to avoid capture and to rally with his father to save Tyrion, who was then in the clutches of Ned Stark's wife. He didn't have time to properly pack or say goodbye to his family. No one even knew where he had gone until Ned Stark was brought back to the Red Keep that same evening, his leg severely injured. When the Hand of the King spoke of Jaime's attack, Queen Cersei was quick to spin a tale about how Ned was the first to attack after stumbling out of one of Lord Baelish's brothels drunk. It didn't deter King Robert enough to send Ned away, but it did earn Cersei a bruise on her face.

Lady Y/n Arryn tended to the Queen's bruise that night, quietly listening to Cersei's drunk, angry rants about Jaime being accused of treason and running away. Dutifully, the young lady-in-waiting helped Cersei get ready for bed before slipping away the moment she was dismissed. Y/n retreated to her own quarters that night, sobbing silently to herself, worried sick for her secret lover. Every night, she prayed to the gods to forgive Jaime of his sins and bid him a safe return, but not long after Jaime left, King Robert died and Joffrey took the throne. His first decree was to arrest Ned Stark and hold his daughter Sansa captive for treason. Things began to quickly spiral. Not long after Lord Stark's arrest, word got back to King's Landing about Jaime's capture. In retaliation for his father being arrested, Robb Stark had gathered their banners and rose the entire North up against the crown, winning battle after battle against the Lannisters, including the battle that transpired before Jaime was taken prisoner.

Months had gone by and there was still no progress in rescuing Jaime. This agitated Tywin Lannister almost as much as it did Lady Y/n, but at least he could openly show his disdain if he so pleased. Y/n, on the other hand, had to suffer in silence, soothing her queen every night Jaime wasn't by her side. The envy festered deep in Y/n's gut whenever Cersei whispered her twin brother's name in her sleep. Lady Arryn could only wish she could blame it on the wine, but she was no fool. Jaime had once gone to her in confidence about his relationship with Cersei. How their mother once found them in bed together when they were very young and immediately put a stop to it. Cersei's feelings for him remerged when she married King Robert and was left unsatisfied in their marriage bed, but Jaime never returned those feelings.

At first, he said that what happened with his sister when they were children was a young and stupid mistake and he never loved her that way. Even later on in his life, he wasn't attracted to his sister and didn't want to soil his white cloak of honor for someone who clearly took advantage of him as a child. But then, slowly, Jaime admitted that if he was ever going to break his oath, he would only do so for Lady Y/n. She had caught his eye when the late Jon Arryn, once Hand of the King, assigned his cousin to be Queen Cersei's lady-in-waiting. Jaime, of course, never said such things out loud, but he knew from the start that Y/n was beautiful and that observation slowly turned into a need to be around her. It wasn't hard to put himself in her company since their duties to the King and Queen brought them together more often than not.

When Jaime finally spilled all of these sins to her late one night, Y/n had asked if he was truly willing to break his vows for her, even if it meant only ever meeting in secret. She was, after all, unmarried and still a maiden, her family hoping that one day she'll catch the eye of one of the high lords in the King's court. If word got out that an unmarried lady and a duly sworn Kingsguard were seeing each other in secret, it would be devastating for both of them. When Jaime quickly said he was willing to take the risk, Y/n followed that up with another question. Was he willing to risk her life if their secret meetings ever led to a child? She was no maester. She couldn't get her hands on any moon tea without being detected even if she tried. Was Jaime willing to let Y/n risk her life if anyone found out? If the Queen found out?

Jaime admittedly shuddered at that idea, knowing what Cersei was capable of. With that in mind, he vowed to Y/n that none of their secret meetings will lead to a child because he vowed to only ever love her from afar if it meant protecting her. Y/n's heart wept at the idea of being apart from him, knowing how he felt but being unable to act on it. That very first night, she kissed him with a promise on her lips. She promised Jaime to meet him in secret, but only so that he could hold her. Nothing more.

~~~

Years of their secret courting had gone by without a hitch. They met mostly at night when both the King and Queen were asleep in their respective rooms. At first, they only talked quietly in the dark until the early morning light, but then it led to unspoken kisses. The kisses soon led to touching, and over the years those touches began to grow bolder. As promised, Jaime never took Y/n's maidenhead, but that didn't stop them from other nocturnal activities. Oftentimes, he would sneak out of her room with the phantom touch of her mouth around his cock or his clean fingers would still feel warm from being inside of her.

It was blissful, and Jaime always found himself imprinting his love for her in every kiss and every touch. It was always said in secret, but it was always said with sincerity. Despite having to sneak around, it was the best years of the young lovers' lives. That is, until the day Jaime learned of Tyrion's capture and attacked Ned Stark, quickly leaving the city to join his father at Casterly Rock. That day was the last day Y/n ever saw her lover before everything went downhill. The days turned into weeks, then months, before slowly creeping up on a year. At that time, Y/n learned of a horrifying rumor. When Robert died and Joffrey was crowned King, both of Robert's brothers, Stannis and Renly, rallied to war for the Iron Throne, claiming that Joffrey was not their brother's trueborn son. Stannis claimed that Joffrey was the bastard son of incest, between Cersei and Jaime Lannister.

When Y/n heard of this, her blood ran cold and her stomach turned, threatening to release its contents. She didn't want to believe these rumors, but whenever she looked at Cersei's children, she could now see plenty of Jaime in them. Denial turned into anger, the young woman wondering if everything Jaime told her had been a lie. She wondered just how long he had been lying to her, and if he ever stopped loving Cersei to begin with.

Again, she could only react to this in her own time but kept herself stoic and dutiful whenever she was in the presence of the Queen. Despite how cruel Cersei was to her, Y/n wouldn't ever give up her knowledge of this rumor or her relationship with Jaime just out of spite. Cersei was still Queen Regent. She could do whatever she wanted to Y/n, even for no reason at all. So Y/n kept her mouth shut and continued to take the Queen's usual cruelty. With House Stark and now House Baratheon rallying against her son, Cersei was starting to grow stressed, which drove her to be crueler to her servants. But even then, Y/n didn't speak a word.

~~~

Many things happen to distract Y/n from her dark thoughts. Joffrey had Ned Stark executed under charges of treason, Tyrion was named Acting Hand of the King upon his return, Renly Baratheon was mysteriously murdered, and Stannis Baratheon tried laying a siege on the Red Keep from the Blackwater Bay. Before the night was over, Tywin Lannister and his remaining army came to the rescue, and was named Hand of the King for his heroism.

Before the year was up, Jaime had returned to King's Landing.

Y/n was walking up to the Queen's chambers, holding her skirts and carefully watching her feet so she wouldn't trip on the stairs. She nearly reached her destination when she finally looked up and noticed a poor, filthy, crippled old man standing in front of her. She opened her mouth to scream before his hand clamped over her mouth and shushed her. Taking a moment, Y/n recognized those eyes, her own widening in disbelief. His hair was long, matted, and discolored. His skin and clothes were stained in filth, not an inch of him were spared. His beard mostly covered his face and worst of all, he only had one hand, the arm missing said limb was held close to his chest.

Several moments had passed before Jaime carefully removed his hand from her mouth, trying to contain the relief from his eyes but to no avail. The astonishment and delight in Y/n's eyes, however, quickly turned dark and stoic. Jaime's hurt and confusion were evident when she stepped away from him with a cold look staring back at him, "Ser Jaime."

A beat skips by before a tight smile reached Jaime's lips, hiding under his beard, "My lady."

Y/n brushed passed him with just as cold of a shoulder, her eyes lowered in disgust, "The Queen would be thrilled to know that you are safe."

Jaime was too shocked to follow her, at first, before his legs finally moved and silently trailed after the lady-in-waiting to Cersei's chambers. After Y/n had closed the doors behind him, Jaime wouldn't see her again for several days.

She had claimed to be ill in this time, dismissing herself from serving the Queen until she felt better... or until she could come up with a plan to leave King's Landing. Ever since she learned of Joffrey's true parentage, Y/n has been trying to get a hold of her late cousin's wife in the Vale, but Lysa Arryn didn't appear rushed to respond to her. Y/n was hoping she could be dismissed from her duties and travel back home to the Eyrie, never wanting to speak of Jaime's affair with her or his betrayal ever again. With all of her letters being left unanswered, Y/n felt hopeless. She couldn't bear to stay in King's Landing anymore now that Jaime was back, but where was she to go if she couldn't return home?

One night, Y/n was getting ready for bed, dressed in her nightgown and undoing the braids in her hair so that it could be brushed. Her mind was far away until she heard the familiar sound of the secret entrance attached to her chambers being opened. Startled, she quickly turns away from her mirror and watched as Jaime climbed out of the hidden passage as if no time had passed between them. Freshly cleaned and shaven, Jaime looked as though he never left the Red Keep, apart from the cut hair and golden hand he now sported on his right arm. Instead of his armor, Jaime wore a white undershirt and pants, as if ready for bed. When he looked around, his eyes found Y/n's, and the two of them kept that gaze locked in silence, daring the other to move first.

After some time, Jaime sighed in surrender, looking away to close the secret door behind him. He had half expected the entrance to be sealed since it appeared as though Y/n was avoiding him, but he knew he needed to try and see her. He needed to know if she was avoiding him because of his new appearance, or if... she simply no longer loved him.

Turning back to her, Jaime was shocked to find Y/n standing up to greet him, only, she decided to skip the formalities and get right to the source of her anger, "Is it true? Is Joffrey yours? Are all three of them yours?"

The bombarding questions stunned Jaime, like lightning hitting him head-on. He couldn't move a muscle, horrified eyes scanning hers until the guilt and shame took over. Jaime swallowed down the bile coming up his throat before whispering, "... Yes."

Y/n was quick to react as she stumbled back to lean against her vanity for support, the mirror behind her catching the guilt of Jaime's reflection, watching her every movement, "You lied to me."

He found himself moving again, a hand out to her as he stepped forward, but she flinched. Jaime immediately froze in his steps, hurt shadowing his face as he slowly lowered his hand, his voice cracking under the weight of his sins and sorrows, "I'm so sorry. Cersei found out about us -years ago- and I begged her to spare you in exchange for... in exchange for me..."

Y/n didn't dare buy that until she knew everything. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, "How? How could she have known? We were so careful at the beginning, not even Lord Varys could've known."

Jaime blinked as he tried to find words to calm her worries, but in truth, he didn't even think to try and find out how Cersei figured him out, even after all these years, "I'm not sure. Maybe she just... knew. I am her twin after all."

Watching as Y/n turned her back to him, watching her reflection crumble in the mirror, Jaime felt his heart clench in agony as she demanded more answers, "How many times?"

"Just those three times the children were conceived. Cersei always planned it around the times Robert would come to her marriage bed. That's all, I swear."

The last few words struck a nerve, Jaime could tell by watching her shoulders tighten, as well as her voice, "You lied to me... for years. You let this continue... for years, without ever telling me the truth, even when you had plenty of opportunities to do so! And yet you can stand there and suddenly swear to me as if I can still trust your word? After everything has been a lie?"

Jaime's legs moved before his mind could, closing the distance and grabbing her shoulder with his one good hand. Y/n let out a small gasp of surprise but didn't dare scream in fear of someone bursting into her chambers. Her eyes wildly watched Jaime with worry, fearfully waiting for him to do something, but Jaime just stood before her, frantically searching for something in her eyes. Whatever he was looking for, he found it, and spoke ever so gently, his breath ghosting her lips in their confined space, "Everything I have done... every sin, every vow... every time Cersei took me into her bed, I did it all to protect you."

"And what would you have me do?" The smile she bore was thin and unhinged. Neither genuine nor kind as she glared up at him, "Thank you? Forgive you?"

"No. No, I know I can never ask that of you. I just thought... you deserved to know why I did it. Cersei would have killed you if I refused her."

"So you just never bothered telling me?"

Jaime raised his other hand to grab her other shoulder, only to let a deep ache in his limb remind him that he didn't have a right hand anymore. Jaime stared down at the offending golden hand, a thought festering in the back of his mind. For the first time since he had returned home, he realized that he would no longer get to hold Y/n with both hands, to run all of his fingers all throughout her skin and through her hair as he kissed her breathlessly. Y/n followed his gaze to also stare at his fake hand but made no move to acknowledge it as he finally found his words, "I was scared of losing you. It was selfish of me. I know that now. You had every right to know, this entire time. You had the right to choose whether or not you'd like to stay with me after what I did. I knew, deep down, either way, I'd lose you. So I kept quiet. I'm sorry."

"I suppose I can't blame you," she spoke bitterly, staring back up at Jaime through her eyelashes, "Why have one woman when you can have two?"

The accusation stung, and Jaime knew he deserved it. All the same, he was still a selfish man and he could not let his lover think this way a second longer. His hand rose to her face, caressing the skin of her jaw as he whispered, "I don't love her, Y/n. I never have. Every time she summoned me to her chambers... I obeyed because I was willing to do anything if it meant protecting you."

Y/n relents for a while before finally letting down her disgust and anger, leaning against the touch of his hand that she hasn't felt in a year. Her eyes were sad, distant as they bore a hole into his shirt, "Do you intend on seeing her again?"

Jaime's head lowers in shame, softly speaking under his breath, "I don't want you to die, Y/n."

Y/n rolls her lips, looking away as she rapidly blinks to hold back tears. She found it difficult to smile, despite trying, "Then perhaps it is better for everyone if I leave. Cersei can't hurt me if I wasn't here, and she will never be able to torment you again."

"I... I don't want that either."

"Then what do you want, Ser Jaime?"

He said it with confidence as if it was the easiest thing in the world to say, "I want to marry you."

She smiled, entertaining his dream before crushing it, "You can't, my love... you made a vow as a Kingsguard."

"I already broke those vows."

Y/n's hands reach up to rest against his chest, her fingers tapping lightly against his heart, "Technically your vows state that you cannot hold any lands or wife or father any sons. You didn't break any of those vows when you were with me."

"... But I broke those vows when I killed a King and fathered a Queen's children."

Her eyes meet up with his, "Then I suppose you're no longer a Kingsguard in the eyes of the gods."

"No... I suppose not," an idea struck him in full force, the whole revelation dawning as clear as day on his face. Y/n watched the whole thing unfold with curiosity as he spoke, smiling like an excited child, "There's another way... If you'll have me."

~~~

The very next morning, Jaime stood in front of the Hand of the King, his father, with a proposition and the confidence of a lion, "In the eyes of the gods, I was no longer a Kingsguard the moment I struck down the Mad King. And now that I can't fight with my sword hand, I am no longer of any use as a knight. My place isn't in King's Landing anymore... my place is in Casterly Rock."

Despite the stoic expression on his face, Tywin could not help the slight incline of his head, giving away his contained interest. Jaime smiled on the inside, knowing he had his father trapped with his bait, "Have Joffrey dismiss me and I will be your son and heir... under one condition."

"Name it."

"Arrange a marriage for me. Wed Lady Y/n to me."

A few moments pass before Tywin leans back in his seat and straightens his posture, overshadowing his son even when one sat and the other stood, "Why her?"

"House Arryn has been strangers to our house as of late. Jon Arryn is gone, Lysa Arryn is unwell, and her sickly son is heir to the Eyrie. Any strong relationship we could possibly have with them now lies with Y/n," those were the words his lover had him recite nearly all night long. Despite how much she loved him, even Y/n knew that he wasn't the smartest Lannister. Years from now, Jaime would recite this tale to his brother, and Tyrion will laugh with pride. Y/n may be a quiet individual, but she always had a way with words that always magnetized Jaime to her. With her advice, Jaime found the right words to reel his father into his proposal. But now, he spoke with his heart, "I've known her for years. She's been a friend of our family ever since she became Cersei's lady-in-waiting. She shares our desire to strengthen the family name and she's learned about Casterly Rock from listening to Cersei."

Approval is one of the very few emotions Tywin cared to possess, but he only bore it through his eyes. However, despite his inner excitement, he was no fool either, "And why should I agree to this proposition?"

"Because if you don't... I will tell everyone the truth."

"The truth?"

It was Jaime's turn to tilt his head as if fascinated by this questioning, "You don't know, do you? You never believed it. How is that possible?" Watching his father keep a hard gaze, unflinching, Jaime's eyes visibly show the realization, "What am I saying, of course, it's possible! How can someone so consumed by the idea of his family have any conception of what his actual family was doing? We were right there in front of you and you didn't see us. One look in the past twenty years, one real look at your own children and you would've known."

"Known what?" Tywin mutters, although keeps his expression neutral.

Jaime couldn't help the smirk on his face as he splashed his father with the cold, hard truth, "Everything they say is true about Cersei and me. Your legacy is a lie... until the day Y/n and I have children, of course."

Tywin's fists tighten around the arms of his chair but otherwise say nothing. Beaming with confidence, Jaime finally sat down across from him, as equals, "Our first son will be named after your father. And our first daughter..." Jaime conjures a sobering expression, carefully watching his father's eyes, "Will be named after Mother."

Another tilt of the old lion's head told Jaime he had him intrigued. Mentioning his mother always worked with his father, after all. Tywin let out a long breath through his nose but doesn't visibly admit his defeat otherwise. He grits out the terms and conditions through his teeth, "Just so we are clear... you will revoke your rights and vows as a Kingsguard. You will take back my name and bear my father's house colors. You will take Lady Y/n Arryn as your wife and father for each and every one of her children, squandering any disgusting rumors that have spread about you and your sister."

Jaime entertains his father with a rise of his eyebrows, "Of course."

"You will become Lord of Casterly Rock after my passing and your firstborn son will be named your heir, as will your second son should anything happen to the first, and so on and so forth. Any daughters you have will be given to properly matched suitors so that the Lannister legacy also lives on through other houses."

Jaime's good hand tightens, inwardly disgusted by his father already trying to sell off any granddaughter he might have when they don't even exist. He speaks with a tight voice in response, "Y/n and I will find suitable men for our daughters. Men who will care for them as needed and love whatever children our daughters give them."

"Your first son will be named Tytos II and your first daughter will be named Joanna II."

"Yes, yes," Jaime agrees while standing up, but makes sure to look Tywin in the eye with a small smile and the last laugh, "And our second son will be named Tyrion II."

~~~

Tywin kept his word -begrudgingly- and convinced Joffrey to release Jaime from his vows the very next day. Everyone at court was there as Joffrey stood in front of his throne and decided to throw in a few mocking comments about Jaime's incompetent hand while he was at it, but Jaime took the insults in stride and bowed for good measure. It may have bothered him to hear the quiet laughter all around him, but at the moment, he didn't care. He got what he wanted out of the laughing stock. Once Joffrey dismissed him, Tywin named Jaime his heir and then announced the union between Lord Jaime Lannister and Lady Y/n Arryn. Small surprised gasps filled the throne room, but otherwise, it was a moment of celebration. Y/n had crossed the room to stand beside Jaime when she was announced and even bowed before the King and his Hand in gratitude.

To say Cersei was enraged was an understatement. She tried breaking into her former lady-in-waiting's chambers, only to find a couple of guards posted in front of Y/n's room. Cersei then tried to summon Jaime to her, only to find Tywin at her door moments later. Her father forbade her from interacting with her brother and his betrothed until they left for Casterly Rock and then proceeded to demand she marry Loras Tyrell sooner than later so that these disgusting rumors could be left behind them. She had gone strangely mute and compliant after that, only speaking when spoken to and pouting as if she was a punished child. But Lord Tywin was no fool. If Cersei ever obeyed him, it usually meant she was plotting behind everyone's back. The Hand of the King planned Jaime's wedding to take place in the Sept, but then made no plans to throw a feast or following party. A simple wedding with no room for error... or poisoned wine.

Jaime and Y/n were married within a fortnight, exchanging new vows between each other and sealing those vows with a kiss for all in attendance to see. When they regrettably parted and turned to face their guests, Y/n held Jaime's golden hand while waving to the crowd and a part of Jaime felt reassured by that smallest gesture, despite not being able to feel her hand in his. Tywin didn't hesitate to send them both on their way to Casterly Rock, barely waiting for them to pack and leave that very same day. Jaime didn't speak a word against it, knowing how paranoid his father had become now that his grandchildren weren't legitimate and his legacy was in shambles. Lord Tywin would do anything for the family, even if it meant saving it from a jealous queen.

For a wedding gift, Tyrion Lannister gave his brother and his new sister-in-law a large, extravagant wagon to travel in on their way to the Westerlands. Within the wagon were red and gold cloths nearly lining up all the walls and floor, even the curtains. Underneath a seat was a secret, dry compartment filled with many expensive wine bottles, and in one corner lay a pile of pillows, cushions, and blankets. The Imp winked at his brother when watching Jaime's reaction, "You have a long journey ahead of you. I wanted you and your bride to be... comfortable. After all, we can't have you wait to consummate your marriage until you make it Casterly Rock, now can we?"

Despite the crude joke, Jaime laughed and hugged his little brother, partially sad because he was going to miss him. Tyrion held onto Jaime for a long time and then kissed Y/n's hand, "Until next time... Lady Lannister."

Y/n positively beamed under her new title. With short goodbyes to the rest of the farewell party, Jaime and Y/n leave in their new wagon with several of Tywin's best personal guards riding on horses alongside them. Once King's Landing fully disappeared behind them, Jaime opened the first bottle of wine and poured out two glasses. The newlyweds drank quietly, just enjoying each other's company, the worst being far behind them. After a time, Jaime stood at his full height, the ceiling of the wagon being large enough to do so, and held out his good hand to Y/n, "Might I have a dance, my lady?"

"You may, my lord," she took his hand and stood up with a wide, fond smile. As they stumbled and danced inside the moving carriage, neither said a word apart from laughing if they lurched forward when the wagon hit a bump or they tripped over one another's foot. With Jaime holding Y/n's hand with his good one and pulling her body tight to him with his golden one, he had felt more at peace than he ever did before he killed the Mad King. However, he starts to feel the loss of his limb again when he couldn't feel the warmth of Y/n's back against his missing fingers and palm, and earlier at their wedding, when he couldn't feel her hand in his.

"I want to hold you..." He found himself whispering in her ear.

She laughs under her breath, not grasping the distress in his voice quite yet as she leaned her head against his chest, "You are holding me."

"No, I-- I want to be able to hold you with both hands. That's all I ever wanted."

Y/n pulled her head away to stare up at her husband, recognizing the shame and humiliation shadowing his usual proud and golden features. His eyes tried to look away, but she raised her hand to cup his cheek gently, forcing him to keep their gaze locked. After a moment, Y/n smiled, "We can make that hand good for other things, Jaime."

"Like what?"

A twinkle in her eye causes Jaime's entire body to stiffen, his eyes carefully watching the way her lips moved as she smirked, "Like... how about I take that golden hand of yours and you watch me get myself off with it."

Despite his appearance, Jaime is old enough to be the father of a teenage king, and at this moment he felt his age catch up to him with how fast his heart was beating. He damn near thought he was going to have a heart attack and whatever showed on his face brought his new wife to laugh at him in his last moments. The sound alone could've brought Jaime to his knees if he wasn't holding Y/n for support. After her laughter died down, she lifted her hand to cup the back of his neck and pulled him down, greedily kissing him like he was the very oxygen she needed to breathe. Jaime's brain finally caught up with him and he kissed her back with equally fervent heat, taking his good hand to gently hold her face. With his eyes closed, he could feel his wife's hand wandering, leaving trails of burning need in her wake. Eventually, her fingers meet at the clasp of Jaime's gold hand and stay there, waiting.

Jaime opened his eyes to meet hers, finally realizing what she was doing. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to refuse, to step away from Y/n and exclaim that she deserved someone who could love her with both hands. Someone who could protect her with both hands, someone... who could hold any future children with both hands. Jaime wanted that for her, more than anything, but with the way she was looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, lashes kissing her skin when she slowly blinked, Jaime couldn't resist. He forces down all the negativity in his head and nods to her.

Y/n swiftly tilts up to kiss his mouth with reassurance before looking back down at her hands, carefully taking off the prosthetic hand. After some fiddling, the hand slides off and Y/n takes it, using both hands to hold it. Jaime watches with slight amazement, taking a moment to notice how large the prosthetic looked compared to Y/n's own. Horses outside trotting alongside the wagon draw Jaime back to reality, looking back up to inspect his wife's face. Her face was flushed and her breaths were irregular as she reached out to gently push Jaime back towards the pile of quilts and cushions.

"Lie back, husband," chills ran down Jaime's back from the way Y/n's voice lowered, "And watch me."

Jaime obeyed, only watching her facial features as she lay down beside him, her skirts lifted as she used the gold hand to circle and rub her clit. He watched her lips as soft moans and sighs left them, the way her eyes struggled to stay open when she hit a certain spot. He watched her chest rising and falling as she neared completion, her beautiful sounds rising in volume with her whole body beginning to shake in anticipation. When the last moan she released sounded like his name, Jaime felt his loss of control drain from his body. Without a care in the world, he grabbed his gold hand from her and tossed it aside, ravishing his wife's lips with his own as his one hand hurried to untie his breeches and prep his erection to full mass. He had forgotten why he felt ashamed in the first place as he slowly, finally, entered her, with her fingers finding perch in his hair, gasping up at the ceiling of the wagon. Y/n shamelessly moaned his name, begging him for more in between gasps and confessions.

Now, for the first time, in all the years they've loved one another, there was no need to keep that love quiet.

For hands of gold are always cold But a woman’s hands are warm

~~~

A/N: Wow, I... I really strayed off the path, didn’t I? The actual request didn’t even come in until the last part... I gotta stop doing that.

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