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ozzgin · 3 months

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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere imagine #yandere scenarios #yandere male #yandere killer #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere serial killer #yandere original character #horror #split personality #tw yandere

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fangsandfeels · 4 months

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Quite often, I'm sad that Larian canned the original idea of letting origin characters narrate their story and choices. It gave such a nice flavor to their personal stories and their emotions during every encounter.

For instance, upon encountering a wounded illithid who tried to mind control them:

Astarion already fucking hates this thing - he growls as he describes it, he seethes. And then he almost sobs, when the mindflayer tries to force him to think he deserved to be whipped and flayed for resisting it. And it makes perfect sense for him to react like that -- not only does he hate any intrusion into his mind, but also, the mindflayer found his trigger and made him feel miserable.

Meanwhile, Shadowheart, in the same scene, sounds a lot more collected, and observant, detached even when the mindflayer pushes into her mind. Sharite training pays off - she has probably been prepared for such attacks and is ready to endure what it takes to fulfill her mission. She needs to keep her focus and press on.

Will is straight-up poetic. He doesn't narrate; he tells a story he is immersed in (and wants to get you immersed too). He doesn't hate the dying mindflayer -- he has no reason to, it's dying all the same. He is taken aback by the compulsion attempt, clearly processing the emotions the creature tries to drag him through, but he is still in control, clearly understanding what it's trying to do. And of course, he would be in control - he is an experienced monster hunter, he dealt with all kinds of creatures. He knows a mental attack when he sees one.

Oh, and Gale, Gale just brings that classy "stranded in another world log" vibe. He is one of those sci-fi protagonists who go through the horrors and wonders, but always narrate them in the calmest of voices because they can't afford losing focus and losing their cool. Of course, Gale is also sympathetic, and curious, and melancholic at times, but it's all contained. I don't know if it was intentional, but his lines conveyed the feeling of isolation despite being surrounded by people.

Yes, Amelia Tyler is perfect, but I feel like BG3 origin character playthroughs suffer from the same effect that Divinity: Original Sin 2 origin stories did -- aside from a couple of details, more personalized interactions, and a bit more insights related to personal quests, they blend together with custom character behavior a lot.

Narration by VAs would have added such a nice personal touch to every choice and decision - not to mention compensated for the lack of voiced dialogues.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #don't mind me i'm always tad salty about origin playthrough #but i'd kill for a kalrach voiceover tbh. it has to be fire #also didn't include lae'zel because i didn't find her narration #seriously who would say no to HOURS of listening to theo or neil or devora

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

🏷️ Taglist: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

#Joel miller #joel miller x reader #Joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel the last of us #the last of us #TLOU #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #1k+ club

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nyx-lyris · 1 year

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my encanto analysis/headcanon that no one asked for

so, i was just looking through some encanto fanart and headcanons and came across this piece (artist: https://mobile.twitter.com/ye_enc):

abuela had triplets - julieta, pepa, and bruno. both julieta and pepa had three kids - isabella, luisa, and mirabel for julieta, and dolores, camilo, and antonio for pepa.

what i noticed is that for each batch of three, each individual falls under a certain category, and it seems to follow by age.

julieta was, as this lovely fanart shows, likely depended on quite frequently for her ability to heal via her cooking. her gift would have been the most useful and therefore she likely would have been praised the most as “the perfect one”.

this, of course, next falls to isabella, who we see this with the most frequently. abuela very clearly is living the life she wished she could have lived through isabella, and is viewed as the perfect golden child by everyone around her.

dolores is a little different, but i believe she still fits the trope. she is basically the physical embodiment of “seen but not heard.” she keeps quiet on the things she knows would upset her family and doesn’t make herself heard, even when she is in pain, whether physical or emotional. she doesn’t tell anyone that she knows bruno has been living in the walls for the ten years he’s been missing; she doesn’t tell anyone about her feelings for mariano, because she knows that will upset abuela and her cousin’s “perfect for the encanto” arrangement; and one can only imagine how loud certain things are to her, that are endurable for us (fireworks, for example).

next are the middle children: pepa, luisa, and camilo. all of them have some kind of pressure on their shoulders. (and - just a fun thing i noticed - while luisa’s literal pressure is the many things she carries, pepa’s pressure is atmospheric pressure, because she controls the weather. but anyway, lol).

all three of these characters are told in one way or another to bottle up their emotions and keep them buried inside. with pepa, we see this very directly as she is constantly told by the other characters (especially abuela) to, as the fanart above shows, calm down and essentially turn off her emotions because of the damage she can cause with her weather powers. this kind of reminds me of the “conceal, don’t feel” thing that elsa had with her gloves. both pepa and elsa demonstrate the same growth throughout their movies, too - learning to accept themselves and their abilities and thus being able to control them instead of being controlled by them - but, i digress.

luisa, by contrast, is indirectly told to keep her emotions at bay. she is treated as something of a useful tool, both by the town and by abuela, and seen in a very masculine light despite her relatively feminine personality. because of this treatment and the expectation that she will always be strong that comes with it, she falls into the same category as pepa.

camilo, like dolores, is a little different, but still fits. we don’t see much of him in the movie, but i imagine he is depended on as being the funny one. if anyone reading this is into k-pop or bts, think of camilo as like the j-hope or the jin of the group. he’s always expected to be funny and smiling, lifting everyone else’s spirits - but who lifts his spirits?

and lastly, we have the youngest siblings - bruno, mirabel, and antonio. they fit into the roll, of course, of the scapegoat, of family disappointments.

bruno was rejected by the town and by his family, seen as a harbinger of chaos and horror, a bad omen - all because he can see the future, something that he obviously cannot control. but, of course, it’s easier to simply blame someone else than accept the truth or take responsibility for your own actions.

mirabel, of course, is treated in much the same way. she is seen as a bad omen, as well, and is quite literally feared to be the one who will destroy the family and the encanto, because of bruno’s vision.

antonio does not quite fit into this category, but i think if he had not gotten a gift, he would have been shunned in much the same way as bruno or mirabel. it can also be argued that his gift isn’t really very useful, and we can see abuela struggle for a moment to think of how they could put his gift to use at the breakfast at the beginning of the movie (”i told them to warm up your seat”).

anyway - this is all to say that each of the siblings in each of the batches of three appears to fill (or almost fill) the same rolls. i’m sure someone else has already noticed this and i’m just late to the party - but i thought it was cool.

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specialagentartemis · 1 year

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Something always fascinating to me is the "character who thinks they're in a different genre" phenomenon. The theme of the story you are telling determines what the right and wrong actions to take are; but the characters, reacting in-universe to the situation, don't know what story they're in, and the exact same responses can be what saves you or damns you depending on what kind of story the author is telling and what the story's message is about what life is like.

In Wolf 359, Warren Kepler approaches the mysterious and powerful aliens with threats; he kills their liaison and tries to position himself as a powerful opponent. However, he's shown to be wrong and making things worse: his preemptive aggression is unwarranted and unhelpful and bites him in the ass. The aliens want to communicate and understand humanity and share our music. It's Doug Eiffel, the pacifistic (and kind of scaredy-cat) communications officer who loves to talk and share pop culture, who talks to them and understands that the aliens are scary not because they want to kill us but because they don't understand the concepts of individuals and death. Talking to them, communicating with them, understanding where they're coming from and and bringing them to understand a human point of view, is what succeeds. Openness rather than suspicion, trust rather than aggression. Kepler thinks he's a dramatic space marine protecting the Earth from the alien threat by showing them humans are tough and can take them, but that's not the kind of story this is.

Conversely, in Janus Descending, Chel is in awe of the strange and beautiful alien world around her. She wants to touch it, understand it, get up close to it. When she sees a crystal alien dog, she wants to befriend it, despite Peter's warning. But when she gets close to it, extending her arm in greeting, it attacks her and drags her down into the cave to try to eat her. This sets the inevitable tragedy in motion. Suspicion is warranted; trust will get you killed. Because this is a sci-fi horror, with a major running thematic reading about how racism and sexism will destroy your brain and your society, and how the people who think they're too smart to be prejudiced don't see their own prejudice and will end up ruining the lives of the people they still don't fully see as equals, this kind of trust that Chel shows this strange alien is tragic. However it is also a horror story where there are very real hibernating space snakes ready to wake up and eat the fresh meat that has landed on their planet, and by being too trusting Chel has accidentally introduced herself to one.

Kepler, suspicious and ready to shoot any alien he doesn't understand, would likely have survived Janus Descending; Chel, with her enthusiasm for learning about and meeting aliens, would have been a wonderful and helpful member of the Wolf 359 crew.

In a similar manner, in Alien, Ellen Ripley yells to the rest of her crew not to bring the attacked crewmember with the alien on his face back on the ship and into the medical bay, you don't know what contamination that thing might have; she's ignored. She tells them not to let the crewmember out of quarantine even though he seems fine; she's ignored again. Ripley is the one person protesting this isn't safe, we don't know what's going on, and she is consistently ignored, until an alien bursts out of her crewmate's chest and then eats everyone and Ripley is proven to be right and also the only survivor. (And it turns out that the science officer consistently overriding her protests was an android sent by the company that contracted them, and said android was given orders to bring the alien back so the company could study it and do weapons development with it, try not to let the crew find out about it, and kill them if he had to in order to do so!)

Ripley's paranoia and mistrust of the situation was correct, because Alien is a space horror and the theme is in space no one can hear you scream (also corporations consider you expendable).

Conversely, in All Systems Red, we have a damaged and almost-combat-overridden Murderbot being brought back into the PreservationAux hab medical bay after being attacked by other SecUnits. Gurathin becomes the one person protesting this isn't safe, we don't know what's going on, he doesn't want to let Murderbot out because it's hacked and probably sabotaging them for the company contracted their security and sent it with them. Gurathin thinks he is the Ellen Ripley here! He is trying to warn his teammates not to make a dangerous mistake that will get everyone killed!

However, All Systems Red is a very different story than Alien, and Murderbot is neither a traitor on behalf of the company to sabotage them and steal alien remnants for weapons development, nor a threat to the humans - it's a friend, it's a good person, and it wants to help them against both companies willing to screw them over. Trusting it and helping it is the right thing to do and is what saves their lives. Gurathin is proven to be wrong.

If everyone on the Nostromo crew had listened to Ellen Ripley, they would still be alive (except Kane. RIP Kane), because this is a horror story about being isolated and hunted and going up against this horrifying thing that wants to kill and eat you and just keeps getting stronger. If everyone on the PreservationAux team listened to Gurathin, they would all be dead, because this is a story about friendship and teamwork and trust and overcoming trauma and accepting the personhood of someone very different from you.

Same responses. Different context. And so very different moral conclusions.

Warren Kepler was about how the brash violent over-confident approach to things you don't understand is wrong, and that openness and developing that understanding between people is what's important; Chel was about the tragedy of trust destroying a Black woman who wanted so much to believe in a world that could be kind and beautiful. Ripley was about a woman whose expertise and safety warnings were ignored and brushed aside and everyone who did so died because of it; Gurathin was about how even justified fear shouldn't mean you make someone else a scapegoat and mistrust them because they seem scary.

Sometimes you're in the wrong genre because you need to be, because the author is trying to show how not to react to the situation they set up in order to build the mood and the theme they're trying to convey.

#Wolf 359 #Janus Descending #Alien #The Murderbot Diaries #Murderbot #meta #my meta #it's about what the author is saying about the nature of the world and how to respond to it

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lurkingshan · 4 months

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Random BL Superlatives: 2023 Edition

It's the end of the year and I'm feeling the need to give out some awards! We talk a lot about best show, best actors, best writing, best directing, blah blah but I gotta be honest, these are the categories that really spoke to me this year. In no particular order:

Best supporting garment: Porsche’s sweater, A Boss and A Babe

Did I create this entire list just to have an excuse to post about this sweater one more time? Maybe so.

Best performance despite a terrible wig: Daou, Love in Translation

This man managed to perform one of the hottest scenes of the year with that bowl cut monstrosity on his head. Respect must be paid.

Best new terminology: BGP, Bump Up Business

BUB gave us so many gifts, but I will always be most thankful for the business gay performance concept (BGP), a term that is highly relevant in discussions of the bl industry.

Best advice: "Unfuck it," Tien in La Pluie

It's not only the succinct phrasing, but also the delivery method.

Best ex who deserved better: Alan, Moonlight Chicken

Yes, I will be staying on the Alan apologist beat in 2024, thank you for asking.

Best unexpected needle drop: Wetter, The Eighth Sense

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The moment this show captured my full attention.

Best WTF ending: The End of the World With You

You can probably still hear my scream of "WHAT" echoing in the hills. (Actual ending not pictured in case y'all decide to watch).

Best gut punch line: "Have you been well? Without me?", Our Dating Sim

Sure Shin Gi Tae, Lee Wan deserved it, but did I??

Best adorable child: Tane, Our Dining Table

Need I say more??

Best weapon: sparkle murder dust, Khun Chai

Truly the MVP of this show. I can't find an actual gif of the dust in action (too violent to be depicted) so enjoy these pretty men instead.

Best great character trapped in a bad show: Boston, Only Friends

My beloved, I will seek vengeance in your name.

Best use of music to fuck me up: Plumeria, I Feel You Linger in the Air

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Cocktail and Tee Bundit, you know what you did!

Best meal: Chicken curry and cheese naan, What Did You Eat Yesterday?

Yes, this category is kind of a cheat so I can mention WDYEY on this list. And what about it!

Best unhinged energy: Nawin, Laws of Attraction

He may not have succeeded at stealing back his man but he certainly stole the show.

Best bl horror: Grand Guignol

I just need to make sure all you jbl fans know that this movie exists and that Issei fucked Mr Unlucky!!! IYKYK.

Best character comeback: Phupha, Our Skyy 2

From boring stoic love interest to actually compelling and kinda funny leading man! See what a little flirting with Pat Jindapat can do for you?!

#best of bl 2023 #moonlight chicken #the eighth sense #a boss and a babe #la pluie #bump up business #our dating sim #laws of attraction #khun chai #i feel you linger in the air #only friends the series #the end of the world with you #love in translation #our dining table #what did you eat yesterday?#grand guignol #our skyy 2 #bl superlatives 2023 #shan shouts into the void

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parvulous-writings · 2 months

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Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, and Halsin realising his feelings for his gn crush?

Warnings: mentions of Astarion's trauma. I added a scene that doesn't technically exist in-game to flesh things out a bit with Halsin.

Notes: Please, Tumblr... More Halsin and Gale gifs pls My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Astarion

As we all know, it takes a long time for Astarion to be able to fall in love properly. His two centuries of having to seduce prey for Cazador have made it very hard to tell where the sultry facade ends, and the true him begins. He was meant to have seduced you for protection, to get you to fall for him and defend him should he ever need it. That was the plan, in any case. To him, it was fool-proof - he had never fallen in love with an object of his 'affection' before, so this should have been easy.

He was very wrong - though your do-good nature really irked him at first, it eventually made him want to be the same. Or, at least, similar. Part of him wished that he could have had someone like you earlier, to save him from the horrors he had seen under Cazador. Your patience with him, and your unwavering kindness got through to him, and he craved more - even if he thought he didn't deserve it.

He realised he loved you - truly, deeply loved you - when you and some of your group had infiltrated Moonrise Towers. You'd encountered a drow who was hell-bent on exploring the Sanguine arts, and had even started to press Astarion to bite her, despite his protests. You had stood up for him, told her to back off, and it was that moment that he had realised that his feelings for you were more than an infatuation, more than seeing you as something to use for protection, that it was love.

Gale

Gale had been fond of you since day 1 - though, being pulled out of a collapsing portal may do that to someone's view of another. Your views often aligned - though sometimes the means to achieve them did not - and that endeared you all the more to him. Even when he told you of the orb lodged deep within his chest, demanding he consume strands of weave, you stuck by him; and he hadn't entirely thought you would.

Being able to travel by your side and see all the good deeds you do is an honour for him - he'll often sit and think about how his life would have been had he not been snatched up by the mindflayers. He'd probably be in his tower in Waterdeep, with no one but Tara for company, and little to do besides wallow in his own self-pity. This was a much better alternative - even with the looming possibility of ceremorphosis.

His feelings first started when you said that you could stay with the group after he revealed the nature of the orb in his chest. It was only natural, after being shown such kindness. But the moment he really knew he loved you, was after Elminster had delivered Mystra's missive to Gale - about destroying the heart of the Absolute by detonating the orb in his chest. When you had gotten so uptight with the older wizard, telling him it wouldn't happen, that Gale wasn't going to die, he couldn't help but find you sweet. Though he had initially resigned himself to Mystra's demands, he couldn't deny it felt nice to have someone on his side.

Halsin

To begin with, Halsin admired you, but was not emotionally available enough to pursue any kind of romantic relationship with you - his mind was focused more on ridding Moonrise of the Shadow Curse. It was only really once that part of your journey had concluded that he could even start to think about that kind of thing.

You had proven yourself to be a person of your word, and that was something that Halsin always held a great amount of respect for. To find someone who followed through with the promises they made, let alone to be able to travel with them, was an absolute blessing - one that Halsin thanked the gods for every day. It was with your help the curse was dispelled, and the lands freed; that was no easy feat, and he couldn't have done it without you.

During the rather small celebration the party and a few others had post-curse, Halsin sat and thought to himself about all that you had done for him - all that you, hadn't quite sacrificed per se, but had given to help him. You'd taken many beatings to help him on his own quest, when it probably would have been more beneficial for you to pursue your own - which was arguably just as pressing, if not more so. Your courage endeared you to him, and it was as he sat there, amidst the celebratory drinking and serenading, that he realised he would devote himself to you as much as you had done to him; following you to Baldur's Gate, and facing whatever it was that was at the end of your journey.

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jester089 · 6 months

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I have a request for the tdac characters to fall in love with child reader(platonically) and basically be attached to them like their younger sibling figure, and now imagine the reader starts to slowly get insane in some way and abstracts, and they just watch in horror as they see their practically younger sibling abstract and taken away to the black hole(I forgot what its called), and they get out of character, I need some angst and out of character mfs

So young

Now I have done multiple things on this type of idea so it's probs gonna be really similar to some of my past works. I'll still do my best though. For future reference in requesting please specify if you want a oneshot or headcannons. I did a little of both for this one but it was tiring, so please specify.

TADC Crew x Child Reader Who Abstracts

You were by far the youngest in the Digital Circus. Out of everyone you actually enjoyed it there, it was colorful, safe, had plenty of things to do. And had people who actually cared about you. It was a place of respite for you after you're awful family. Well awful isn't the right word they weren't abusive or anything. Just neglectful. Caine was a lot like a weird uncle to you. Always had some kind of gift for you when he saw you and despite what he says you know he cares about you. You were just about the only person who genuinely enjoyed his little adventures and jokes so he ended up getting kind of attached to you. As much as an AI could at least.

Gangle more often then not wasn't around you. She didn't avoid you or anything but she didn't go out of her way to be around you. One time when her mask broke and you saw her crying you went to Caine to ask if she was ok. He explained as best he could to you that she isn't really sad, just her mask broke. So you asked Caine to help you fix it. A few hours later you're at Gangle's door with a fixed mask in a present box. Once she saw that you of all people, the youngest one here went out of your way to help her she started to warm up to you.

Zooble most definitely didn't enjoy being around you Lies. She always acted like you annoyed her and she wanted to be anywhere else. But the few times you two have been alone she's surprisingly nice. She taught you how to make a paper hat one time then for the next few weeks you were never seen without one on.

Kinger took on a much more loving approach with you. He saw you as young and in danger and with no one to guide you. And if you were just left alone Jax would probably swoop in like a vulture and corrupt you. So he half took you in and did his best to raise you and teach you. It was hard as their isn't anything for learning in the circus but he did his best. It annoys him to no end when he hears a censored word come from you only to learn that Zooble's been teaching you swears behind his back.

Ragatha did her best with Kinger to raise you so you had some kind of future ahead of yourself. Despite the fact that they no one ages they still want you to be prepared. She took on a very "over protective older sister" kind of way with you. You're young, weak, and gullible so she's constantly worrying about you. Enough for her to set up a bed for you in her room. Plus side is she'll read you bedtime stories.

Jax's sole goal since he found out Kinger and Ragatha were teaching you and keeping you away from him is to taint you. Whenever you're left alone he kind of just appears and offers you something fun to do with him so you'll follow him. He has fed so many lies to your malleable young brain. Like "Hey kid. Did'ja know that Ragatha loves centipedes? I actually caught one earlier today. Why don'cha give it to er?" so naturally you did. You got grounded for that. Pomni is the one you feel closest too. You're innocent and kind nature help her keep calm(er). And her being around your height makes you feel more comfortable around her so you're always seen dragging her around to do something silly. You help her look for the exit, kind of. Your different way of seeing the world has helped her find many things out though. Did you know that their's a secret building at the bottom of the the digital lake? She only found it cause you mentioned said something about Atlantis while swimming then proceeded to dive under the water scaring her.

All of them started to get worried when your usual energetic and optimistic self started to act tired, all the time. Even someone as at your age who seems to be the perfect fit isn't immune to the problems the circus has it seems. When you started to get depressed it freaked Ragatha out causing her to be more strict with you because she didn't want to see you hurt. That only made it worse though. None of them take you abstracting well. Even Jax, despite being a jerk he ended up getting kind of attached to you. Cause no matter how mean he was you were always nice to him. "Wonder if their still causing chaos in the afterlife..." Caine being the ring master was always trying to cheer everyone up and get their mind off you but it never really worked. It slightly affected him too, not because he was attached to you. But because you were so young... "Couldn't even keep a kid alive..." Ragatha after losing you would either lock herself in her room staring at your old bed trying to decide on if she should or shouldn't take it down. It the only thing she has left to remember you by. You had your whole life ahead of you. But she ended up not being able to help. Just like with all those others... "Is it even worth the effort at this point. Am I even helping..." Kinger had already lost Queenie his S/O... Now you, the one he was actually starting to see as his kid. That is what pushed him over the deep end. You two his family, both abstracted. At least he'll get too see you two again... "I'll be there soon love, just have to grab Y/N's books..."

(Idk if this is good or at all what you wanted. But I tried. Hope you enjoyed it. Also if you all could please check my request rules before requesting. It would make my life much easier. Thanks. Also I kinda wanna re-write this without the abstraction part.)

xoxo, Jester

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #caine x reader #gangle x reader #zooble x reader #kinger x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #pomni x reader #not beta'd #noob author

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navarice · 1 year

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horror and psychological thriller in tgcf was done so incredibly well that if the beautiful and touching love story wasn’t incorporated into the book, I would be fully convinced mxtx decided to switch to another genre.

no one really talks about her fascination with the descent to madness and the morals surrounding humanity. at least one main character of each book goes through it. for lbh, it stemmed from the fear of abandonment and the emptiness that follows when the people you care most about decide you aren’t worth being chosen. for wwx, it was the outside in. society deemed him a monster so he had no other option available to him. no way to prove them wrong, and no way to convince himself he’s not either. anything he would do, despite his most well meaning, sincere, and self sacrificing motives, will always be twisted by the world who likes to paint others the devil. for xl…it was such a defeating combination of the two that it was near impossible for him find a way out. no family nor friend to turn to, no place to hide or run away, continuously forced to confront dilemmas beyond anyone’s capacity that sawed away at his already frayed sanity. worse was him having to confront godhood doesn’t mean omnipotent, nor does ascension mean free of suffering.

the way i choose to see it as this is her commentary on human nature, in both freedom and fallibility. ascend to heaven as a human, yet those in heaven are still human. wants, desires, fears, traumas, love, hate, selfishness, self-lessness, kindness, compassion, sacrifice, loss, hubris, duty, family, friends, hierarchy, power, and, above all, free will are all things that make humans what they are. are we wwx and xl? sacrificing ourselves time and time again only to have it all thrown back at our face? never once chosen or understood unless when it’s something short of a miracle? or are we the masses? afraid of the sinister, the disease, the wars? afraid for our young and old, for the talented and lame? for our lives and legacy? what are we, if not forever doomed to be helplessly flawed and hopelessly human?

the way she sees it, we have always been, and always be, both sides. because to her, they aren’t mutually exclusive, but rather each reflections of the other. both never wrong, but never quite right either. convoluted and confusing, mundane yet a tale as old as time.

mxtx writes her beautiful loves stories seamlessly. but she displays her talent best of all by weaving tales of hope and humanity into the threads.

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raining-dreams · 7 months

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Best Underrated Shows

Saving Me

Saving Me is about a lonely old guy who invents a time machine so he can go back to his child self and fix all his past mistakes. I learned about this show from this video titled Watch THIS instead of Hailey's On It by M!n!mal M!ss Art. Despite this video, I was still very excited to watch Hailey's On It. It seemed like a story with a cool premise and cute art style (and ultimately I do really like the show) But Hailey's On It wasn't gonna be out for weeks when I came across this video and this video really sold me on giving Saving Me a try. I never would have even heard of this show without that youtube video which would have been a real shame because Saving Me is fantastic! I hope this show reaches more people and I'm dying for a season 3!!!!!

House of Anubis

Mystery is my favorite genre and House of Anubis is chuck full of it. I used to be obsessed with this show back in high school. I had so much fun coming up with theories and live-blogging my thoughts and opinions about each new episode. Some of the acting & dialogue could be a little cringe sometimes but the story is just so good that it doesn't matter. I've heard that Het Huis Anubis (the Dutch version of the show that House of Anubis is based on) is even better, though I haven't gotten around to watching it yet.

Over the Garden Wall

Those of us who have seen Over the Garden Wall seem to agree that this show is amazing! Which makes it feel a little weird to call it underrated. But it seems like so few people have actually seen it. Maybe because it was a mini series, it couldn't reach the same level of popularity as other shows of similar quality. If you like Gravity Falls, you'll likely enjoy Over the Garden Wall as well. (Wirt is even voiced by the same guy who voiced Dipper!) I would highly recommend anyone that hasn't seen it already.

Dead End: Paranormal Park

I feel like it's pretty rare for animated series to exist in the horror genre for some reason. It truly is an untapped market. But if you love horror and animation, Dead End is the show for you! (Of course it's kid friendly horror since the target audience is children) The two main characters, Barney and Norma get jobs at a haunted park and work together to fight ghosts and demons. Dead End has a super cute animation style, in my opinion, and a very diverse set of characters. I encourage everyone to watch it!

Just Add Magic

Just Add Magic is based on a children's book by the same name. It's a show about three girls who love to cook and basically discover that they can use cooking to do magic. It's a pretty interesting take on how magic works in their universe. It's very fun to watch. All of the actors are also so talented! And one of those actors is Zach Callison (the voice of Steven Universe)!

The friendship between the trio is awe-inspiring! They have so much chemistry. It's a pretty fun watch.

The Last Kids On Earth

Based on a comic of the same name, this show is about a group of kids who have to survive on their own when a zombie apocalypse breaks out. And other various creatures start to threaten them (or even become their allies) It's basically a cute found family story. The premise is pretty simplistic but that's what I love about it. The animation style of The Last Kids On Earth is so beautiful as well!

I'm still waiting for a season 3!!!!!

Code Lyoko

I remember as a kid being aware of this show and thinking it looked kind of interesting (and I always loved the theme song!!) but I never ended up watching it back then because I let peer pressure get the better of me. I remember I met someone who brought up how much they loved the show. When I heard them express that interest, I was at first excited to ask them more but before I had the chance, everyone else started making fun of him for liking Code Lyoko.

I guess it was like the nerd show or something? I don't really know why it was considered cringe to like Code Lyoko but upon seeing my peers act this way, I decided I can't like Code Lyoko if I want to fit in. So, I avoided watching it. But earlier this year, when I was flipping through channels, they were showing old episodes of Code Lyoko! I was intrigued since I remembered it from childhood and thought I'd actually give it a chance this time. And it's actually a pretty good show! It can be slow at times but overall I enjoy it.

If you're like me and avoided watching this back then due to peer pressure, I highly recommend leaving that in the past and just letting yourself enjoy this show!!

Slugterra

Slugterra is honestly pretty similar to Pokemon, except it's slugs! And the entire series takes place underground. Basically, there's a whole underground world called Slugterra, home to slugs, trolls, moles, etc. And all the slugs have cool powers so the people collect & befriend slugs so they can use them as weapons ("slugslinging"). If you like Pokemon, you're sure to like Slugterra!

Detentionaire

I discovered Detentionaire randomly while I was searching through Amazon's library of cartoons. I was looking for a new show to watch and just stumbled upon this one. It looked pretty interesting and I was surprised to see it was a show from 2011. I don't know how I missed this show back then. Idk if maybe it only aired in Canada or something? (cuz it's a Canadian show) But anyways, Detentionaire is such an intriguing show where the main character, Lee, discovers some grand conspiracy and has to try to expose it to prove his innocence so he can get out of detention. It's such an interesting concept. And, as I mentioned earlier, mystery is my favor genre, so I had a lot of fun with this one.

The only problem though is, of course, it ends on a cliffhanger. The show got canceled before they had the chance to conclude the story in a satisfying way (or any type of way) so watch at your own risk.

Catscratch

I honestly don't even remember what this show was about but I do remember enjoying this show and being excited when I saw a new episode was out. I remember thinking it was so funny. I just don't think enough people know about this show.

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tariah23 · 30 days

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Well, I’m still glad that Gojo was always a character who was growing and learning at least. He’s literally one of my favorite characters of all time now. Like, he’s never been as perfect as how the fans would make him out to be despite canonically being viewed as an absolute nuisance to everyone around him (I don’t think his peers necessarily hate him but a lot of them probably hate to see him coming and the ones who’ve dealt with him long enough to consider him a friend, tolerate him and groan whenever he opens his mouth, too 😭… out of love. He’s extremely childish so there is only sm the other adults around him can take and to an extent, his students. I think the only characters in canon who adore him and their eye’s sparkle whenever he’s around, and being a silly teacher was Yuuji and Miwa (she asked him for his autograph (he’s the most famous sorcerer in the jjk world) and when she was alone, she did a little dance in the empty hallway 🥺…) from what we’ve seen even though the others still care about him, too. They just find him rather annoying, which he most definitely is. And he does it on purpose. He plays too much.)

#I’m also not usually one to get annoyed whenever ppl shit on the things I like #like I’m an adult sorry idc 😵‍💫#but it’s always annoying seeing ppl who know nothing about the story complaining about it #even just as recently with the Gojo being racist shit 😭..#like he’s a really great character despite all of that and even though Gege’s #execution of that could’ve been better or didn’t need to happen at all #because idk what gege was doing even though I do strongly believe that he used a moment like this to showcase Gojo’s ignorance and #that how he’s also human and makes mistakes since if you’re familiar with the series Gojo isn’t really treated like person at all #more like a deity and he doesn’t like that #but he’s never been one to voice his personal feelings and talk about his trauma ever #he gets treated like a god and because of this he’s never felt like he could truly connect with other people #so that’s why he puts on that whole act of being overly friendly/ playing with others and even rude to shut others out because of his #aversion to opening his traumatized self To other ppl like he’s so cool #and when he’s friendly he gives the others just enough of his affection so that he wouldn’t be worried about and not have others pry #but he’s incredibly flawed as well #I feel like gege could’ve showed Gojo being ‘humbled’ some other kind of way over the racism tho 😭. But it’s fine lmfao #I’m still so grateful that he had Gojo actually apologize instead of waving Miguel off like he didn’t matter because like I’ve said before #he literally never apologizes (this is probably the first time that I’ve ever seen gojo apologize to anyone in canon I’m so serious 🗿)#that’s literally not part of him #like he feels regret but he never apologies or shows that he actually cares about what others are expressing to him when they’re upset with #him. like this is crazy. but it shows that he did care about the mistake that he made which I appreciate…. like idk how I would’ve felt #about his character if he showed that he could care less when hurting someone like this🗿…..#I adore him so much sorry sorry for taking about anime I’m just 😭…. ❤️❤️❤️#rambling #I’m glad that everyone is fucking with Miguel now because he is a really interesting character even though we haven’t seen much of him #he’s one of the few ppl who Gojo trusted enough to look after someone who he cared about despite the horrors #because he knew that Miguel would protect yuuta and do right by him #it’s very 😭❤️…

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prohistamine · 4 months

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M Allergies, 1.6k words

I'm back with another fic gang. This time featuring two high society exes reuniting at a fancy gala. In proper prohistamine fashion this one features allergies, a character with the fetish, and fun power dynamics.

Be warned! somewhat explicit sexual content and general unforgivable horniness

“Lovely of you to come, truly I’m so glad to see you both.” Lorna shook the minister's hand in hers, firmly and warmly. A handshake practiced a thousand times over. “Ms. Windsor arrived a few minutes ago I believe, I’m sure she’d be delighted to catch up on your party's substantial victories in the recent election.”

As he turned away Lorna selected a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and took a healthy sip. She’d need it to get through the rest of the night. She turned towards the door, ready to resume her assessment of each new guest as they arrived, but when she saw the man who’d just walked through the doors her stomach dropped. His dark hair was shorter than the last time she'd seen him, falling in waves around his face. He looked smug as ever, and when he caught her eye he started walking her way.

“Colin,” she murmured through gritted teeth, “I didn’t think you’d be caught dead here.”

Colin grinned thinly. “Ah well, you would assume I’d choose to be petty, you always thought the worst of me.”

She scoffed. “That is a charitable way to describe two years of you repeatedly lowering my expectations.”

“Now Lorna, can’t we put the past behind us? What is it we always said, not to let pleasure interfere with our business?”

“Stirring up unnecessary rumors will interfere with business. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon for us to be speaking in public? The dust has barely settled, people will talk.”

“‘Oh the worst fate!” he said in mocking horror, “to be the victim of gossip! Do you think we’ll make it out alive?”

“Oh of course, because you're so above petty politics. I’m the one who’s obsessed with gossip and you just let it roll off your back.”

“Do you think you could say that again for me? Maybe I can get it on tape.” He smiled and rubbed at his nose absentmindedly.

“You know what? I’m glad you came. I really missed that familiar little headache you gave me. It's this sort of… gentle throbbing at the base of my skull? I’m just not the same without it.”

“I knew you missed me. I missed the exercise I got from our conversations, we should really make a habit of it.” He rubbed his nose again, with more intention, and was she imagining it, or was the motion accompanied by the faint sound of wetness?

“Are you just here to flaunt your ability to get yourself out of bed?” Lorna asked, “ Because if so, point proven. This is kind of an important night for me.”

“Ah well, I’m glad you recognize my presence as the achievement it is, but I do have something to-” he cut himself off with a sniff and a scrubbing at his nostrils, “something to discuss. I have to ahh- hehh-” Lorna recognized the face he was making immediately, the far away look in his eye, the crease between his eyebrows. His buildup was, as always, dramatically long before he snatched his handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezed into it twice “AaaSCHU! AaaeSTCHU!” As always, there was no attempt to stifle his violent outburst. He looked up at her blearily, “Ah, pardon me.”

There was a faint smirk in his tone. Lorna scowled. Of course this would happen, just what she needed when she was already struggling to maintain her composure.

“Bless you.” she managed to say, intent on keeping her voice even. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having a reaction.

“Thank you I- oh there's- Aaah- ahh- AhGHSHUU! AESHTEW! AEGHEEW! Huhh. There were more.”

Despite her frustration, the familiar heat was rising in Lorna’s stomach and traveling down between her legs. Composure be damned, she leaned forward and hissed into his ear.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

He chuckled. “Oh that would have been brilliant. I’m not that cruel, I'm afraid, or that creative. It must be the floral decorations. I’m desperately allergic, you see.”

Oh he was fucking loving this.

“People will stare you know. You’re embarrassing yourself.” She was looking for any way to take back power in the conversation, and she realized she’d been sloppy the moment she spoke.

“Embarrassing myself?” he asked smugly, “Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you.”

“I’m leaving.”

“C’mon now Lorna, I do have something important to discuss. How about we go out onto the balcony to talk. No worries about prying eyes, and the fresh air will be good for my nose.”

Lorna cast a glance at the large glass doors leading out to the south balcony. They had fabric drapes in front of them, placed intentionally for anyone desiring a conversation away from the eye of the press. Regardless of the privacy they’d have once they got there, people would be sure to notice the two of them leaving together. The smart decision would be to tell him she wasn’t interested in talking, but she desperately wanted a break from the crowd, and, pathetic as it made her feel, she wasn’t sure she could pass up the chance to continue watching him sneeze. It had been months since she’d had the pleasure, and she was beginning to feel like a woman starved.

“Fine.”

“Marvelous.” he said, words slightly muddled with congestion.

They made their way across the room, no doubt incurring the whispers of several guests.

Once they’d stepped outside and shut the doors behind them, Lorna turned to Colin only to see his face skewed in preparation for another sneeze.

“Hehh- Hhh- HhhSTCHU! HaAGHSHEW- I ha- hhh hhASHEW! I haahh- hadn’t realized it was …it was-” he held the handkerchief in front of his face expectantly as he struggled through the sentence, head tilted back as he gulped in air to fuel the fit, “ATZSHUU! ASHEWW! R-realized it was so… ahh- AschUUu! so cold out here.”

A sufficient chill had settled in the air since the sun had set, something Lorna hadn’t even considered. Colin was wearing nothing but a simple suit jacket, and he’d always been incredibly sensitive to changes in temperature. Just going outside in cold weather usually caused him a small fit, and the combination with his fall allergies was having quite the effect. He blew his nose into the folds of his handkerchief and then geared up for more.

“heeSGHEW! EESGHEW! HESHEWW!! Hehh- haaahh- ahh- ASHEW!” He was bending at the waist now with the force of them, and reached blindly to his left in search of the balcony railing, which he leaned on for support once he found it.

“Huhh-hhhh-hhoh god- heeehSHUUH! EESHEW! HEERGHSTEW! ESH-ESH-ESHU!!

The fit was punctuated by three violent little sneezes that tripped over each other to be released.

Since the moment he’d first sneezed, Lorna had felt like she was putty in Colin’s hand. His intimate knowledge of just what his allergies did to her gave him a maddening and tantalizing power over her. However, as he desperately wrenched forward with sneeze after sneeze, one hand shakily clasping a handkerchief to his face and the other doing its best to keep him upright, it was hard to see him as holding any kind of powerful position. For the first time that night she felt a twinge of pity for him. The feeling both frustrated her, and, of course, only served to further arouse her.

His fit finally subsided, and he slumped against the railing, gasping for breath.

“Sorry,” he managed, too exhausted to sound properly smug.

“Don’t be,” she couldn’t help but reply, her voice high pitched and obvious. She was so wet that she was worried it might actually start dripping down her legs. They both stood there for a moment in silence.

“So,” he started, still somewhat breathless, “about the election-”

“Colin-” she interrupted him, “I appreciate the effort to resume our professional relationship, but I don’t think I can listen to you talk about politics after that performance.” She knew she had admitted defeat, but in the face of his sniffling, shivering frame she found she no longer desired to one up him. What she really desired was to fuck him, to ease him open with her fingers and fill him up until he couldnt see. That or be fucked by him, bent over and begging for it as he held her by the hips with his big hands.

“I understand,” he said, “another time then. Perhaps then, before we go inside, I could talk to you about something expressly unprofessional.”

“Have at it Colin,” she said, trying not to sound like she was begging for it.

“There's something I’d like to show you. I warn you, it’s somewhat inappropriate.”

She felt her heart flutter in her chest, “I can handle that.”

He took a step toward her and then took her wrist. He guided her hand forward, lowering it beneath his waist and then pressing it between his legs where an erection was straining against the fabric of his dress pants. She moaned audibly at the surprise.

“Do you see what you’ve done to me?” he murmured into her ear, “this is what happens to me now, every time I sneeze. I can’t help it.”

“Colin,” her voice was strangled.

“How am I going to explain this to future lovers? You know how I get in the spring, I’ll be hard constantly. What will I say if they notice my cock twitch every time I sneeze? Every time they sneeze?”

Lorna’s clit was throbbing. Colin gave a liquid sniff, and she moaned again, body shuddering against his. Her hand closed slightly around his cock and he gasped sharply.

“My nose still itches terribly,” he murmured, accentuating the statement with another sniffle, “It would feel heavenly to rub it on something soft.”

“Please,” she begged him.

He leaned down slowly, placing a hand firmly on her hip, and dragged his nose across her shoulder, rubbing it in the nape of her neck. She trembled at the feeling of his soft nostrils, shifting as they rubbed against her, leaving her skin slightly wet.

“Fuck, that feels nice,” he said softly. She could do nothing but whimper in response.

She let it go on for a moment, their bodies intertwined, her hand on his cock and his nose buried against her. It took everything in her not to pull him into a kiss. Instead she stepped back, and wiped her shoulder with her hand.

“Thank you,” she said, wrangling her voice back to her well-practiced professionalism, “for that stimulating conversation on politics.” She took a moment to compose herself, taking a long deep breath and then continuing, “I have a gala to host, and you have one to attend. I think it best we continue this conversation later, after the guests have left. Perhaps in my personal chambers. You’d have to be discreet about staying behind of course, we wouldn’t want my guests to suspect we’re doing something illicit.”

Colin looked taken aback, and then broke into a wide grin, “Of course ma’am.”

She turned towards the door and then, before opening it, turned back towards him. “This does not mean I forgive you, " she said sternly.

Colin’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not.”

#snz kink #snz blog #snz #snzblr #sneezefucker #sneeze kink #snzfic #snz fic #my writing

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cowboymater · 1 year

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controversial opinion maybe:

I KNOW. i know. hear me out

i saw a couple edits on tiktok of mcspirk to soldier poet king and like. i’m not putting anyone on blast but good lord some of those choices made my head hurt. it’s taken me a couple days to synthesize my reasoning for the superior choice (as pictured above), but here goes:

the problem with assigning characters to soldier poet king comes when you take it at face value, flattening the paradigm to angry-sad-tired or violent-artsy-authoritative. if we want to get down to the root of it, the song is based on the threefold office of christ as priest (soldier), prophet (poet), and king. like i’m not christian, but on a textual level it gives us context: the concept that as prophet jesus gave us counsel and words of wisdom, as priest he sacrificed himself to redeem us, and as king he provides for, defends, and forgives us

maybe the most famous priest/prophet/king (& thus soldier/poet/king) allegory in all of literature is frodo, gandalf, and aragorn. frodo bears the burden, though he wishes he did not need to; gandalf offers words of wisdom and mercy; aragorn is a born leader, on the front lines with sword in hand, ready to die with his men if he must

KING: capt. james t. kirk is the easiest one to place. it is a burden and a privilege, an honor and a horror to have the lives of so many depend upon you to make the right call under fire. he makes the call. he leads the landing parties, he puts himself at the head of the charge because by god he is not about to send his men into a battle he wouldn’t fight himself. he leads—with heart when he can, steel when he must—and people follow him. bones and spock are always right behind because they believe in what he believes in, and more than that they believe in him

POET: bones serves as kirk’s emotional sounding board, his moral peer review. he lends an ear, and the word of an old country doctor who’s seen much and understands more. man has ascended to the heavens, to hurtling through the void in a glorified tin can, and it would be no great hardship to forget that our place in the universe is not that of higher life—we are not as quasi-gods, moving pieces on the great three-dimensional chessboard, but flesh and blood, and we must attend to each other. bones tempers the pure logos and rationality offered by spock; he offers grounding in this age of technology that wrinkles the fabric of reality, offers the kind of emotional intellect that cannot be taught, and has always been sorely needed

SOLDIER: this is the one where you really get tripped up by surface-level analysis. yes, spock is reserved and collected. yes, vulcans are pacifists (as you may recall, so are hobbits, and yet frodo remains the soldier in allegory)

the thing about vulcans, though, is that despite the vegan pacifism, they are warriors. it’s tangled up in their history and their DNA. the koon-ut-kal-if-fee survived through centuries of analytical dogma for a reason; even now, they cannot wholly escape their inheritance of violence. their forefathers ran the sands of vulcan green with blood. they venerate logic and condemn emotionality so that they will not

your average high-achieving vulcan, probably on the path to kolinahr, commits their lifetime to the pursuit of knowledge at the vulcan science academy. it’s a measured, rational decision. a controlled environment, where there will never be any logical reason to resort to violence

spock joins starfleet

he joins starfleet, and pursues knowledge in the vast unknowable universe. there is reason for violence, frequently. and sure, the purpose of their mission is peaceful. it’s true that spock would rather resolution be reached without force. but a soldier needs not want to be a soldier. he only needs go to war

when it comes down to blows, he will match them. he makes the sacrifice play, jumps on the grenade, goes into the radiation-soaked engineering room alone. it’s only logical, after all

spock is there to pick apart the universe, unravel the threads of logic until it all makes sense. bones is there to stitch it up. kirk is the hand that holds it all steady, the gravitational field that binds the people of the enterprise to their purpose. soldier-poet-king, commander-doctor-captain. it’s a story old as dirt, and we’ll keep telling it, i think

edit: my bad vulcans have. green blood

#puts on my “no one understands these characters like i do” hat #spock. (raucous applause)#star trek #star trek tos #star trek the original series #jim kirk #spock #bones mccoy #character analysis #soldier poet king #the oh hellos #lotr mention #longpost #mcspirk #triumvirate #txt

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alicerosejensen · 10 months

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Warning: mention of blood, mention of ptsd in the reader, mention of miscarriage, the reader has encountered a bioweapon in the past, scars, irritated Leon.

synopsis: Despite the fact that three years have passed, the past does not leave you alone. Your nightmares and scars are always a reminder of what you were able to survive.

Note: I tried to play this scenario with Leon but I never managed to bring him to the emotions that I wanted from him. Therefore, there will be one very tense moment with the reader and Leon.

It was not worth starting a relationship with a person if you yourself still can not deal with your demons.

All the horrors experienced have remained officially documented by the BSAA and are marked "classified". For three years now, a thick folder has been gathering dust in the archive with all the photographs from the scene of the incident and, probably, more than a hundred sheets of a written report with dry statements of facts. But the paper will never convey the emotions that you experienced. It even looked like a mockery from the guys from the Alliance, although you actually owe Chris Redfield a lifetime for the fact that he was able to save you, but you didn’t feel a ny gratitude to him after all these interrogations.

Some part of you was even angry at him for some reason, although you didn't understand what exactly you were angry at him for, but you were under a special protection program because the bastard who gave you a personal hell was still alive.

You have so many scars… not only on the soul, there are a lot of them on the body. The largest was left to you by a creature that dug its claws deep into your shoulder and part of your back. It's a miracle that you survived after meeting him. However, your friend and fellow student Lucas was able to sew up the wound without anesthesia, which is why you now have a terrible scar with uneven edges. Sometimes, in particularly rainy weather, it even seems to hurt.

You once joked that if you got into a house with monsters, you would be the very character who would have died at the beginning of the movie. It's just the will of fate, on the contrary, you were the only one who survived in that hell, while others died a cruel death.

On nights like these, you wake up in a cold sweat. You shivered from the cold as you jumped up and down in bed from another nightmare. The TV was illuminating the dark room, showing some kind of comedy show. Outside, thunder rumbled with might and main, and heavy rain poured down so that the neighboring high-rise building across the road was hard to see. Cool air circulated through the room through the open window, forcing you to put your arms around your shoulders and get out of bed to lower the glass. In one sweat-soaked T-shirt and shorts, you were uncomfortable, especially since your heart was beating wildly, trying to cope with fear. Leon wasn't around and you had no idea if he was in his apartment or still on a mission he never talked about.

But it was even better. You don't have to see his sour face, because you don't understand the reason for these nightmares, because you never told him about it, even though he was a government agent, and you couldn't help but think that Leon had long ago requested all the information about you, right down to dental records. He just respects your boundaries, so he doesn't talk about it, however, no matter how much pressure he has exerted trying to find out the truth over the past few months, now he is telling you that he doesn't own this information. Not yet. Apparently, he respected you very much and that you did not want to talk about what happened to you. He sees such horrors almost every day, and you still cannot forget that sick bastard who dipped your pregnant friend in a solution of piranhas. Her screams and the picture frozen in front of your eyes still make you curl up into a ball, trying to survive another trigger, after which you cannot recover for several hours from the fact that your stomach is turning inside out, and blood is pounding in your ears along with other cries.

Right now you are sitting on the bed, rubbing your face with the palm of your hand, startled by a sharp knock on the door. Nausea kicks in again as you get to your feet and look at the clock on your nightstand at 1:23 a.m. You did not expect guests, but someone very persistently knocks on the flimsy door, and when you finally open it, you see Leon, who is soaking wet through, who also sees that you are not in the best condition.

Nothing new.

You let Leon inside your very small apartment in which you have been living for three years, and he immediately took off his leather jacket, hung it on a hook, and put the gun on the cabinet next to where the vase with the keys lay.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing your shoulders, silently looking at him as he took off his shoes and placed them next to yours.

"Are you okey?" he asked in an unruffled voice. Almost annoyed, looking straight into your pale face. You were still shaking and your bedding was completely disheveled.

"Yeah" Your voice gave out a completely different intonation. you haven't been fine for a long time "I'm fine".

"I see," he almost quipped, but you ignored the sarcasm. "Do you even sleep without me, my little china?"

"When you came back?" quietly asked you ignored his question.

"A couple of hours ago. Got caught in the rain"

He stood up to his full height hugging you. His hands were ice cold, but Leon himself remained warm, like a heating pad at the perfect temperature. His scent entangled your nose and strong arms inspired a sense of security. He put his hand on the back of your head, feeling that even your hair was sweating.

Officially, you have not parted, and his presence testified that he still cherishes you. Leon's lips touched your right temple, while his hands pressed you closer to it.

"I could run the bathtub for you. You're all wet and shivering"

At one time, you thought you could drown in the feeling of love. As if the awe at the sight of this man could help to displace all this horror and help you start life from scratch. But it was only a short-term effect. Leon Kennedy is like a good painkiller that temporarily dulls your post-traumatic syndrome so that you can sleep peacefully for at least one night without twitching, screaming or jumping out of bed. But like any other medicine, it has the property of stopping the miraculous effect. Leon had angelic patience, he did not rush you, hope that in time you will tell him everything yourself, but it was no longer enough. To be more precise, his patience was almost over two months ago, and then he was called on a mission and you did not discuss this incident in such a way.

Maybe it was his belated "forgive me?" You thought about it when you heard him draw water in the bathroom, it's even a little funny. Because about four hours ago you were lying on the tile trying to cope with another attack after which there was a huge mess. You could literally feel this oppressive atmosphere on your skin when he opened the door and saw the scattered shampoos and shower gels along with various lotions and other things. Leon even put a little order there, although sometimes it already seemed that it was easier to burn down this apartment and repair it again.

And yet he didn't say anything. A couple of minutes later he found you sitting still in the semi-darkness on the bed. It would have been worth turning off the TV, but you couldn't fall asleep in complete darkness, so Leon did it instead of you, holding out his hand to you to get into the bath with you and warm up a little. A chill ran over your skin causing a herd of goosebumps when he helped you take off your wet T-shirt and throw it into a full laundry basket along with the rest of the things that should have been washed long ago.

His head was resting on your shoulder while his hands, warmed in hot water, were hugging your belly. Leon didn't ask any questions, but you could feel all his fatigue. Not only from the mission that ended, for the most part, you and your distrust were the cause of fatigue.

There were no words at all, even when, after bathing, he wrapped you in a terry towel, finding clean things in a half-empty closet. Leon straightened the bedclothes while you were sitting on a chair in only your panties and his old red shirt, which was too big for you. In fact, you were literally drowning in it, but at the moment it was the only clean thing in your wardrobe.

"Will you sleep with me?" - an awkward question that stumped him for a second when he looked at the battered you, but Leon came to his senses pretty quickly with a quick nod of his head. "I promise I won't kick painfully in my sleep"

You tried to smile but he didn't seem to appreciate your attempt.

"You're mad at me right?" You knew without his confirmation that yes. But he was most likely not angry, but offended by your distrust, however, if you started telling him, in the end you would only drown even more in those bloody memories that haunt you.

And you knew why. Leon's face was completely haggard, but at the same time his gaze became completely empty. He didn't even look at you. He threw a pillow at the head of the bed and was silent because he knew that now, touching on this topic, in any case, everything would end in a quarrel. Because Leon is tired of losing.

On the other hand…he still loved you and it's not so easy to do something with his feelings. You didn't get an answer from him, but you felt the man's fingers gently tracing along the line of your scar on your back, smoothly passing to your shoulder. He saw similar ones, knew that he could leave a similar trace, but he only assumed that you saw some kind of bioterrorist attack. Maybe you've been to Terragrigia? hunters left similar scars.

Leon continued to look at your back, running his finger over other small marks, so you tried not to flinch from his touch, although they evoked unpleasant memories from three years ago. It would be better if he shouted at you, but kept silent! This silence was more frightening than quiet rage. Leon put his hand on your stomach, and you felt him pressing you to him, nuzzling your neck. Of course, it doesn't take a lot of intelligence to understand that you didn't sleep, just like him, but he still needed time to digest your miscarriage in his head, while you had already let go of this situation.

You remember the delay and the two strips on the pregnancy tests that Leon found later. In fact, you didn't even have time to get used to the idea of motherhood because there was such a mess in your head that there was simply no place for a child there. Well, Leon's work practically excluded the presence of a family, but this did not mean that somewhere in his contract a similar clause was written. He wanted his family, even if at least one child, but your pregnancy was definitely not planned.

It just happened that way.

You thought that he would be angry, that he would shout at you and destroy you completely, but the second he knelt down in front of you, his hands closed on your lower back and his head pressed against your belly. He was scared, but Leon was glad. He is not the kind of person in whom happiness spills over the edge, his work has made him quite detached and stingy with emotions in a sense, but you saw in these blue eyes a dream and hope. Leon wanted to give his child something that he himself did not have, and at the same time hoped that this circumstance would help you let go of what you never told him.

Peace flowed through his veins, allowing him to build bright dreams in his head about a small family to which he could return and seek healing after meeting BOW. However you needed healing too!

Constant fear, lack of appetite against the background of strong emotions from these rolling triggers, incessant stress… Leon fell in love with this child when he could not be called such yet and he took care of you trying to hold you tighter at night so that nightmares would not touch you.

Leon understood what happened when you curled up in a ball again and screamed in your sleep. The lower abdomen was pierced by pain, but in a dream you were torn to pieces by one of the monsters, whereas in reality the whole bed was covered with blood from what you lost baby. He didn't need any words from doctors to understand that he wouldn't become a father. The doctors said that it was possible, that it was not worth dwelling on what had happened and that in the future you could still have children, but Leon turned away and barely held back tears.

Because it wasn't an accident. Not the rejection of your body from a new life because of some incompatibility with him. No, it was because you were still living in a horror that you hadn't told him about until now.

Then Leon got really drunk.

"I'm sorry," you squeaked, watching as she poured the amber liquid into a glass, grinning crookedly. Your miscarriage was just the last straw. You were discharged from the hospital, but you still felt terrible and not so much physically as emotionally.

And Leon was angry. Something inside him snapped…you could tell by the heavy look in his eyes and the way he was clutching the glass in his hand. It wasn't a miscarriage. It was your secret that you didn't want to tell him so much and that you didn't want to plunge into again.

No one had the words. There was only one anger inside Leon that he needed to vent somewhere. You heard his mocking laugh as he turned away from you, pouring himself another shot of whiskey.

"Are you sorry?" he asked again and everything inside you turned cold from his intonation "Are you fucking sorry? Are you serious?! How long is this shit going to go on? What the fuck happened there that you lost my baby because of it?! We've almost become a family!"

It was the end.

You froze when he threw the glass into the wall and it broke into small pieces, making you flinch from the noise. His blue eyes darkened with anger and his lips tightened into one thin line because Leon wanted this child even if you never discussed starting a family. Kennedy wasn't just angry, he was furious. At you.

"Speak!" he ordered, and the tone of his voice made your legs shake, but you still took a few steps back. "I'm tired of this shit. So you either tell me everything yourself or I'll find out for myself."

An opaque hint that he would take advantage of his position as an agent without a second thought and Chris Redfield would lay out that thick folder in front of him. It wasn't a crime. It wasn't your fault when you thought you had pulled out a lucky ticket to the desired trip, but in fact this ticket turned out to be hell. It's unlikely that Leon will get angry at you through what you've been through, he still loves you, he just really hoped that this baby would be healing for you and him.

You just want to forget it.

"Where did you get these scars? What are you so afraid of?"

He asked the same questions over and over again, but now he was doing it so bitterly that in the end your back rested against the wall and there was nowhere else to pay off.

"I can't.." you whispered with your lips almost without making a sound, after which you shuddered when Leon's fist hit the wall and his knuckles broke to blood.

The pictures of what happened rise up again before your eyes, as well as that animal fear of death with which it is impossible to part. Leon doesn't understand that it's hard and scary, but he himself has never really talked about Raccoon City, so you hoped that he could understand why you can't get along with him. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, but he ignores them as well as his own pain in a bloody hand. You both walk on thin ice that is about to crack, dipping your bodies into the icy water of rejection to each other.

Leon is tired of secrets and your "I can't" only spurs his anger.

"Tell me now!" His grin is frightening.

Loen feels the same surge of energy when he saw Patrizio come running to ask him for help after the betrayal. Of course he has no desire to beat you or hurt you in any other way, but he NEEDS to know the truth why it happened. Why your injury prevents you from living.

"Because of this, you lost my baby and I want to know the reason. I could have become a father, we could have become a fucking family if not for your eternal silence! I respected your decision when we met, I was waiting for you to open up to me, but it can't go on forever! I don't have endless fucking patience!"

Then you felt the adrenaline mixed with rage injected into your blood, giving you such strength that you easily pushed Leon away from you, from which he recoiled in surprise, albeit only for a few seconds. He blamed you for what happened, even if he didn't say it out loud, and you tried to overcome the bloody memories that rolled over you in heavy waves. All these terrible deaths…. which your classmates and teacher didn't deserve such a cruel death, their screams that wake you up almost every night, you literally survived all the hell rides before Redfield pulled your ass out of there, but mentally you're still there.

He was partly right when he suggested that you start seeing a therapist to deal with this. But you couldn't go because you were trying to escape from your own fear.

"This is my personal!" With the same rudeness in her voice, you shouted in his face. "This is something that only concerns me! You also never talk about what happens on your missions!"

You tried to hit him with words in response, but Leon easily parried you.

"Don't confuse my work with my personal life! I don't even have the right to tell anyone about it, but we are together. I wanted to help you! You know, that's what people do when they love each other - they help each other, provide support! But you always push me away, but now I have the right to know what happened to you. I respected you and your desire because I understood that you needed time, but this time was more than enough. MY BABY DIED BEFORE IT WAS BORN!

He blamed you for it. Not directly, of course not, but it was even worse. You recoiled from him, felt this pang of guilt that he was trying to instill in you, and you yourself stopped understanding whether it was your fault or it was just an unfortunate coincidence. You were able to say so much shit to each other without insults in a short time, but then when you needed his support the most, Leon cracked.

"I want to hear it from you and not from Redfield," he said, but hot tears of resentment were already flowing down your cheeks, "I tried not to mix work and my personal life, so I never climbed further than I could, preferring to wait for you to trust me with your pain, to share it with me, but what happened…" His the voice became calm, but there were still notes of irritation in it. "I need to know. It's not just your personal anymore, it hurt both of us."

At that moment, it seems that time has stopped. You heard the slow sound of the hour hand on the clock and even his heavy breathing, feeling at the same time a piercing look to the depths of your soul at yourself, the onslaught of which you could not withstand, lowering your eyes like a guilty child.

It was too much for you to handle. Swallowing saliva, you sat down on the couch, hearing him exhale noisily while closing his eyes.

If only you could turn back time… but it's not even that Leon finds out what happened there, but that he doesn't understand how much it hurts you.

"I need to know." he repeated again.

The minutes of silence seemed like an eternity. You continued to cry, biting your lips until they bled, just not to sob. For a brief moment, you really tried to force yourself to tell him everything, but your brain put some kind of blockage, which made the words stuck in your throat and thoughts began to get confused turning into porridge. You just couldn't do it, and in the end, without hearing the answer, Leon just slammed the door.

You knew that when he came back, the truth would come in soon. On the one hand there was a feeling of betrayal and on the other of lightness.

But in the end, all the tears and sobs finally burst out, forcing to drown in this abyss of suffering again.

Leon had his own experiences and demons that he encountered at work, but that year destroyed you forever and no love with support is able to glue the broken parts of the soul.

He was a government agent.

You are a student who fell into the clutches of a mad psycho who turns people into monsters. These rivers of blood in which you had to swim to escape did not make you an invincible armada. They've made you a shadow of your old self.

Leon Scott Kennedy was not on your side and you were slowly burning in this flame alone.

And then he sent a short text message in the morning that he was urgently called and he would not be home for a while. You noticed this message only after two days of mutual silence. Then you went back to your apartment.

This folder is on his desk. Closed, although he tried to open it and find out the reason. It only took a couple of calls and a little bit of annihilation for Hannigan to get all the information on you. Leon did not expect that besides this yellow folder you had some dark spots in your biography. They weren't there, but the way Redfield gave him the papers made him realize that the case was rubbish.

He didn't open it. He was given a copy that is lying and gathering dust at his house. Three months of no connection and Leon just hugs you to him like before and you fall asleep while he tucks his wet hair behind his ear. Of course you won't tell him anything, but for the first time in many months, your dream turns out to be dreamless, which is why in the morning, despite the cold walking around the apartment and the same disgusting weather outside, you wake up refreshed, enveloped in the warmth of Leon's body.

Part of him still thought he had a right to be mad at you, but the other part hated himself for that night. Leon hated to see your tears and preferred to do everything possible to make a smile appear on your face, but after that the split in your relationship was too strong.

And yet you somehow strangely influenced each other instilling hope for the best. Inside, the long-awaited peace immediately spread, forcing all experiences to retreat.

The dampness outside the window, the quarrel, the loss of the child that Leon wanted so much that he even started looking for a house where the three of you could live - it's all left somewhere behind. It was just him and you right now. His lips gently touched the scar line on your back, kissing it. Maybe you just need more time, some people sometimes take several years to finally reveal their secrets. However, it would really be easier to pretend that Leon miraculously found out everything himself. You thought that was why he behaved like that.

However, he could never look into this part of your life without permission. Instead of questioning, you felt his kisses on your cheeks and temple, and the way his hands gripped you tightly as you lay wrapped in a blanket.

"I thought about breakfast but we overslept it" he smiled.

Indeed, the clock on the bedside table showed almost noon. You would actually sleep a little more like this in his arms and luckily for you, Leon allowed your brain to enjoy the long-awaited rest.

A few more tender kisses and a change of position in bed made you doze off listening to the falling raindrops outside. Leon also seems to have closed his eyes from accumulated fatigue.

now his palm is stroking your back under the covers gently soothing you. Even breathing and trembling eyelids in a dream testifies to the sensitivity of your sleep, but Leon knows how to be quiet. His thumb draws circles on your back as his lips caress your forehead. He really regretted his words but not his actions. He needed to talk about what was going on. This may not be right, but his patience is by no means unlimited, so he was going to open that folder with your information soon.

Leon believed that this now applies to him, too. His lips smoothly touch the small scar on your forehead peeking out from under your hair. You startled but didn't wake up.

after about a couple of hours, Leon still made you get out of bed and eat despite the lack of appetite. A couple of sandwiches and coffee to cheer up, in fact, there was little in the refrigerator for cooking something more complex. Therefore, you ate what was. Then you asked him a question.

"Have you...been with Chris?" asked awkwardly as Leon tapped his fingers on the tabletop.

again that heavy look of his. Sometimes you thought he didn't need any weapons. It is enough just to look at the enemy and he himself surrender to him.

"I still want to hear the truth from you and not from a dry text"

He didn't lie. You looked at him thinking that it would be better if he did not come at all. Leon never shared his experiences and you didn't want to load him with yours.

He didn't say a word about Raccoon City, so why should you share what you've been through with him?

"Chris gave me all the papers but I didn't have time to go through them." he answered honestly.

He thinks that you will hate him if he crosses this line. It is worth opening that folder once and everything that you have built together will finally collapse.

"So maybe you shouldn't stick your nose in my business?" The way you snapped at him made him smirk.

"Your business or yours with Chris?" counter attack. Redfield has kept you on top of his head ever since in case they want to take you again. "Let's settle this issue once and for all"

You startled. Unpleasant vibrations ran through his body from the intonation in his voice.

"It was a bioweapon. Hunters?" Leon assumed it was because of the scar. He was right when he suggested that it was a bioweapon, only you had no idea what this fanged creature with razor-sharp claws was called.

"I have no idea," you still rudely replied. You weren't even lying though.

The only major unpredictable monster was the man behind it all and not these creatures.

"Haven't I even earned a drop of your trust? We've been together for quite some time. We ate, we slept in the same bed, we had sex... we have a relationship with you and this relationship implies trust between partners!" Leon raised his voice, gripping the tabletop with his knuckle-whitened hand. You narrowed your eyes at him while he did not understand this stubbornness.

"This is what I want to forget and not remember!" you raised your voice in response, thinking that he was going too far. "Stop it! Just because Redfield knows everything doesn't make him special, he got me out of this shit, that's the whole story!"

"I want to know what the hell was that! Where the hell did you get in that you jump up every night and lie like a beaten animal?!" He believed he had a right to know. He waited too long, he calmed you, put you in order, but any patience comes to an end.

Leon spent a night in Raccoon City that changed his life forever. You spent almost a year in the wilderness watching friends and innocents die.

One has only to think about these nightmares, as they cover with the head. At some point, obsessive thoughts of suicidal content even began to creep into you, and there was a moment when Leon even took the knife from your hands, fearing your gaze. The same knife that Redfield allowed to keep.

"I can't..." Your heart rate increased so much that it seemed to jump out of your chest. Maybe you just need more time. "You can't even imagine what it was like for me there. What I experienced ... it's not that it's so easy to tell, even if years pass, I won't be able to"

Leon took a deep breath. On the one hand, everything was clear to him and he didn’t want to extort the truth from you, knowing that it causes you tangible discomfort, but how to help you if you are silent all the time? It is necessary to treat the disease and not get rid of the symptoms.

"If you can't live without this information, then you can use your government agent connections. I wonder why you didn't do it sooner."

"I want to hear it from you, I want you to trust me." Leon grabbed your hand, lightly squeezing your palm "I hoped that this child would help us, but if we want to move on we must do it together. You and me, not separately"

He was partly right, and that pissed you off. You just wanted to climb somewhere and sit quietly until he left. You've been fighting for so long that now there's no strength left and all you just want is to forget… Leon wants to go through this stage together, but It Can't Last. You can't go forward because you're stuck there. Leon gives you a helping hand, but does not give you the keys to the cage in which your mind is locked.

Mirthless days in which all hopes have passed. You wonder what Leon really wants from you - he's seeking some truth while you continue to grieve for that innocent part of yourself that died. As a result, you meet eyes and Leon offers you only two options for the development of events

"Either we go together or separately"

No third option.

Leon is ready to take nine steps forward to you if you take one step towards him, but he can't drag you on endlessly, no matter how much he loves you. It's right to fight together against common nightmares, Leon is sure that he can help you, only you need to open up to him and trust him. Let that damn folder lie in his desk with all the details, the main thing he needs to learn from you.

You have a choice and you look at him with eyes full of tears standing at a crossroads like then. The butterfly effect where your decision will easily affect the further outcome of events. You rub your shoulders feeling a slight chill and in fact the tea that Leon made for you has been cold for a long time, you had no idea how long you had been sitting at this table.

To remember everyone who died there, and how at some point you were left all alone with your main fear - loneliness. While Leon is patiently waiting for your answer, you want things to be completely different. He wants it too, but you can't change the past. You can't resurrect the dead, and your hands still remember how to reload weapons, although you had to learn it right away in practice.

It makes no sense to measure your injuries, Leon faces this almost every day, but he never considered your injury to be nonsense. He's realized what it's like to live with a nightmare inside of him, and the last thing in the world he wants is for it to ever ruin you, but when he reaches out to you, he hopes that you will grab him tightly so that he can pull you out of this sucking swamp.

In the end, you look back at him after making a decision. Gathering your thoughts, swallowing a bitter lump that prevents you from speaking, you get up from your chair and go to the bookshelf from where you take out a worn polaroid photo of your group from the book. A photo taken three years ago shortly before all the traumatic events. Five smiling successful students and a respected group leader. He was almost sixty, but he looked very good… true, you do not remember his gray, well-groomed beard, but his body dismembered in two.

Then you didn't know that you would be the only one alive in this photo.

You hand it to Leon, sitting back down, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Thoughts are confused, as are words. Leon seems to look at the extended photo without emotion, recognizing only you on it, but understands that you will go through this together.

"It's hard, but I'll try. Maybe not right away, but I will"

Leon puts the photo on the table and nods at you, taking your hand in his, after which you feel only warmth and peace helping to start a long, hard story.

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