#fic: burden of the survivors

[fastcardotmp3]

The thing about your best friend dying young, is that part of you will always be the age you were when you lost her.

A part of you, the part of you that knew her, that lived in the same space as her and breathed the same air through laughter and glee and childlike goofiness, gets stuck there.

It gets stuck, stagnant, unmoving and frozen and painfully so. There's no adjusting the size of it to make room as you grow, as you gain life experiences she will never have, as you become an individual alone when you were supposed to become the two of you together.

The thing about Barb Holland dying when she's a sophomore in high school is that a part of Nancy Wheeler will always be standing at her locker blushing about a boy.

A part of her will always be squealing as she flies into a brightly lit pool, will always be walking up the steps away from the girl waiting for her down below.

This part of her will never die, because if it does then the part of Barb who existed in those moments is lost forever.

Nancy and Barb were a unit, a single life in the little world of Hawkins, Indiana, and so part of Nancy has to remain sixteen years old forever, for as long as forever can last because.

Because she is in charge of carrying so much of Barb's story.

She knows things, was present for little moments of laughter or teasing or sorrow or hope that no one else got to saw. Not even Barb's parents will ever know the extent of who their daughter was in the same way Nancy Wheeler does, and it's not a responsibility she signed up for when she sat down in that ballet studio next to the girl with the red hair when she was only six years old, but it's a responsibility she's aware of now.

Sixteen and killing the thing which took away her best friend.

Sixteen and driving to Illinois to seek out some sort of justice.

Sixteen and still, still, still fighting to be heard when she knows something is wrong, when she knows something is off the same way it was when her best friend's car stayed parked on the road all night.

Sixteen years old and another innocent girl is dead, another one another one always a goddamn other one--

Sixteen.

The thing about your best friend dying young is that you become the protector of their story.

Even when it's your fault she's not here to do it herself.

#I've said it before i'll say it again the tragedy of nancy wheeler is being a survivor!!! #she does not /get/ to die she is forced to watch everyone she loves die!! #forced to carry the weight of their stories with her for the rest of her too long life!! #she's A STORYTELLER THIS IS HER BURDEN TO BEAR #nancy wheeler #stranger things #nancy & barb #nancy x barb #dot post #dot fic

[mecharlie-fox]

Obey Me: The Aftermath of the Great Celestial War, How Many Seconds in Eternity?

A life this long is a battlefield. A large battlefield – an empty battlefield. Because everyone else, they’re gone.

They’re all gone.

That was the tragedy of an angel named Evangeline. Every name Father chose for his children was a promise. As Lucifer was promised to be the light bringer Michael was promised to be the gift from God, Evangeline was the promise of the gospel – the promise of good news.

Father often knows more than what any living being does in all the three realms. Beings like them were old enough to know that a longer life isn’t always a better one.

It’s easy to believe that time doesn’t pass. The passage of time is an illusion, and life is the magician. Immortality isn’t living forever, young ones. That’s not what it feels like. Immortality is everybody else dying. They’re all dead.

Eva walked through the corridors of their household, a corridor that was once buzzling and loud, filled with cries of happy frustrations, cries, and even laughter. Now she was hearing nothing but silence. She never knew that silence could be so… louder than anything else in the realms combined.

For a large house – it was suffocating for two angels who barely even see each other for a couple of decades. It wasn’t easy, outliving the people they loved. When they died, a part of her died with them. Pain and loss – that defines them as much as happiness and love.

They are ancient creatures. A good death is what all mortals could ever hope for, unless they’re immortal. How many seconds is eternity? Truly?

The hole that they left, she felt it. Every single ounce of it.

And she had to live with that.

“We all carry our prisons with us.” Eva mumbled to herself as she felt the warm wind, holding a silver pocket watch in her hands. Even after a century, she could still hear the screams – it was more than she could count.

“Found you.” Eva turned to where the voice came from, only to feel a finger touching her cheek. She looked up to find Simeon giving a warm smile. “Are you in prayer?”

“No,” Eva answered quietly as she looked at the monument in front of her. A monument surrounded by flowers and pictures of those who have fallen, “I finished my prayers hours ago.”

“May I?”

“Of course.”

Simeon sat down, observing the angel who was staring at the monument of the angels who have died during the Great Celestial War. Those once bright, calm, and joyous blue eyes were filled with nothing but sadness, grief, and loneliness. “Coin for your thoughts, Eva?”

Eva was quiet for a moment.

Simeon was a Seraphim – he knew her schedule day in and day out, just like the rest. He knew that she was down there, wandering along with mortals but never mingled with them. Even when Father heavily forbidden most of their kind – a few were given a chance to go down there to perform their divine duties.

As a Power, as an Authority – Evangeline was one of those few angels who had the privilege to do so. Even when it irks her.

“I… heard something interesting from a human during my last visit.” She answered quietly. Her hands still… fidgeting on the pocket watch.

“What did this human say?”

“He said that humans die twice.” Eva looked up to the Seraphim, as if she was looking for a reaction… an answer to many of her questions. Centuries of living – all these questions but even Father could not provide those answers when she needed it, “he said… once when our breathe leaves our body… and once when the last person we know says our name. What is it like?” She finally asked him. “What is it like to die, Simeon?”

Simeon gently placed his hand onto hers, “only those who have died would know.”

Everybody knows that everybody dies, and nobody knew it like the Powers. Sometimes Eva thinks that angels live too long. She couldn’t recall how long Simeon held her hand from the memorial. He was bringing her home, her hand in his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Eva didn’t know if Simeon cursed the silence or had learned how to embrace it. She always noted that unlike her brother, Simeon was careful around her. He was choosing his words before saying them, he was choosing when needs to be soft spoken and when he needs to tell her the harsher truths of life. She couldn’t read Seraphim – he was more… complicated to read compared to the rest.

Even Lucifer was easier to read compared to him.

Simeon smiles but it never reaches his eyes. But his hand was always warm, as if he was comforting her in his own quiet way. Even she and her brother couldn’t see each other eye to eye ever since the war.

She believes that none of them understand. That no one would ever understand.

But he did.

Simeon understood every ounce of pain she was going through. The lost of loved ones, the loss of her brethren in combat – he knows that she was always thinking about the day she did it. The day she killed many of their brothers and sisters in a war no one asked for.

The Seraphim wanted to ask his former brother, considering all the causalities, all the pain that was caused – was it all worth it?

The brave and noble Sister Evangeline, she never thought she’d find herself so alone in a world where the sun never sets and yet it feels so dark all the same.

#obey me #obey me oc #obey me simeon #the aftermath of the great celestial war #this is like 500 years after the war #Eva kinda has survivors guilt #angels in the position of power have burdens like this too #I know I wrote he sat down but in a creative aspect #him trying to fix her messed up hair makes more sense to me #since Eva has been a complete mess since the war #so it kinda shows in her hair #this is like a test for this fic ive been working on sooo yeah

[morallyinept]

Yours And Mine, Mine And Yours - A Joel Miller One Shot

Summary: Joel's fixin' up your new home, darlin'. A little fic written for @iamasaddie 's writing challenge, based on the moodboard she created for me above.

Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 1.2k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “It's the emergence of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Joel gets handsy with you. Some wandering fingers and hands.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Probably the quickest thing I've ever written. This was such a fun challenge! 🤗

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Joel wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his calloused hand, squinting against the relentless Texan sun beating down on the dried-out yard.

The air hangs heavy with the scent of sun-baked soil and the distant hum of cicadas. His t-shirt clings to his broad body, a makeshift sponge for the beads of perspiration rolling down his neck.

The dilapidated shack looms behind him, a wonky testament to the daunting task ahead of him. As Joel swings the sledgehammer, the metallic clang echoes through the neighbourhood, punctuating through the quietude.

Dust stirs in the stifling air, settling on his damp skin and lips, and mingling with the aroma of decay from the timeworn wood.

The house stands weathered and weary, bearing the scars of time like a rugged survivor put through its paces in the landscape. Its sun-bleached siding has long surrendered to the elements, leaving behind a patchwork quilt of peeling paint.

The porch sags, burdened by the weight of years of neglect. Windows with grubby glass stare blankly with mottled panes and dried out vines framing them. The front door, stubbornly resistant to opening, squeaks, setting his teeth on edge.

He makes a mental note to get some supplies to lubricate the hinges tomorrow at the hardware store in town.

Yet, amidst the decay, a glimmer of potential lingers in the foundations, which upon inspection, are solid - a promise of revival in the echoes of hammers and the scrape of paint brushes against the tired surfaces.

The clatter of tools, occasional grunts, and the distant rumble of a passing truck marks the soundtrack of his sweaty endeavours throughout the day.

It’s a project that Joel is determined to see through, to make this wreck of a house a home. Yours and his. His and yours.

And it was a steal too, one that you could both comfortably afford, despite the dire renovations needed to stop it blowing over in a strong gust.

But Joel would see to it, those working hands fixing up the place himself in between jobs to save on labour costs and cowboy conmen of the trade sniffing round.

When he’s finally done for the day, and yearning for a cool shower to soothe his burning skin, the creaking porch protests under his stacked weight; each scrape of his boots accompanied by the groaning of ancient nails he’ll have to replace, burnt a shade of umber in their rust.

Joel, aching from the day's labour, enters the house with a trail of dry yard dust in his wake flaking from his boots as he kicks them off. The creaky door clatters shut behind him, and he navigates the dimly lit hallway toward the sound of running water.

The bathroom door stands slightly ajar, revealing a slice of warm light spilling onto the scuffed tiled floor.

Inside, you’re standing sans jeans and barefoot at the sink, hands submerged in cool water, washing away your own grime of the day and paint from under your fingernails.

He wraps his thick arms around you, not with urgency, but with a tired understanding born from the shared toil.

Joel nestles his face into the crook of your neck, the fading scent of soap mingling with the earthiness of your day's work fills his nostrils as he inhales.

"Ya look exhausted, darlin’," he murmurs against your ear, his voice as gravelly as the driveway.

You are tired, you feel it weighing your bones, but a genuine smile plays on your lips as he nuzzles into you.

"You caught the sun.”

He glances his face in the mirror to see a faint burn streaking pink across his hawkish nose and forehead.

“Nice cool shower will fix that.”

“Mm, been fermenting all day, too. We also need to get the air conditioner to work.” You groan in delight at the thought of ruminating in an igloo.

“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow.” Joel says.

You feel his hands sliding down your back to settle on your hips. You’re standing there in just your panties and an oversized shirt that drapes over your thighs with the baggy sleeves bunched and rolled up.

On closer inspection it’s speckled with paint.

Joel steps away, one hand still attached at your hip, the other reaching into the shower to switch it on. Whilst the water runs he cuddles up behind you again, this time his hands undo the buttons on your shirt slowly as he looks at you through the mirror.

“Look at you all pretty in m’shirt.” He hums, slowly revealing the skin from the centre of your chest. “Gone n’ got paint all down it.”

“You don’t wear it anymore.” You turn off the faucet, and the sound of running water ceases.

“That’s because ya take it before I get a chance to.”

“What's yours is mine, Joel.” You smirk with a casual shrug.

“Mmhm.” He grizzles into your skin. “And what's yours is mine, too.”

His hands come up to your breasts, sliding inside the now open shirt and giving you a soft grope; fingers tweezing around your swollen nipples as he pulls on them gently making you hiss and shudder. They're so sensitive and he knows it as he rolls them, pinching a little.

You hear him grunt in your ear as you moan out, head lolling back on his shoulder.

You watch keenly in the mirror as his palm slides down your sternum and settles on the small swell of your belly, stroking over it gently. You feel the heat of his giant hand emanating through your skin.

“Ya better not be over-exertin’ yourself painting up this place. I can do it.”

“I’m pregnant Joel, not useless.” You smile. “I’m doing a pretty good job, I'll have you know. Kitchen's almost done.”

“Well, ya leave the high walls to me. Won’t have ya climbin’ up any ladders.”

“Yes, boss.” You grin.

He nips on your ear playfully and smirks as he ruts his hips into your behind making you feel that bulge that you’re unable to ignore.

“Ya look so fuckin’ sexy like this.” He drawls. Those rough calloused hands of his roam your skin, pulling the shirt down off your shoulder so he can kiss you on it.

Joel’s other hand slips down past your belly and cups over your cunt; warm and dampening panties are felt inside his palm.

He runs his finger up and down the seam of you, the material sinking into your wet folds as he does it. You flinch when he knocks against the engorged bump of your clit, and you bite down on your lip as you feel that heavy ache pulse through it.

He lifts up the back hem of the shirt and slips his hand inside your panties stroking and squeezing at your ass.

“What’s yours is mine, right?” He says, when he catches you grinning at him through the mirror.

Joel kisses your neck as he slowly pulls your panties down and you step out of them. Turning, you lift off his t-shirt revelling in his bronzed chest as he unbuckles his belt, watching as you plant kisses on his salt-brined collarbone.

You let the shirt slide off onto the floor as he takes off his jeans and socks and his cock, swollen and sticky, bobs out at you. You take him in your hand, stroking him slowly to full hardness as he whines into your eyelashes.

His fingers swipe into your folds, teasing your clit as he licks into your mouth. You can already feel your thighs shaking as he circles over the slickness of it as you start to pant.

"Let’s get ya in the shower, darlin’. Wanna fuck ya up against the tiles." Joel husks.

Groaning, you catch his lips in yours, your cheek gliding against his scruff before he picks you up in his arms and steps in with you under the cool spray.

Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed what you just read, please consider re-blogging, I'd really appreciate it. 🥰 Thank you so much @iamasaddie for creating this fun challenge! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #jett's writing #✏️ game

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red

art in the cover by @ave661 and @shkretart !

chapter one | chapter two | ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you'll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won't. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

A/N: Hello girlies! This is the very first time I get the courage to actually post something I wrote. I've been reading y'all fics behind my screen for so much time now I figured I could start postingggg; so please be gentle with the feedbacks, but be also sincere ♥ also, English is not my first language and although I'm fluent, there might be a mistake or two along the way. Don't feel shy in pointing it out if you see any! Moreover, this will be a long ass one I'm pretty sure, but I might get myself some more courage to post my smut oneshots in some near future. Hope you enjoy! x

Chapter 1 - The Incident | 3.3k

There was ash in the air everywhere. That scenario didn’t frighten him – in fact, Ghost was absolutely sure that at that point in his life, almost nothing could fright him. He had seen much worse things before, he thought silently as he walked towards the building completely destroyed. There was debris everywhere – the building had not collapsed completely, but some parts did not survive the flames and now there seemed to be not even a little bit of life in that place. There were still small portions of flames spread through a few heaps of debris, a terrible smell of wood and burnt concrete; but nothing of that could be worse than the smells of dead, flattered human flesh that once or again invaded his nostrils.

His eyes rolled around in search of any record of life. In vain, he knew: there was no chance that any civilian had survived that. A cruel, dark bombing, a violent and destructive terrorist act. The only goal was to destroy any form of life that could inhabit there, and possibly it had been obtained without any further circumstances. When Price sent the radio search order to all members of the 141, he made it very clear that those efforts were in vain. They would find nothing. We lost today, he said. We could not foresee this, nor can we remedy it. It was a burden they had to cope with on a daily basis - the often inability to do something, to act, was a burden that a soldier should carry. It was part of the job.

Ghost pressed the point button in his ear. “Is anyone listening?” He asked, his eyes checking the entire perimeter of the building behind the skull mask that covered his face. “Have you found something, LT?” Soap answered, his voice hushed by the efforts. “No. I’m making an entrance, there’s nothing out here.” the lieutenant stated, kicking off a few remaining pieces of concrete from the front of his feet and laying the rifle in his hands. Ghost stood in front of the main entrance to the building – that place that should have looked like a reception at some point in the near past - and the movement of his boots against the ground caused the roof above his head to shake a little, and some ash particles fell onto his helmet. He observed the movement, standing still for a few seconds, only for warranty; he did not want to end up becoming one more of those burial victims. 

When the concrete whisper finally stopped stirring his ears, he entered. The lamp of his helmet lit up, and he looked around. His eagle eyes did not lose an inch of that entire perimeter, his ears attentive as those of a bat. He was looking for a sign, whatever it was: a presence, a scream, voices, calls for help. Anything. Anyone.

All he could hear were the sounds of the structure of the building, apparently ready to give in. Ghost tried to enter one of the apartments; his boots sole hit the semi-destroyed grinded surface of the door, and he broke in. He looked around. An enormous smashed chandelier rested violently against the bloody body of a child. 

Many people said Simon was the type of man to have no feelings anymore. That time, scars and trauma had taken from him all and every kind of humanity. He had become a soldier—one of the good, one of the invincible, but nothing aside from that. Nothing but a soldier.

Perhaps that sentence became so repetitive that at some point, he, himself began to believe it. His face remained motionless. The sound of the blood drops hanging on the floor filled his ears, and he snorted for a moment, pressing the point into his ear. “First floor, apartment 102,” he said, coordinating other operators to head to start collecting the bodies. 

His eyes went up to the ceiling, facing the huge blunt in the structure that caused the luster to fall. Maybe the parents' bodies were still there somewhere to be found, he thought. But that wasn’t his job, and unfortunately he didn’t have all the time in the world. He then traced his steps out of the apartment, looking around. As he kept going upstairs, the lantern lit up one hand or another thrown out of a pile of debris. Broken legs, the kinds of horrors that haunt the dreams of ordinary people. 

As Price had said and as he imagined to be fact, there were no survivors. Even when he reached the last floor, without any hope that he would find any movement that were not spasms of lifeless bodies, he tried. He tried to find someone, to do his job with all the mastery he could. His voice echoed through the entire floor, looking for anyone who could answer, but as expected, there was no response.

All that was left was the subsoil, the garage. When he came down the lobby again and found a portion of the staff dragging out some bodies, placing them in black bags, one of the doctors caught his attention. “Lieutenant. Have you finished checking around? Nothing up there?” The man asked, pulling his glasses from the tip of his nose. Ghost is negative. “No, nothing,” he said bluntly.

The doctor seemed to bite his own jaw with some strength, in disappointment. He has baffled. “You don’t even have to check down there. If those above didn’t survive...” he said, giving on his shoulders. Ghost watched him in silence for a few seconds, before finally answering, “Focus on your work, doc. I’ll finish my own.” He said in a nod before starting to push with his crude hands the stones that covered the entrance to the stairs that led to the garage.

His steps echoed. Ghost walked through the parking lot, passed pillar by pillar, checked every car. There were bursting pipes releasing hot steam, a gas leak as well he could tell – and he didn’t want to be there to see what would happen if some kind of ignition occurred. He hastened his steps. He took a deep breath; he was about to press his point and give up, claiming that there were no survivors, but a stifling sound interrupted his action. He looked around, looking for the source of the heavy breath and the little grumbling of pain he heard. His eyebrows cracked almost instantly and he turned around himself, looking around. All his senses were activated at that moment – he began to walk through among the few cars there, following the sound he had heard and then, a hand hitting the air dropped debris to the side of what seemed to be a body. He approached cautiously, throwing the light from his helmet’s lantern in the direction of the sound, and to his surprise, although not perceptible, there was the only survivor of the bombing: you.

A small, female frame shrunk from a pile of debris. Your hair was covered in ashes, your face - the dirty cheeks with the blackness of the material, your arms painted in the scarlet of your blood flowing freely to the ground, glass blades attached painfully to your soft skin. There was a cut down from the top of your forehead until the beginning of your left eyebrow. The completely messy strands of your hair fell against your face, opaque, bright. The expression of fear on your eyes turned into pure terror the moment they met his own, those small cold orbs inside the mask. You instinctively tried to move away from him, push your body away from those debris, away from that huge and frightening man.

When you threw your body to the side, all you could feel was your back against the cold floor, your left leg refused to work. You felt nauseous, stupid, your head turned. Your mouth trembled in a failed attempt to say something, the silence already lasted for seconds enough for you to fear his frame standing ever so tall and quiet. “Please don’t hurt me.” You managed to say, your voice engulfed in a cry that refused to go out. It wasn’t as if it was going to work; if he was one of the terrorists who caused this incident and really wanted to hurt you, then you were at his mercy and there was little you could do about it.

Maybe, if you were in a better mental and physical condition, you’d be able to identify that the rifle in the hands of the man in front of yourself was of a military model. That all his gear pointed out that he was an operator, someone willing to help. Your mind could not process all the necessary information about him at the given moment, although.

“I will not hurt you, lass.” He explained, and for a moment you felt your chest swell in air and it was hard to contain the immense desire to cry. The heavy steps of the man were made against your small, wounded body. He lowered himself, letting the rifle rest next to him quietly. You gulped in dry, still nervous with your eyes raised to his, now a little closer to you. He wasn’t looking at you — he was looking down, seeming to assess how hurt you were. “I’ll tell you what’s happening now. Okay?” He asked, slowly and calmly, his cold eyes now facing your own, visualizing your soul behind the cover of this hurt shell of yours. You stumbled, and he continued. “I’ll take that away from you, and I need you to help me helping you. Alright? You will be well. I just need you to hold your leg and when I push it over, you roll. Understood?” The man asked, his firm and deep voice being the first source of human contact you had since the lightning caused you to wipe out unconscious hours before. You came in for confirmation.

Ghost nodded back and raised his fingers, counting to three. Contrary to what you might have imagined, he didn’t need to do much to lift the huge concrete block that blocked his left leg from moving — he even had some ease in doing so. He held the concrete above his body, his arms backed over you, he sat down. “Roll.” he commanded, and you obeyed as you could. You leaned her hands on the ground and gave a boost; one of your hands instinctively went to the wounded leg, in an attempt to warm up the pain now felt by finally having released it from the rubble. You couldn’t hold a moan of pain, but he was quickly stifled by the sound of concrete hitting the ground when Ghost let it fall back.

You mentally begged that you could endure that. Your eyes were filled with tears, and a certain despair arose through your throat, your mouth. The anguish of finally feeling the unpleasant smell of the environment, the nervousness of realizing that very possibly, few other people survived that disaster, it was overwhelming your already troubled mind. 

Ghost didn’t lose a second in time; he finished positioning the rifle around his body and you felt his arms wrapping you by the waist and the folds of your knees, and he lifted it up with immense ease – it was as if you were featherweight. The gloves in his hands were rough against the sensitivity of your skin, but his touch was as cautious as possible. You could say without a doubt that this soldier of at least twice your height was doing his best not to hurt you any more than you’re already wounded.

“What is your name?” He finally asked, his rifle resting on his back, and you resting over his arms. He wasn’t looking at you – his eyes were fixed ahead, in the direction he was carrying you to, the exit. You answered, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “You can call me Ghost. I am a soldier, yes? We will take care of you.” He said in a clear tactical attempt to calm your nervousness down.

You sat down with your head. “Amelie Miller... Did you find her? My friend, she... did you find her?” You asked, your body trembled as you came to realize his eyes were now boring into yours.

He seemed to look for words that would not hurt you as much as the ones he had to say, but he for one, was not good with words or comforting.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered, in a sigh. “there are no more survivors. You were the only one.”

~ x ~

Your head hurt. Everything hurt; body, arms. There was a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water still sealed in your hands. The look in your eyes was empty, blurred; there were a lot of people there. Many doctors, many operators - soldiers like Ghost. One of them wore a mohican, the other had thick eyebrows. The captain was talking to them in an isolated corner, the doctors were talking to each other about your condition, about what should be done from now on. There were agents from the British intelligence surrounding the site, and there were about hundreds of black bags stretched on the floor, closed. You still felt pain, although the healings now prevented blood from flowing freely through your forehead as before. The glass pieces had been removed from your arms, your face was clean now and even so, you never felt so dirty in your entire life.

Every time you dare to blink, you could swear that you would faint. Your hands were getting weaker, loosening around the bottle. The sudden sound of the bottle falling to the ground caught the attention of one of the men there – the captain. As far as you could realize, he called himself something Price.

“Miss.” He said, coming closer to you. Suddenly, there were eyes on you from every angle possible; all of the other soldiers turned to the ambulance where you were sitting now. You slowly raised your face to look back at Price, and he continued. “I’m not going to ask if it’s okay, this question is rhetorical. You need to be hydrated.�� He was bowing down in front of you, taking the bottle he dropped and opening it, offering it to you. Your eyes checked at the bottle for a few seconds and your trembling hand finally grabbed it, drinking until the last drop you could - all at once. You could feel your throat burning, your skin seemed to be in living flesh. The appearance of your wounds was not as unpleasant as the feeling of having them, but you knew that all that would leave you some ugly scars.

You could not care about it now – in fact, couldn’t care about anything at all. Your mind was empty and you never felt so apathetic in such a distressful situation. 

“What am I going to do now?” You asked, in a whisper, your eyes completely lost. “I—what am I going to do...?,” you repeated, and there was nothing but an absolute feeling of raw pain and loss in your voice right at that moment, for as much as you tried to hide it.

Price swelled his chest, and his lips compressed into a line. “You don’t have to worry about anything now. We’ll take care of everything,” he assured. “The government has a great defense program for disasters like this, you won’t be without a roof,” he finished, trying to calm you down. You closed your eyes and shaken your head, but you did not respond. There was nothing to say, nothing to do; what could be done besides trusting that everything would go well? Trust that they would have a plan for you, a shelter, doctors, a chance of living after you were supposed to die in such a horrific way?

You didn’t even know if you wanted all that. Didn’t even knew if you wanted to be the only survivor. Surely not: at that time, you would rather have died among the other more than a hundred people who were now in black bags scattered on the floor in front of you. You felt so much - you felt gratitude for their work, for saving you, but at the same time you couldn’t help but to feel like a fraud for surviving while other died. Others that, somewhat, deserved more than you to live. There was so much in your mind now, but little that you could really synthesize and make sense of.

You drowned your face between your hands, unable to cry, but wanting so deeply to hide from them, from those men, from doctors, from the press, from everything. Wanting to be away from everything, wanting to be dead for once.

A little further away, Ghost observed you. His broad arms crossed, his posture relentlessly perfect as always. His eyes looked at your gestures, scanned your body —all those wounds, poor girl, he thought. Although he was sure there was no more of a heart in his chest, he felt comprehensive towards your emotions. The horrors you had lived in such a short space of time, the unbearable consequences that that meant for your poor mind. The trauma. The pain.

He could not help but think that he saw a bit of himself in you. Not a bit of Ghost – a little bit of Simon. A little bit of the little Simon who felt an immeasurable strain in his chest, a void that could not be filled. 

When the doctors finally helped you to get up in the ambulance and sit on one of the available chairs, your face turned over your own shoulder and you found his eyes stuck to yours. It felt intimidating in some way; perhaps the way his confidence didn’t allow him to look away while you stared at him, or something in the way he seemed capable of reading right through you like a good book of his. He was a savior to you, and somehow it still seemed his persona was conflicting with the one of a savior. He was something else, perhaps still a benefactor, but somehow, a very dangerous man.

There was not a single feeling in his eyes, quite the opposite. There was pure coldness, and yours on the other hand carried some gratitude and ingratitude at the same time. You felt grateful that he had saved you, but at the same time, felt angry at him for not having let you die. You entered the ambulance, and your eyes continued to lock a gaze against his until the moment someone closed the car door from outside.

Ghost turned his eyes at last, and saw Price approaching.

“Fuck.” The captain whispered, laying his hands on his waist, looking at all the misfortune that the incident had caused to that place. “How many bodies?” He asked, looking at Simon with the corner of his eyes.

“A hundred and two so far.” Ghost answered quietly.

“And have you found the bodies of the sons of bitches who did this?” Price said with some disgust and hatred attached to his voice. Ghost assented positively, which made Price crack the dust almost instantly into a distressed expression.

“Motherfuckers.” He grunted, turning to the rest of the team. Soap, who had been remaining in silence for thorough all the search, dared to finally speak.

“We have a lot to report, hm?” He raised his eyebrows, and received a Price assent in response.

“To the headquarters." The captain ordered, making his way to the helicopter that awaited for them, and they left.

#simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod ghost

[grippingbeskar]

unearthed

chapter one - matched

warnings— canon typical violence, mentions of death, loss, injury, maybe a lil trauma

a/n— and we’re back! just over a year of having this account, and the end of season three, and i’m back where i started. thirsting after the mandalorian. i’m super excited about this one, and even though i think there will be a bit of a wait between chapters i promise its because they are going to be higher quality. also, obviously there will be smut further on (come on, it’s me. of course we are going to fuck him.) so no minors please!! hope you enjoy! big thank-you to @kyberblade for beta reading and saving me from my typos i love u.

also a psa. disregard season three for this fic. it fucked up my timeline so i’m changing it. things might be a bit all over the place, but it’s just going to be what i wanna do with it HAHAH no rhyme or reason :)

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You stared out into the never ending darkness, interspersed by twinkling hints of far away planets, all of them seeming more and more out of reach as you were shuffled out into the hall. Flanked by guards, the view from your room disappeared from sight, replaced by the familiar, safe walls of your palace. This was your life now— being shoved towards the known and away from those giant stretches of sky you longed so much for. Your duty, you say to yourself. This was the way you had to live, destined to the confines of your pre-determined universe. It is what you were born to do.

You knew this day would come. You were, as you were constantly, incessantly reminded, the last of the royal bloodline. After your parents early death, it left you as heir and sole survivor to the throne. All of your life, you had been trained for this moment, but it was something that was always so...distant. 

You used to look forward to this time in your life, where you’d get to travel the galaxy, finally earning some of that coveted freedom all the other girls in the palace talked about. You dreamed of seeing the galaxy, being unknown on an Outer Rim planet, going wherever your heart takes you. You thought you’d have time to live. But then, within the blink of an eye, you were rushed through your coronation and left to carry the burden of commanding an entire planet. It was like a rug was ripped out from underneath you, all while someone dropped a fifty pound weight over your head, all the while chiding you for stumbling over. 

In the wake of the Empire finally falling around the galaxy, planets all around the suns were scrambling— resources were scarce, trade routes were un-secure and stability was out of reach. This was the same for you, because the future of your planet was now in your hands, and you had no idea what to make of it. 

Unfortunately for you, stability in a woman’s world came in the form of a contract. Most usually, a marriage contract.

This meant, much to your dismay, an entourage of young, hopeful (and practically brainless) men arriving on your doorstep, all popping the question in hopes of securing the new Queen's hand in marriage. Your hand. You knew your planet was important and appealing, with its natural resources, expanding economy in spite of the Empire’s devastation, and an abundance of funds for all the newest technologies with the death of two of the greatest ruling minds of the time. Any leader of even a remotely nearby planet would strike on this opportunity— you know you would, if it were someone else.

The whole idea wasn’t new, but it still made your gut twist. Your parents were lucky they had something more– real love, and a home filled with the stuff of fairytales. While you knew this was rare, it made you long for that. Knowing it was real, that a connection like that could be somewhere out there for you, but you’d never reach it because you never got the chance to try... you knew you were lucky, but it didn’t stop your heart from longing for more.  You wanted someone to show you the stars, to let you be you, and not just try to win you like a prize or a notch in their belt. 

Everyone around you said this was the smart thing to do. Choose someone— anyone who would bring you what you wanted. Your planet, as fertile as it is, is not famous for its army. That was clear during the reign of the Empire, and now the New Republic was thinning their guard posts after the war, you needed manpower. You knew it was a necessity, and you wanted to keep your people safe, but to offer yourself up like a prized mare? You were a Queen, and you were planning to be a good one, with or without a husband.

As you sat on the throne, dismissing yet another suitor with a shake of your head, the collective group of your father’s– now your own Advisors groaned, and one walked up the steps, approaching you with a slightly bowed head.

“Your Majesty, if I may…” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, only because you knew the watchful gaze of neighbouring planet leaders were on you.

“I have a feeling you will anyway.” He shook his head, quickly coming up the stairs to your side. He sighs, and you shrug at him. “What? He wasn’t my type, okay? If I’m going to sleep with the man, I should at least–”

“Your Majesty, this is the fourteenth potential match you have rejected. We are a coveted planet, but if you do not choose someone, we run the risk of having no options at all.” He says, looking down his nose at where you are strung lazily across your throne. He was still harbouring some of that anger from earlier, where you had refused to change into the giant mess of a gown the styling team had chosen for you. If the colour wasn’t enough– a pale puke green measurable to the blood of a Trandoshaan– the fabric was so expansive you would have drowned in it. You loved a pretty dress, but at least one that didn’t eat you whole.

“Would that be so bad?” You dropped your head back, and he shook his head, sighing again. 

“Yes— it would mean instability. We would be a target for neighbouring planets. We are strong, but not strong enough to be alone. The New Republic has already thinned their guards to a ghost number compared to four years ago. We cannot wait any longer. We are… vulnerable, without a strong army.”

“We can make allies without forcing me to marry one of them.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. We would never force you to do anything.” He says those words, but every syllable is laced with warning. You may be the last living member of your blood line, but no matter how important, and no matter how beloved by your people you are, there were some things that you couldn’t control.

The worst part was he was right. Sure, you could solidify alliances, but a marriage was a lock and key. If you picked the right one, your people would be safe for years to come, long after you were successful. After what you had seen of the Empire, what they had done here, and all over the galaxy, your people deserved safety. Freedom— whatever the cost.

Your love for your people would get you through this. In them, you saw your parents legacy, and the passion to build something greater than yourself. You would never trade this life for anything... but it didn’t mean you couldn’t have preferences. Just as you were going to justify why you rejected the man now sneering at you from the corner of the room, the doors burst open, and your attention is diverted to the messenger rushing in with a strange look on his face.

“Your Majesty, we’ve just received another request.” He calls, breathless. “I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s… I am not sure how to say this.”

The man is clearly nervous— avoiding your eye and instead staring at his feet. You rise off the throne and move to him, attempting a comforting smile and nodding at him. 

“It’s alright. Start at the beginning.”

“This request… It is unusual.” He swallows, and you laugh lightly.

“What is it this time? Don’t tell me the Hutts have thrown themselves into the mix.” You had nothing against them right now, but they were so… slimy. “Whoever it is, as long as they send a message in peace, they will be well received.”

“Well, that is the thing. They do not ask Your Majesty to receive them. They…”

“They don’t want to come here?” Already, you are breathing a sigh of relief. Anything to stop the constant parade of men flapping their money and stupid hair around.

“No, they ask that… they ask that you come to them.” He finishes, and your advisors are next to him in an instant, all attempting to speak over one another. You raise your eyebrows, surprised, but intrigued.

“That is an insult!” The man who challenged you before, known to you as Advisor Corell, spits at the messenger. “Her Majesty only receives guests— she does not travel unless there is cause.”

“Did they say anything else?” You ask, and the room goes quiet again as you step forward. The messenger looks uncomfortable, knowing there are still foreign diplomats in the room. “Everyone else, please go. You’ll be... informed of my decision later.”

The entire room exits quickly at the sound of your voice, all mumbling to themselves, probably still hurt over your rejection and blatant disinterest, but all you could care about was this new message.

“It’s alright. Go ahead.” You encourage. “What else did they say?”

“They asked for your hand, of course. They have a new King, and think the match would be beneficial to both sides.” A new King. Your mind buzzes, trying to think if you’d heard of any close planets going through a succession besides your own. Nothing comes to mind, but if he was new, at least this one would hopefully be closer to your age.

“A new King?” The messenger nods. “And he asked for me personally?”

“Ah... the message was not from him, Your Majesty. It was a hologram from a member of his court. A… Bo-Katan.” You had never heard the name before, but one of your advisors makes a noise of recognition and you spin to her.

“You know this name?” You ask Advisor Kaylen— probably your favourite member and the closest thing you have to a friend. She nods eagerly. “You’ve met them?”

“I have heard it before, but that would be impossible…” She fades off, and you turn back to the messenger. 

“This is the most interesting person I’ve heard of since this whole thing started. What’s impossible?” You watch the messenger's face twist, so you reach out and touch his shoulder, the contact surprising him and earning a disapproving hum from Advisor Corell. “You can tell me, just ignore him. I do.”

“Well, that’s just the thing. The planet they claim to come from has been long abandoned.” Advisor Kaylen was still muttering to herself, but you couldn’t focus on her anymore when the messenger finally spoke again. “They say they are calling from Mandalore, and that their new King has asked for you to be his Queen.”

“Stop asking me about that.” Din growled, stopping his swift movement through the makeshift repair station he’d been pulling together. “I’m not interested.”

“This isn’t just about you anymore.” The longer he spent with these Mandalorians, the more the thought of taking off with their precious Dark-Saber and leaving seemed appealing. “An alliance like this is exactly what we need. With all the repairs, we’ve run low in funds. We need resources— we need to outsource, and this is the fastest way to do it. She’s all but waving a flag for us.”

He never thought there would be a time when bounty hunting was the normalcy he craved— but standing surrounded by relics of his people long passed, discussing a potential marriage—he started to miss the reliable frame of the Razor Crest a little too much.

“Mandalore was built on the backs of our people. We can do it again, the same way.” Bo-Katan sighs, giving him a glare after removing her helmet. “Would you do this? Was this a part of your plan to re-take Mandalore?”

“They didn’t have a dwindling empire and economic crisis to deal with. If you do this, we can rebuild the way our ancestors wanted us to live. How we used to live. Welcome our family home. Isn’t that what you want?” He spins, taking two slow steps to face Bo-Katan, who stands with her helmet tucked under her arm. “To answer your question— yes. I would have. I was royalty once, and I know what this is like. And I would still do it. You might even make a friend in her, Din.”

“You aren’t suggesting friends.” To her credit, she doesn’t back down, just raises her eyebrows at him. “You are asking me to get married. You know what that means.”

“It’s not like that. Rulers marry for all kinds of reasons— and if she’s looking, it means she wants to take full advantage of this. It’s the smart thing to do. Her planet is powerful, but vulnerable. Their army numbers are small after the Empire’s attacks, and she needs what we can offer now the Rebellion is squaring off. Good, strong fighters. Besides, I’m sure you aren’t exactly all she hoped for, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hardly see her after the first few months.” Rolling her eyes, she turns back to the pile of spare parts they had dragged in from outside. “We’ve already sent a hologram inviting her here. If she accepts, you can discuss a potential alliance like adults. If you are still opposed, we’ll cancel it and try it your way. Until then, we have work to do.”

“Send another message. Say I’m no longer interested.” Din stands impossibly still, waiting for Bo-Katan to agree and leave before he lets out a long breath. Clearly, he’d misjudged how set on this idea she was.

“Just think about it, okay?” She turns and disappears from view, and he feels like he’s going to collapse under the pressure. Things were complicated enough— in the last month, he’d learnt his way of life was not the only way at all, inherited a saber he had little idea how to use, and dropped everything he knew to come back home— to Mandalore. To say he had enough on his plate was an understatement.

Truthfully, he had come back with one thing on his mind. The Way declared one could only truly be forgiven for their misdeeds in the living waters beneath the mines of Mandalore— and Din had a lot to be forgiven for. If there was anywhere he could start fresh, it was here, but before he could do that, he had to find the mines, currently buried under years worth of rubble and debris. The last thing he needed was to disgrace himself in yet another way— which is exactly what Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian’s were suggesting.

He was not ready for this. Not in any way. He was not a ruler— not a born and bred leader, like Bo-Katan, and he’d never wanted to be. It might have made sense to an outsider, maybe. A new, untested ruler of a planet as economic as yours was bound to attract unwanted attention, and about the only thing Mandalore could offer right now was its ability to fight. It was the only thing it was known for.

He didn’t want to marry, though. Not for a political alliance. He didn’t think about it at all— not right now. He’d heard a few things about you by now— how your parents had passed suddenly, and how you were now being squashed into the same situation as he was, forced to play a role which you had no choice in being cast to. He felt as sorry for you as he did for himself, and he found his thoughts drifting to the Child.

Din looked around, exhausted at just the thought of getting this place into any form of working order. Spare parts to old ships scattered on the floor, and the room was painted in a light purple hue thanks to the reflection of the glass roof overhead. He stood, leaving the mess of a garage and walking back out towards the largest building in this city.

There were streets lined with cracked stone, several Mandalorians dragging and pulling equipment to replace the broken ones. They had been working hard— everyone had, including him, and the place was looking less and less like a war zone by the second. The sight made him feel easier. At least his home wouldn’t be rubble forever. Buildings were gaining foundations, others entirely rebuilt by hand. It had only been a month or two, and already this place was looking like he’d been told in the stories. Like home.

As he walked through them, he didn’t miss the stares of those who’d left their helmets behind, but at least that was familiar. Everyone stared, on every planet he went to, and even with the oddly shaped buildings, some spiralling high, others flat and long enough to park a few speeders in the front, he felt settled here. The cities were huge and spanned far into the horizon, too long to walk everywhere, so the Mandalorians had gone straight to work on the speeder parts, using them to zip around not only around this central city, but between other parts of the planet.

Finally, he began the walk up the steps of the castle. It was giant— bulky and boxed, rooms stacked on top of each other with seemingly no purpose. It was the most well conserved building on the planets surface, and it was what constituted as a home for Din. For now, at least. Either way, it was the safest place to keep Grogu during the day, and he would go wherever it was safest for him.

He could hear him before he saw him, loud chirps and gurgles coming from the throne room. One, giant looking chair was elevated by a few steps at the end of the room, and he saw a flip of green zip over Sasha’s unmasked head.

“Get down here, you gremlin.” She barked, but laughed at Grogu’s slightly worried face when he spun to a stop in mid air. It was then he finally noticed him, dropping to the ground and wandering over. “He’s been a little pain in my—“

“Patu!” Grogu chirps, and Din laughs roughly, bending down to pick him up. He holds him in front of his helmet, watching as his tiny hands reach out to grab his gloved wrists.

“Have you been causing trouble, Grogu?” He makes a little gurgle sound, like he always does when Din says his name, and he smiles under the helmet.

“Bo-Katan was looking for you.” Sasha says, putting her helmet back on. Most Mandalorian’s that lived around the capital did that when they spoke to him, now, even ones as high ranking as Sasha. Din doesn’t look up from Grogu’s giant eyes.

“She found me. And my answer is still no.” He hears her laugh, but when he looks up at her, she stops.

“She didn’t tell you?” Din turns to face her, letting the kid fiddle with something on his armour.

“Tell me what?” Unlike Bo-Katan, Sasha is a little afraid of him. Everyone is, especially since they had seen him fight with the DarkSaber when they first arrived on the planet. Since then, there had been a quiet fear, a commanding presence Din didn’t think he had earnt, but regardless it was there. She swallowed, tilting her helmet down to the floor. “Tell me.”

“The Queen replied. She accepted your invitation, and is expected to arrive within the week. She also implied, if the meeting goes well— she…”

“She what? What did she say?” Din had no idea why, but his heart was racing a mile a minute. Had she been insulted by the offer? Was she going to stage an attack?

“She said she would marry you.”

“You said I would what?” You shout at the group of advisors, all of whom look like they are about to scramble and run. And they should. “Who’s bright idea was it to send correspondence, with my name attached, without my go-ahead?! What the hell kind of advisor does that?!”

None of them so much as moved, except for Advisor Kaylen, who caught your eye, making a pointed look at Advisor Corell. You shook your head, and a bitter smile curled the ends of your mouth.

“I should have known. Corell. Get up.” He spluttered, stumbling to his feet as you dragged him up the dais, and forced him to his knees. “Was it you? Did you tell Mandalore I would accept their invitation?!”

He shakes his head. “I only said you would meet with them! Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“When I was ready!” You want to scream, but your embarrassment and nerves choke your throat. Yes, you were going to accept. Probably. Maybe a month from now... a few months, if you could stretch it. Not this week.

“This is a good thing! Now you get to go! To— to see the cursed land for yourself. To look upon its new ruler! I was only doing what I thought was best! They would have been insulted if we had rejected…and we’re running out of options.”

“The only one insulted here is me, that you truly believe I would buy any of the shit that comes out of your mouth.” He was on thin ice as it was, but your fathers words played in your head, and you saw the faces of your other Advisors in the corner of your eye.

Your father had selected this team of people because he trusted them, and for some reason, you did too. You didn’t know why, or how they were picked, but they were supposed to be the six people you could rely on. The six people who would challenge you, who wouldn’t blindly accept your decision like the rest of the planet. They were a tradition— to ensure the sanity of a ruler and the safety of a planet. You trusted them; or you would, eventually, but they would not overstep. Or at least, they shouldn’t.

“My father trusted you. It is that reason alone that I will let you continue to work underneath me, and forgive this lapse in judgment. But this is the one chance you will receive. I might not be my father, but you work for me now. If you choose to disobey me or do anything without me specifically telling you again, I will send you to Mandalore in my stead, and the King can have you in my place. We will see how far you make it in the ruins before he cuts you down.” They all scurry from the room, Advisor Corell not glancing back as he heads for the door after you drop him.

All that is left is Kaylen, who doesn’t need a title when it’s just you and her. She was a friend— perhaps your only one, so you only used her title around the other Advisors.

“That was exciting.” She says, and you flop down onto the cushioned throne, golden pillows softening the blow as she comes to lean on the armrest. “It’s been too long since we had some real palace gossip.”

“Well, hold on to that, because you might be shipping me off to marry a fish. He’s like a ghost— I couldn’t find anything on the King, and now I’m supposed to just…go?” You sigh, swinging your feet over the edge of the chair and letting your head fall into her lap. “This is insanity. This entire month has been suitor after suitor, none of them with armies strong enough to keep our planet safe. And now it’s like I don’t even have a... it all just happened so fast.”

“I know. You were right to reject them all. But this one is... it’s different.” You sit up, turning to face her.

“You think I should go?”

“Are you asking me as an Advisor, or as a friend?”

“Both.” The throne is huge, made for the large frame of your father, so she can slide right in next to you.

“Well, as your Advisor, Mandalore is famous for one thing— war. Sure, they have lost a tonne, but when they were at their peak, they were unstoppable. Feared throughout the galaxy. With our help, they could be that again. Even having the name attached to us would scare off any potential threats for a while. They are good fighters, they could teach our people ways we would never learn ourselves, and one day we could even be allies. Especially if this goes well.” She sits up when she speaks, and even though she’s only a few years older than you, she seems light years ahead. You understand why your father chose her.

“And as my friend?” She swings an arm over your shoulder.

“As your friend, I think you need this. I think that you haven’t changed a single thing about the palace since you have been crowned because you know once you do, this is real and your parents are gone. I think you know this is the right thing to do, but you’re scared, and you think that when you do this, you’ll finally be alone, and you hate that.” You’re thankful she’s not looking at you because you almost start crying as soon as she mentions your parents. “I think you know that this is different. That this could be a defining moment for you. For your reign. For the planet to come back after the Empire.”

“Why do you have to be right about everything?” You say tightly, and she helps you stand off the throne, leading you towards your bedroom through the maze of winding corridors.

“Just lucky. And, hey, don’t look so sad. Rumor has it he wears a very pretty beskar suit. All shiny and silver. You love shiny stuff.” She gestures at the hallways, all lined with golden and silver detailing. You nudge her on the shoulder and she laughs, peeling off before you open the door to your bedroom.

It was technically your parents room— the room you grew up in now vacated for your future offspring. You didn’t mind, using the room helped you feel a little bit closer to your parents. You remember all the times you’d climbed into bed with them, buried under the covers because you were afraid of the dark.

Kaylen was right. Corell was right, even if he was an asshole. It was selfish to not accept an offer. You hated that you couldn’t do more for your people, that all you had to offer was your arm, but if that was what you needed to do right now, you should just... suck it up. A Mandalorian, though. That was different. You knew they were feared, although scattered throughout the galaxy, and if their words were true, an entire planet of them would make you virtually impenetrable.

You couldn’t help but think about the King. Mandalorians were a confusing bunch, the few you had met, anyways. Very quiet, lethal as anything, and in your experience, solitary. Your mother had hired one years ago to collect a bounty for her, and he completed the four day job in three hours, arriving and leaving on his own, hardly talking if he didn’t have to. Why would someone like that want to be married?

Shrinking out of your outfit, you decided to try and get some sleep. If tomorrow was going to be anything like today, you’d need all the rest you could get, and for some reason, there was a racing in your heart you couldn’t settle. Maybe just nerves from the incoming visit to Mandalore tomorrow.

That had to be it. The myths, legends surrounding the cursed world— it would make anyone nervous. But it was just that. Nerves. It couldn’t be anything else.

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #mando #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x y/n #din djarin x y/n #din djaren x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #pedro pascal

[heartshapedbubble]

and now, for a request that took me six months to start writing and two months to finish due to personal stuff. jesus christ i should start including financial compensation alongside my fics.

anyways happy spooky szn everyone!! now that my reqs are finally empty i'll be reworking my page soon and opening them again💞

unspoken words, an orpheus x maid reader fanfic📕

tags/heads up: reader is a maid, gender not specified, one sided enemies to lovers kinda????, suggestive only if you squint really hard and get your eyes reaaaally close to the screen (theres only kissing tbh)

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Being a survivor was never easy. Peer pressure from both your team and people outside it, dealing with all sorts of blows directed right at you - either the physical ones, by the hunter, or the verbal ones from the other survivors.

But being a survivor AND a servant? It made things even worse.

Right after a match, it was only a matter of time when you'd hear groans and whines about how there's no tea and biscuits served in the living room, how there's so much dust on library shelves, how stained the floor in the hall is. And there was no time to catch a break, hell, no time to heal either. You roughly wiped your bloodstained knees, plucked out pieces of wood that dug themselves into your palms, and got back to work. As drops of remaining blood rolled down your leg and you felt your hips crack each time you bent down, you got back to your everyday cleaning service. As you were a maid - the only one that was available at all times, at least, and the only one who was actually living and not just a stitched-up corpse - most if not all of the household manor duties ended up a burden on your back. Strolling between the survivor side and the hunter side, you served warm cups of lemon tea, handed clean towels, even polished shoes. And my god, there was no mercy from either side. Everything was always "not good enough", and most of the time you barely even got a "thank you" handed back. One time, one especially daring hunter dared to spit on you as you scrubbed the tiles beneath him - let's just say that the handle of your broom got to his ankles quite quickly.

The maid life was ugly, but it had its benefits, too. For example, you heard all sorts of juicy gossip dealt from mouth to mouth, from ear to ear, dark secrets from every single person inhabiting the manor. And as most people ignored you unless they needed some unimportant favor from you, in the meantime there was plenty of alone time you could use up until the next bell ring. Curled up in a hidden part of the library, a plate stacked with softened butter cookies by your feet, your free time was spent dozing off on the soft, velvet cushions of the hard sofa by the foggy window, your eyes occasionally skimming through a yellowed book.

~

"Oh, sorry." Helena mumbled as the tip of her cane accidentally scratched your hand as you scrubbed the floor. "I knew you were somewhere in front of me, but I didn't know where exactly."

"It's all good, Hele." Helena was one of the more polite residents, but it was just part of her nature - shy, polite, respectful. Compared to everyone else, she was just a kid after all.

You achingly checked the grandfather clock looming over you, waiting eagerly until it rang for five o'clock and signaled your break for the day. Yesterday you stumbled over a really good book, with a fascinating plot decked into at least five hundred pages. You barely got to skim over the first few when you heard a whine from the living room, demanding a serving of pastries. It kept you up all day long and you could barely contain yourself from running to your little haven straight away.

At last, your deserved break came, and you almost tripped over the carpet folds as you ran towards the rusty trapdoor separating you from your one-hour paradise. Yet, as you lunged right for the piled-up cushions, you noticed a figure.

Someone.

Sitting on your sofa.

Reading a book.

Not just a random book.

The exact same one you picked up and tucked under the pillows yesterday, so no one can get their grubby little hands on it except you.

And, to top it all off, it was no other than the novelist, Orpheus, who was sifting impatiently through the pages, splayed on your sofa like a frog, his leg bouncing nervously.

Ugh, that Orpheus. He was polite and all, one of the exceptions, good-looking even, but god did something about him rub you the wrong way. He always said hello, said goodbye, said thank you and please, smiled back at you, yet...

"Oh, good afternoon, ___!"

The position he was in right now really wasn't helping.

"Hello, sir Orpheus." The "sir" title you had to use out of respect awfully repulsed you, even more so than "lady". Perhaps it was the undertone of uttermost submission unavoidably coming with it. "May I ask you, what are you doing here?"

"Oh. Well, I was on a.... little expedition, will you", he chuckled, nervously playing with the buttons on the cuff of his shirt, "Y'know, messing with the bookshelves and what not, when I stumbled upon this fine little room. Seems like I'm not the first one to discover it, am I?"

"No, you're not." You forced yourself to smile, and sat right by him, the cushions dipping under your weight and slightly pulling you two closer. "I've claimed it as my own, in fact. I believe you don't mind that, do you?"

"I-I don't mind it at all! No no, how could I? Well, I..." He mumbled nonsense, trying to hide his face as he cleaned his monocle. He seemed especially nervous today, and he wasn't the calmest in general, either. "...may I assume you don't mind me staying a bit longer here, do you?"

You sighed. Well, maybe some company instead isn't a bad thing. Even if it was him. "I'll let it slip this time. Want some cookies?" You pulled out a scratched tin box from under one of the big cushions, and messed with the tightly clasped lid. "They're a bit stale, but they taste just fine."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Hesitatingly, he picked a crumbling cookie and wrapped it in his handkerchief. "Thank you for welcoming me so nicely despite your... condition, y'know. I can only imagine how hard it can be having the role of a maid and a competitor at the same time." There was pity in his voice, a hint of internalized shame, maybe. Willingly or not, his last sentence created an uncomfortable silence between you two, and it was only a matter of time before one of you broke it.

"...You're welcome", you went in head-first into the conversation, "but I really don't need your pity. I didn't get a lot of it in the first place, and I sure don't need it now. My life is what it is, and neither of us can change it."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right", he said as he got up and stretched, "just saying, though.. accepting empathy or help here and there really isn't that humbling as it seems." He calmly walked through the trapdoor, as if he didn't say anything.

God. You decide to be nice for once and you get back a lesson instead? How fun. Especially when it's from someone who you thought you could confide in. But you're not going to allow his words to get to your skull - there's so much better things to think of compared to that....

~

"My apologies, dear." Michiko whispered as she quickly tiptoed away, accidentally bumping into you the second before.

"I'd advise you to be more careful where you tread, doll", Joseph suddenly appeared in the hallway, weaving his words with his usual husky yet elegant voice, "I believe you don't want any accidents to occur while working, hm?"

Out of almost all of the (adult) hunters, Joseph was the most talkative. And you were no exception - he regularly spoke to the other survivors, often scaring them by whispering from behind their back or jumping out of the shadows. He wasn't trying to form strong relationships, obviously, but it seemed like he wasn't the type to withold his comments. After some time spent observing you deduced that Joseph might be a little bit too fascinated with you - or at least a little bit too interested in chatting with you.

"No, Joseph, I, in fact, don't.", you groaned as you threw the broom back in your bucket, "Besides, shouldn't you be more worried about your own wellbeing, old man? Should I bring you some balm for your sore limbs?"

He clicked his tongue. "Tch. You know I have good intentions, dear." One blink later and he already merged with the shadows, looking for someone else to talk to.

"Woah. What was all that about?" You heard a voice behind you, a bit shaky and uncertain. It was - you sighed - Orpheus again, in his hands a ceramic tray stacked with porcelain dishes and silverware, a warm scent of mint emitting from the glossy teapot. He wasn't having a good time trying to balance it in his arms.

"Nothing. Just Joseph being Joseph. Mind me taking this for you?" you grabbed the tray in an instant, now much more stable under your grip.

"I...do, actually." He slowly pulled the tray back towards him, a bit hesitantly now as his hands shook beneath it again. "I thought once you finish we could sit down for tea. Y'know, just the two of us. In the little room in the library. I can bug Norton for some of his tres leches if you want. Or maybe Margaretha for pierogi if you're craving something savory instead... Sorry, I wanted it to be a suprise." He looked away, bashfully, as if he regretted doing all of this in the end. You weren't sure what had gotten into you at that moment, but you suddenly felt that if you don't accept his offer now, you might feel really bad later on. Like looking at a sad little puppy's beady eyes.

"Thinking of it now, it doesn't seem like a bad way to pass the afternoon. I'm in."

~

You puffed at the steam coming from your cup.

"Joseph really gets on your nerves, hm, ____?"

"A bit, yeah. Snooty old man."

"Ah, come on now, he isn't that bad. He's quite pleasant to talk, actually. A little intimidating, very peculiar, but pleasant. Most of the time."

"Wish it was like that when playing against him. I go through hell and back while dressing my wounds because of his damned rapier. How did it even get approved by the owner?

"He's a veteran, so I believe they decided to let it slip back then. Or maybe he just swayed DeRoss off of his feet with his Frenchman charm and the two lasers he has for eyes."

You almost choked on your tea. Orpheus had a suprisingly sharp tongue, unfitting with his unsuspecting face and downturned eyes. He took off his gloves - revealing rough yet nimble fingers - and scooped some pierogi onto his plate.

"Was this a pleasant enough suprise for you?"

"Well, for the first time someone has been nice to me in a while, it's quite delightful, I admit."

"You mean, you wouldn't consider Joseph being polite towards you as "being nice"?"

"Hm?"

"Oh, just wondering, since I overheard bits of your conversation today. He didn't really sound rude, did he?"

"I mean, he wasn't rude or anything, it's just...I don't know how to explain it. Yeah, people are nice to me, actually, quite a lot of them, but they rarely go beyond their words. They don't put them into action."

"I see. I believe it gets annoying with time."

"It does."

"Do you put what you say into action, too?"

"...What are you implying?"

"As in, when you like a person or care for them, do you also try to put into action your love for them?"

"Orpheus, I put everything into action. Every day. That's my job as a maid."

"Yes, I...know that very well, but do you put love in action, too?"

"I don't have time for love. Nor is there anyone to fully love here, I fear. Just tolerate and like, maybe. If they're really nice."

He sat up straight, his thumb trailing his bottom lip back and forth.

"See, I'm no expert, but I do feel that you're denying yourself of something you don't know you need most."

Leaving you puzzled, he got up and left the room.

~

"Orpheus, have you ever kissed somebody before?"

He suddenly jolted, staring back at you from the other edge of the sofa.

"What kind of question is that?" He tilted his head, pouring milk into his tea. One tea break ensued after another, and now it has become an unspoken rule to bring something to sip (or munch) on to the library hideout as the clock struck for afternoon.

"You know how they portray poets and novelists. Romantic, sensual, passionate. I just assumed you already have some experience with dating."

A faint pink flashed his cheeks. "Well, now, what is it that prompted you to ask me? And now, of all times?"

Sip by sip, sentence by sentence, and you got quite close to Orpheus in these few months. You couldn't help but think about his words here and there - to do something with love, not just because you have to. Or out of love. Whatever. The following day after he brought you tea for the first time, you felt the moral obligation to invite him for lunch. And so the cycle continued, an opportunity to chat appeared along with it, and in Orpheus you now saw a friend. Perhaps. There were bits of joy in the moments when you picked out the perfect flavor for the day or played with coffee cream, attempting to make some designs with it.

No, in fact, there was no real reason behind your question. It seemed fitting enough for the moment, and maybe, just maybe, you wanted to catch him off guard again.

"Felt like it."

He cleared his throat. "Well, if you're so curious about it.... not really. Fangirls were common but... I'm simply not very experienced. Some may see me as charismatic but once things get a little bit more serious I don't know what to do. Was that the answer you expected from me?"

It was a bit ironic. A bit cute, even. How his charisma only reached up to actual love, the real thing. The same thing he remarked you needed the most.

"Funny. The Orpheus, the detective novel author, afraid of love? Out of all things?"

It didn't take long for him to pout his lips, looking away in shame. "To be fair, there's quite a bit to be afraid of in love. There's commitment, passion, building trust, insecurity... It takes a lot to love."

"I see."

"May I ask you the same question?"

"Which one - if I've ever kissed someone? Never. Never had the opportunity. Never felt the need, in fact. It wasn't a necessity to have a partner, only a plus. It's not something to be terribly afraid of. I believe it just happens and, well, you go with the flow."

"Well, maybe you never feared it because you never reached its starting point."

"Oh, Orpheus, you're supposed to be a novelist, not a philosopher."

~

The library sofa is quite practical. If you pull the compartment at the bottom of it a little too hard, it can be stretched out, turning it into a large comfortable bed, although a bit rough on the skin.

You and Orpheus laid on the sofa-bed, directly facing the large window, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting the glass.

"It's really calming here. Lulls you right to sleep." He started, his monocle set aside. Now having a better look at his so-to-speak "monocled" eye, you noticed it's more downturned than the other.

"...Mhm." Already half asleep, you turned your head towards his face, soaked up his profile through lidded eyes.

"____ , is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine. Juuust fine. I'm just a bit sleepy."

You looked at his hand, laying by his hip between you two, fingers twitching here and there nervously. He never took his gloves off in front of you except for when he was eating.

"You can go take a nap if you want. I'll wake you up once it's time to go."

Your hand mindlessly headed towards his and your fingers pinched at the satin gloves, trying to take them off his hands.

"No, I think i'm good."

He sighed sharply. That wasn't a sigh of annoyance, it was a sigh of pain, like trying to breathe deeply while your heart aches.

"God, no. Please, ____ , don't do this to me."

He was scared, and now you were too, but his hand remained still. Torn between pleasure and horror. His fingers cold and nimble, his hand rough and calloused again. For an unknown reason, you wanted to hold it, from the second your gaze switched to it.

"I'm not doing anything bad, am I?"

Your fingers finally fit between his, palm to palm. It was weird. Like holding a pleasantly cold cup and trailing across sandpaper at the same time. But it felt good. It felt safe, secure, like it could last forever.

"You know what you're doing."

You felt his fingers tighten around your hand, gripping it tightly.

"...Please keep on doing it."

~

Seven o'clock.

An envelope in your hands. Your name written on it in the prettiest cursive you've seen, like a treat, baiting you to open it.

But you held back.

You waited.

The door creaked behind you. Not turning back, you spoke softly:

"Orpheus."

"____"

Your name uttered between breaths.

The clack of his shoes, his weight switching from leg to leg, his breathing becoming louder. You could now feel it on your neck. The chilling warmth.

"Why didn't you open the letter?"

"You know why."

"You're cruel."

"But you came anyways."

He sighed. "... for love." It sounded heavy coming from his mouth.

"For love." You smiled, the word now as light as a butterfly. The knife tore through paper and you skimmed through the lines of words, a careful gaze watching you as you did so.

"...What do you think?"

"It's wonderful."

"I know what's on your mind."

You turned towards him now. Face to face. Mere inches separating your eyes. Eyes, wandering everywhere else except towards what laid in front of them.

You tried to lay your hands around his neck. You tried, really. But the look in his eyes already denied you before you even started.

His hands quickly reached for your lowering wrists.

"Give me a moment, I beg of you." He whispered, shaking.

His lips indecisevly hovered above your lips, then your neck, your nose, your cheek. You closed your eyes firmly, only opening them once you felt comforting warmth on your jaw. He pulled back, leaving a translucent string of saliva as he parted.

"I know it wasn't as magical as you expected it to be. I'm sorry, ____ ."

"We barely even started, Orpheus."

He tried to object, to bury himself again, but before the words could slip from his mouth, your lips shut him up. And so, in a mere moment, the unspoken words did not matter anymore.

#identity v #idv #idv headcanons #identity v headcanons #idv imagines #idv fanfic #idv scenarios #idv x reader #identity v x reader #identity v x you #novelist idv #idv novelist #identity v novelist #novelist identity v #orpheus idv #idv orpheus #identity v orpheus #orpheus deross #idv oneshot

[autistichalsin]

I'm going to go off here just because I'm so frustrated.

So this drama all started when someone- a self-identified anti- posted a rant that I "wrote Halsin rape fantasy fiction." I was annoyed, as anyone would be, but even more because such a fiction didn't exist! But also, it sounded like a great fic, Halsin using a rape fantasy/consensual nonconsent to work through his Underdark traumas. So I said "you know what, I can't let the fake version of me you invented be cooler than the real me, can I?" And then I set to work plotting out Too Many Burdens to Bear, which would take about another month to be ready to post after that.

The group were angry at this, and soon after, they started a callout, cancelled me, harassed me, whatever word you want to use for this nonsense. They couldn't keep their story straight, from the start. Some of them claimed it was the simple fact that the fic was CNC that was wrong. Others, who were okay with CNC themselves but still wanted to have a reason to hate me, said my fic WASN'T CNC, and obviously that was the problem, it would be different "if" it was just CNC. (Then, when they were corrected, they....... never changed their tune.) Another said I was planning to write a fic about "Halsin being raped again" and had said "getting raped would help Halsin heal from his traumas."

It's like they're playing a game of telephone, but instead of changing a single word, the goal is to change the entire sentence.

Others insisted the problem was that I wrote it to "spite" the person who "only said they were uncomfortable with rape" (lol, then don't read it, you fucking dumbass!!!) I got told I was retraumatizing myself and others, that I didn't care about/fetishized rape, etc. They have since gone on to claim I posted the fic untagged, hoping to trigger the anti who started this.

These are the tags on the fic in question, which they would know if they bothered to LOOK at what they were criticizing.

Could this possibly be ANY better tagged? I even had someone who is squicked by PIV sex reach out to thank me because no one EVER warns for that. That's how above and beyond I went in avoiding squicking anyone.

Like, literally everything this group claimed about my actions being problematic falls apart with the most cursory check at the ACTUALITY of what has been posted.

And these people, who claim care SO much about rape, who care SO MUCH about survivors? Yesterday, Mish made a post about Neil (as in, Astarion's actor) getting sexually harassed, and one of these people replied that it was "hypocritical" to say so while supporting me, who writes CNC. When someone replied that this was about a real human, not fiction, they literally said they DIDN'T CARE. They care more about defending the honor of Halsin, a fictional survivor of rape, than they care about the real person who played Astarion, who is a REAL survivor of rape.

When Mish and I said we are both survivors of rape and sexual abuse, respectively, these people said we were "playing the survivor card" (an utterly vile thing to say). I received an anon questioning whether I was really sexually abused.

They also, at the same time as the initial bout of drama over my CNC fic, began calling me a pedophile because of an omegaverse Halsin headcanon I made. For those unaware, omegaverse is an AU with many related tropes. Which ones get used vary by the author, but they always include heats and animalistic behavior, and often include knotting, mpreg, themes of subjugation based on gender, breeding kink, and others. However, while the trope started as a kink one, it has since branched out, and some write fics without smut at all, instead focusing on gender dynamics, kidfic, or other aspects of the universe.

I made a headcanon that Halsin, who in that universe I headcanon as an omega- who, in omegaverse stories, can get pregnant, and have heats- would want children of his own. I headcanoned that after taking care of children at his commune after the ending, that this might trigger a heat for him.

A normal person would look at this and go "aw, Halsin has baby fever! Cute!"

These are not normal people, so they looked at it and went "ewww, this pedo thinks Halsin gets turned on by being around kids!"

They literally said this. While also admitting that they do not read omegaverse stories. Multiple people who do read them tried to explain that it's just how reproduction works in that AU, but this person just stuck their fingers in their ears and yelled "lalala HEATS ARE HORNY IF YOU WRITE HEATS IT'S ONLY TO BE HORNY HORNY HORNY! NOT LISTENING!"

After they accused me of being a pedophile for this, I fired back and said "if you can look at this headcanon and think it has anything to do with attraction to children, you're the pedophile." I should not have called them one back, and I apologize for it, but this person has since gone on to lie and play the victim, saying "I just said their tweet was a bit sus and they called me a pedophile FOR NO REASON." They also said that they "wouldn't have been so quick to call it pedo if [I] wasn't so open about being a proshipper."

If I wasn't so open about saying that fiction is not morality, you wouldn't have been so quick to say that my fiction represented my morality? Hmmm.

If you notice, their posts all have the same formulaic deception and manipulative slant to them: they will say something about the fiction I write/enjoy, or the characters I don't like, etc, with a personal attack against my character. When I respond, they will then claim to have been attacked, violently and without provocation, "just because" they (x), where (x) is the most blatant glossing over of their actions. Them calling me a pedophile became "just saying their tweet was sus." Them harassing me for weeks over a CNC fic that HADN'T EVEN BEEN WRITTEN YET was "just saying we aren't comfortable with rape." So uncomfortable with rape, remember, that they said they DIDN'T CARE about Neil being harassed, because CNC about Halsin was worse.

You would think these two things alone would be enough to utterly destroy this group's credibility; they are either blatant liars, or their perception of reality is so poor that nothing they say is to be trusted. Anyone who prioritizes a fictional character's rape over a real person's is not living in reality. Anyone who thinks baby fever is pedophilia should not be trusted on, well, anything. It would be like trusting a flat-earther to give geography lessons.

But unfortunately, people wanted to listen to them over Mish and I, and sadly, it's easy to see why. The antis positioned themselves so that if you disagreed with their harassment, you were "pro rape". And no one wants a label that toxic associated with them, so they jumped ship on principle. Even though Mish is the nicest person in the entire fandom and has never hurt anyone at all, even though Mish is an IRL advocate for rape survivors and against gender-based violence in her country and has thus done more for rape survivors than these people ever have or will. It doesn't matter to them.

Other equally bizarre accusations have been lobbed at us; I'm "lesbophobic" and "called all lesbians TERFs" (I called the rhetoric from a group of like five people TERF-ish, but since they think they represent all lesbians, they claimed it was against all lesbians- WHICH, by the way, is my identity as well. They are calling me a self-hating lesbian over this.)

This group has a history of starting harassment against people, then cry-bullying that the pushback they get is a form of lesbophoia; for example, a few months ago, they harassed a bi woman off of Twitter who asked them to stop being biphobic by calling it gross to ship Shadowheart, a canonically bisexual woman, with men. They branded this user lesbophobic and harassed her until she permanently deactivated. They posted that it was gross to ship Karlach with Dammon, too, and when a user, who is herself lesbian, headcanons Karlach as a lesbian, and doesn't ship her with Dammon chimed in to say why OTHERS ship it, they attacked her too. They attacked the actor for Rolan for sharing/supporting a fan petition for Rolan to be romanceable. They called Dave, Halsin's actor, a creep for sharing NSFW art of Halsin on his page, and tried to insinuate he was a pedophile (saying they wouldn't be surprised if he had a scandal like "that Genshin actor," who, for those who don't know, was found to have groomed a child online.)

They claimed that I "called everyone who doesn't like Halsin ableist", when what was actually said was that IF we call everyone who doesn't like Minthara lesbophobic because a lot of her fans are lesbians (which is a thing that one of them had just said), THEN using the same logic, we could say that hating Halsin is ableist because a lot of his fans are autistic. (Sidenote: this group of people repeatedly mocked my special interest (making meta essays) after being told it was my special interest, which is pretty gross, to me.)

It genuinely boggles my mind that a group of people can be so toxic to the actors and still given a platform in the fandom. This is entirely new behavior to me- even in the most toxic fandom's I've been in or rubbernecked on, harassing the actors was always considered the line not to cross and would make you persona non grata. It was the one thing everyone could agree on as unacceptable. Yet these people are openly attacking Dave's character and are still not only listened to when they make up allegations against people, but they are well-respected in the fandom. Either people don't think harassing an actor is a big deal anymore, these fans secretly AGREE with the harassment and slander against him, or (most generous explanation) they don't know who they're actually supporting here.

These people gleefully mocked my abuse from my mother. I said that some of Minthara's abusive actions (poisoning a romanced player without her consent) reminded me of similar actions my mom did, and are part of my aversion to the character. I posted this untagged- I even censored Minthara's name so that her fans wouldn't find it. But because they were cyberstalking me so obsessively, they QRTed it and proceeded to bring it up multiple times to snark about "the essential oils". When someone called them out and asked if they really thought it was funny, they answered, without hesitation, yes. They said that I had already "mocked my own abuse" by bringing up how Minthara triggers memories of her, so they therefore had every right to laugh at the bodily harm I faced when my mother would deliberately cause me asthma attacks by forcing me to inhale essential oils. Because I said that a fictional character's similar actions triggered memories of it. That was worthy of mocking to them.

So they support survivors of rape and abuse who have triggers related to fiction, unless that survivor is a survivor of child abuse who is triggered by their favorite character, in which case they deserve to be mocked. I guess they don't believe in supporting survivors who have trigger reactions to fiction after all... what a surprise. Almost like they never cared about anything they claimed to.

They're actually remarkably transparent about not actually caring about ANY issue they claim to champion. They claim to be fighting for rape survivors while harassing not one but two survivors from the fandom into mental breakdowns (the tweet about my mom was so bad it made me have a flashback, and their harassment of Mish did similar to her) and saying they DON'T CARE about Neil's sexual harassment because fiction about Halsin is more important. They claim to oppose lesbophobia while repeatedly attacking lesbians who disagree with them on anything from shipping to whether queer male sexuality is inherently predatory. I could go on.

Somehow, no matter how blatant it is that they don't actually care about anything, and are just using fake moralizing as a vehicle for sadism, people still keep taking them at face value. Again, I get it. They have positioned themselves as fighting against rape and abuse, so by extension, they have positioned it so that anyone who is against them is liable to be accused of supporting rape and abuse. It's a great system for them, really; bullying is a behavior that would otherwise be reviled, but by framing everyone they don't like as a bad person, as an existential threat to marginalized communities (who, conveniently, always have their own marginalized identities ignored until it becomes convenient to bring it up again to harass them for it), they turn their bullying into not only something acceptable, but into a moral act to be commended. A moral obligation, even, because don't pedos deserve to be hunted for sport? (This is the same reason why the alt-right is obsessively pedojacketing the entire LGBT community as they move to censor queer fiction, for the record.)

I don't know what else to say besides that I really, really hope that people are waking up to that group's nonsense, or at least that they will soon, and will realize that fiction is not reality, and that that group of known disingenuous liars and manipulators are being... disingenuous liars and manipulators, yet again.

Unfortunately, it's too late since they've already chased Mish out of the fandom, and I will honestly never forgive that group of people and their enablers for it. But I have hope that maybe the rest of the fandom will come around, especially because, as all of us who have experience with antis know, they are never going to stop. They aren't going to stop targeting people for everything from making a harmless mod that turns Scratch into Astarion to saying it's okay to ship Karlach/Dammon or Shadowheart/men to writing a fic about Halsin using kink to explore his trauma from being enslaved to being an actor for the show who retweets NSFW art of his character to making a headcanon that Astarion wants to dance with Tav to making an omegaverse headcanon... I could go on and on.

Sorry for the novel, and I hope this is the last post I make about this drama, but I am so beyond tired and frustrated. This hurt Mish deeply- the nicest person in the entire fandom- and seeing the raw sadism from her bullies, sadism that is being praised, makes me feel physically ill, honestly.

I won't be using any fandom tags for this post, but I will be tagging this with various proship related things since I feel this is relevant.

#proship #proshipper #proshippers please interact #discourse

[casuallyimagining]

When September Ends Masterlist

Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Six years after leaving your home planet, you’re forced to confront your past… and the one you left behind.  Word Count: 40,046 Genre: Star Wars au, friends to enemies to lovers, angst Warnings: minor character death, survivor's guilt, yoongi has anger issues, mentions of the death of an entire planet, anxiety, alcohol, reader character suffers from the burden of high expectations, mentions of torture (nothing  explicit), mentions of needles, hospitalization, brief descriptions of scarring, brief descriptions of panic, hospitalization, an assassination attempt, a gun fight, murder

Notes: Thanks to @daechwitatamic and @the-boy-meets-evil for listening to me complain about this fic, helping me plan, and beta-ing for me; to @oddinary4bts for the late-game encouragement and edits; and to @thearmyprof and @cherrysoulth for the additional support.

Playlist: All of the poetry has been pulled from various songs and poems. You can find all the songs (and some others) in the playlist that I made for this fic on Spotify.

The poetry featured in part six is ‘Be the One’ by Lang Leav.

Posting June 17, 2023

part one.

part two.

part three.

part four.

part five.

part six.

part seven.

part eight.

part nine.

epilogue.

was this worth the months-long hiatus? I don't know. did I have far too much fun writing this? yes I did. I've been writing this since january (exactly six months ago today!), and I've poured just about every ounce of myself into it. I hope you like it. I'd love to hear your feedback, if you have any to share. my ask box is always open :)

#yoongi x reader #yoongi #suga x reader #suga #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #bts #bts au #star wars au #bts star wars au #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #suga fluff #suga angst #min yoongi fic #suga fic #bts fic #bts x reader

[cozage]

Hi! :)feel free to decline this if it’s not up your ally or you don’t really have anything else to say about it but, I was very interested when you mentioned law having anxiety about if the amber lead disease would be passed down to his kid, so I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a little offshoot of that (hcs/short fic/whatever format you want) about law and his partner trying to ease each other’s anxieties about it and just how he’d handle it in the long term plus maybe if it wasn’t able to be told if they had it or not before it was born seeing Law finally get to see the kid and his reaction him it having/not having it (it’s up to you what kind of route you’d want to take with that) but anyways it’s just a suggestion because I was really interested once you brought the idea up of how Law would handle something he’s probably tried to block out of his mind since he was young

The post that anon is talking about for reference

Guess what Anon? This is literally the best ask I’ve ever gotten because I think about it ALL the time and all the possible outcomes of that one little thing and I will literally never shut up about it. So here’s some fun* ideas on how I think Law would respond to bringing a child into the world. 

*these are not fun they're so angsty it's not even funny

Transmission

Characters: female reader x Law

Word Count: 1k

CW: talk of abortion, talk about loss of pregnancy, talk of fatal diseases, lots of pregnancy angst, (happy ending though if that makes up for it!)

He runs a scan and finds out he has a lot to worry about. You can see the panic on his face and you know your fear was not misplaced. You’re pregnant.

His shoulders suddenly feel so heavy. Like a weight he is forced to carry, no matter how many times he tries to cast it aside. 

He doesn’t tell you about the burden. Not yet. You all talk through your options together, and you consider them heavily. You weigh the pros and cons of each option for days, but he doesn’t ever try to sway you one way or another. 

In fact, he becomes very distant. He locks himself away in the study, turning through a new book everyday. You can enter his study whenever you wish, but he barely acknowledges your entrance.

One day you’re talking about it with him, trying to decide what to do. It had only been about a week and a half since you found out, and Law’s cold shoulder has impacted you a bit. “What do you want to do?” you ask him.

He doesn’t respond. His nose is buried in a book, and you realize he hasn’t been listening the entire time. You suddenly burst into tears, upset with him and his coldness to you recently. “Just get it out,” you cry, punching at your stomach with your fists. “Get it out of me so we can get back to normal again.”

He looks up, surprised by your sudden outburst. “Hey, Y/N-ya! Stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” He jumps up and grabs your wrists to keep you from harming yourself further. 

“I’m tired of being alone!” you cry out, tears streaming down your face. “You can’t even look at me anymore! I just want things to be normal again.”

He’s staring at you, unsure of what to do or how to respond. He guides you over to a chair, still holding your wrists, and sits you down in it. He sits across from you. “I need to tell you a story,” he whispers, and he has your full attention.

He tells you the story of Flevance, and of the Amber Lead Disease he inherited. How his entire city disappeared in a matter of years. How there was no cure. How he was the only survivor.

You had known a piece of that story. Law had told you about Corazon and that he had helped secure the Op-Op fruit for Law to find a cure for his disease. But you hadn’t known the rest of the tragedy. 

“I’m scared,” he admits, his voice quivering. “Amber Lead Disease is passed down from generation to generation, and shortens the lifespan each time it’s passed on. My sister got sick when she was six. I was supposed to die before I was fourteen.”

“But you got better. You’re okay now,” you reassured him. But you could feel the panic growing inside of you now too. Of course he didn’t want to talk about a child with this kind of trauma weighing on his mind.

“It doesn’t mean that the symptoms are gone. Each generation, the life expectancies go down at least ten years. What if…” he hesitates, and you can feel his grip around your wrists tighten as he squeezes his eyes shut. “What if our child dies before it’s even born?”

You can feel his pain and his sorrow emitting from him. You lean forward and wrap him in a hug, holding him tight. You can hear him choke back a sob, and you allow yourself to cry too. Both of you just hold each other, letting all of your fear and anger and sorrow wash away with your tears. 

Both of you start to calm down after a very long cry. “I want to keep it,” you say finally. “I want to try.”

You feel Law nod, and his body relaxes just a minuscule amount. At least he won’t be alone this time. At least he’s cured it before. 

During the pregnancy, he’s more stressed than you. It’s a weird relationship having Law as both your boyfriend and your doctor, and sometimes you have to remind him which hat he’s wearing. 

He’s always giving you vitamin supplements in the morning and making sure your diet is perfectly balanced. Sometimes you go to eat something and he starts with “as a pregnant woman, you shouldn’t-” but a quick glare will usually quiet him down.

You have checkups and he runs scans on your body at least once a week. There are nights he can’t sleep, his mind riddled with what if’s, and he has to do a quick scan just to make sure you and baby are still okay. He breathes a sigh of relief each time your scan comes back clean, but he doesn’t let himself get too comfortable. 

Both of you have your days. Some days you’re over the moon, others you feel like your lives are ending. It’s a hard middle to find. Both of you typically stick to the extremes and manage to mellow each other out while also validating each other's fears.  

He cries when he finds out it’s a girl. 

He cries even harder when you offer up a name. Cora.

His devil fruit ability makes the childbirth thing insanely easy. The “pain of childbirth” was a foreign concept to you for the most part. 

He counts Cora’s fingers and toes, and then counts them again. 10 fingers, 10 toes. She’s perfect. Just looking at her, Law already knows he would die for her. 

He wraps his sweet baby girl up in a blanket and passes her off to you. He brushes your hair and kisses your face while you hold her. He’s resisting the urge to run every scan he can think of. You were adamant that the three of you needed a few minutes together as a family before he went full doctor on you both. 

Finally you hand Cora off to him. “Go ahead, I know it’s driving you crazy.” He scans her, and finds her completely healthy. No Amber Lead Disease, no sickness, not even a slightly abnormal temperature. Law holds Cora close to his heart and he weeps. For his family, for himself, and for the new generation that’s finally free.

#this is the best possible outcome #i will not pain you all with the other possibilities because law has been hurt ENOUGH #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law x y/n #cozage #✧˚law✧˚

[wannab-urs]

Carry Me

This is a request fill for @atinylittlepain <3

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x student therapist!reader

Summary: You’re overwhelmed. Being a student at a very rigorous university and interning as a therapist for the local DV clinic is all getting to be too much. You’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown for real, but Dieter is there to lighten some of the burden.

Warnings/Content: hurt/comfort, a rare non smut fic, general anxiety and frustration about being a student therapist, Dieter being kind of an idiot, brief mention of SA and DV (literally just the acronyms, no description whatsoever), Dieter is able to pick you up, Dieter calls you Shrink and baby, you and Dieter are roughly the same age, brief mention of oral f!receiving, no use of Y/N, WC: ~1200

Notes: Thank you so much to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @theywhowriteandknowthings for the beta read <3 Love y'all bunches. I was so excited to write this fic AHHH

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

But you can carry me / I’m not heavy / I’ll grow extra arms / To hold onto your body Dig my fingernails / Into your shoulder / And you’re so steady /And you don’t tip over - Carry Me by Crooks and Nannies

You get home and look up at the stairs which have quite possibly never felt so daunting as they do right now. You had class from 8 this morning until noon, a 30 minute break in which you scarfed down some trail mix you found in your car and drove to the clinic, and then an extremely emotionally draining 4 hours of leading group SA and DV survivor therapy sessions followed by another 2 hours of paperwork. 

So now, roughly 12 hours after you left your apartment, you’re standing at the bottom of your stairs, feeling weighed down by your bag and by your life in general and dreading what you might find at the top. 

When you finally do make it upstairs, slip the key into the lock, push the door open, you’re desperately (delusionally) hoping to find a clean apartment. Maybe he cooked you dinner? Maybe he cleaned the living room and lit a candle? Maybe the bed is made and the laundry is put away? 

Of fucking course not. 

Dieter is sitting upside down on the couch, feet in the air and his head dangling off the cushion. He’s got a paintbrush in his teeth and a canvas propped against the coffee table. There’s a pile of laundry in the corner by the bed, dishes stacked precariously in the sink… 

“Dieter. What the fuck are you doing?” He drops the paintbrush from his teeth and you watch it clatter across the hardwood. Add paint on the floor to the pile of bullshit being heaped onto you today. 

“Painting!” He looks positively gleeful for a moment, but then he takes in your sagging shoulders, your wobbling lip, the way your eyes glint with tears. “Shrink? Baby, you okay?” Dieter does a surprisingly agile maneuver, rolling off the couch and onto his feet just as your chest starts heaving and the tears start to spill over. 

He crosses the room quickly, takes your bag and sets it on the floor of the entryway, wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You crumple into him, letting him finally take your weight. He buries his nose in your hair, cradles your head to his chest and supports you with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Broken sobs and gasps for air are all you can manage, but he doesn’t ask you questions. He just whispers that everything is going to be okay, that he loves you, that you’re so strong. 

After a few minutes, you’re more sniffling than sobbing, and he grabs your face in his big hands. He swipes away a few tears, presses a kiss to your lips. You squirm away “Dieter I’m all snotty!”

“I don’t care, Shrink,” he kisses your tear streaked cheeks, your now fluttering eyelids, your forehead, then he sweeps you off your feet, picking you up bridal style. You shriek and stifle a giggle. 

“Oh my god, Dee, put me down,” you yell, trying to contain your giggles. 

“Sure thing, baby!” He dumps you on the couch, grabs his fluffy brown coat off the table and wraps it around your shoulders, sinks to his knees and pulls your sneakers off for you. He goes to the bed and pulls your favorite blanket from the tangled pile and tosses that over you too. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Di-”

“Nope, you’re listening to me, for once.” You roll your eyes and throw your head back into the soft velvet cushion of the couch. “I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, okay? You’re gonna drink the tea and you’re gonna make a list.” 

“A list?” You arch your eyebrow at him, a skeptical look in your eye.

“A list. You’re gonna write down everything you need to do for school AND everything you want to do this week. When you finish that, you’re gonna make a list of ways you can cut your workload. Can you do that for me, shrink?” You start to nod, but then you catch a glimpse of the laundry. 

“Dee the house–”

“Nope! That’s my problem, okay? Focus on your list. Tell me when you’re done.” He drops another kiss on top of your head and gets your bag for you, laying it on the table before running off to the kitchen. 

You pull out your journal and start making his stupid list and a few minutes in, he brings you tea, just the way you like it and in your favorite mug. He puts on a record at low volume and you can hear the water running in the sink. Dieter Bravo is doing the dishes. You never thought you’d see the day. 

You finish the first list of all the things you need to do for school and add Write and Watch a movie to the bottom for the things you would do if you ever had the fucking time. Dieter appears in front of you, reading your list upside down. 

“Knew you could do it, shrinky dink.” 

“Please stop calling me that.” 

“No. Now what can you do to reduce your workload?” He heads over to the bed and starts making it while you talk. 

“I could take this class as pass/fail instead of for a grade…” Your face pulls into a grimace at the thought.

“And why do you sound like that makes you want to die a little?” He says as he wrangles the sheet back onto the bed. 

“Because it feels like failing. Or cheating? I don’t know, D! Gina will hate me for it.” You toss your journal onto the coffee table and burrow into Dieter’s coat a little more. 

“Ok first of all, that woman adores you, but also,” he trails off as he focuses on stuffing a pillow back into its case. He sleeps like a tornado. “Also! There has to be something else you can do. Is your internship mandatory?” 

“I need to do it!” you drag your hands down your face and bang your head repeatedly into the soft cushion behind you. 

“Can you reduce your hours?” He’s next to you now, plopping down on the couch and pulling you over to sit across his lap. 

“Technically?” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, drape yourself over him and soak in his warmth, his steadiness. 

“Then that’s what you’re gonna do. And tonight, we’re gonna watch a movie. And then I’m gonna toss you onto our freshly made bed and I’m gonna eat you out til you’re so delirious you couldn’t think about your ‘workload’ if you tried.”

“What about the laundry?” 

“It can wait.” He kisses you softly again. You make an exasperated noise, but you let him grab the remote, pull up Netflix, put on a movie. You let him cradle you and kiss you.

Dieter isn’t perfect. He’s messy and forgetful and can’t hold down a job to save his fucking life. But he’s steady, soft, comforting. He’s understanding and kind and silly and a little bit brilliant.

You know that when everything gets too much for you to carry, he can carry you. 

#Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fan fiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #gins1500sleepover

[baskeigh-ball]

this might be a stupid question but, what exactly did Splinter do to the MM!trio? you’ve mentioned in both Don and Leo’s redesigns (both of which look awesome btw) how they feel about his ‘past actions’

is it just referring to his neglect, or did something else happen?

sorry again if this is a dumb question, or if you’ve already answered this. im just confused jsjabjs

No worries, I've been vague-posting about it and never really explained so you're definitely not alone lol, explanation under the cut as usual (warning, it's a bit long)

So I'm very interested in the headcanon that Splinter went through depressive episodes while trying to raise the turtles, and as a result neglected them by being emotionally absent, which could be technically canon based off how they characterized him in early episodes and various bits of dialogue?

I don't wanna jump the gun and say it's true to the show but there's hints here and there that he wasn't the most emotionally present parent (the fact Donnie has never had positive reinforcement from an adult and never spends time with Splinter, the fact Leo assumes he's the least favorite, Raph's entire conflict in the season 2 finale being burdened with too much responsibility, Mikey basically being the family therapist in place of, oh idk a parental figure, etc). Anyways, canon or not it's a legitimate thing in this AU.

Once the trio was old enough to look after themselves, Splinter fully fell into his depression and barely did anything around the lair. He would go days without leaving his room, not eating or doing anything, practically comatose in bed. His depression definitely wasn't helped with the way he lost Raph right after escaping Draxum's lab. I said it once, I'll say it again: survivor's guilt is a bitch

But the longest (and last) time he ever did so was when the turtles were 9-10 (Mikey 9, the twins 10). He completely isolated himself and left them to survive on their own for two weeks. Which doesn't sound that long, but it wasn't like they had two weeks' worth of food stocked up, not to mention the necessary upkeep around the lair. Leo and Donnie made it work, all while doing their best to keep Mikey happy, but it really took a toll on their trust in Splinter. After that, Splinter slowly made a recovery and has spent years doing his best to make it up to them. Leo appreciates it, Mikey acknowledges it, Donnie ignores it. But even now, nobody has yet to actually discuss the incident beyond surface-level apologies.

All in all, the fam is Not Okay but refuses to acknowledge it. I don't wanna get into too many details though, because a bunch of this stuff is gonna be talked about in either the fic or comic parts as they come out. Hope this cleared up any confusion :]

#i have so many thoughts on how their relationships have changed in this au but i wanna hold off on the details #at least until it's revealed in the actual storyline #whenever that may be #rottmnt rant #mutant manhunt au #asks open

[deetz-ghuleh]

You Will Never Walk Alone

─ Papa Emeritus IV Copia x F! Reader ─

rating: 18+ Mature | MDNI

word count: 1.4k

warnings/tags: SUICIDE ATTEMPT! , self-harm, angst, mental illness, depression, anxiety, pills/medication, comfort, some fluff.

PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC IF YOU THINK IT MIGHT TRIGGER YOU IN ANY WAY. YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A WORK OF FICTION. 

a/n: At first I wasn't sure about writing this, but then felt compelled to complete it. This is a very sensitive topic for some, but I feel it’s something important to discuss.

This is my way of dealing with a dark period in my life where I almost lost myself, as well as a heartfelt appreciative thank you to this band. Ghost has brought a lot of us back to the light and for that, I am eternally grateful. 

Please take care of yourself. If you are struggling, please reach out to someone. If someone you love is struggling, please let them know you're there for them. Sometimes all we need is a caring gesture. You are never alone. You are important and worthy of love. You are a survivor. I love you. 

♡ If You Have Ghost, You Have Family ♡

AO3 link

tag list: @ghu-leh @baelzbu @sodoswitchimage @ghuleh-recs @bupia @onlyhereforghost

It happened gradually. It always did.

A pain that slowly, but surely, begins to consume you. 

It feels like some sort of curse that has followed you your whole life. It was a vague memory when you were a child, but as you got older, the feeling settled in a dark corner of your mind, steadily traveling toward your heart.

It manifests in different ways - not eating regularly or getting enough rest; isolating yourself, indulging in unhealthy habits, pushing people away, and losing interest in anything that brings you joy.

And you are so good at masking, at acting like nothing is wrong. If they only knew. If only you let them in. 

Not all days are lousy. Sometimes you feel a spark of happiness for a few minutes, days, a week maybe…

And then it vanishes - like a small withering flower, petals fading away into nothingness.

You had mentioned it to Copia a few times. He had confessed similar thoughts and feelings. He was a sensitive soul, it didn't surprise you. When he joked one day about being lonely, you began spending more time together. You didn't want him to ever feel the same anguish. You wanted to give him the same comfort and support he had graced you with. His thoughtful words, and his presence had kept the storm at bay, at least temporarily. 

But tonight is different.

All of the built-up sadness rushes through your body like an untamed river, threatening to drown you in emotions so dark and monstrous they seem impossible to escape from. Years worth of agony come crashing down on you all at once. How long can someone take before they break? 

You are so tired. Exhausted. Overwhelmed.

Your hands tremble with the pill bottle as tears cascade down your cheeks - your mind cruelly reminding you that no matter how hard you try, it will never get better. You will always feel empty. You will always be a burden.

It'd be better if you just disappeared, the voice says. 

𓆩♡𓆪

Copia couldn't sleep. Something was wrong, he felt it in his gut. 

He knocks on your door.

He had noticed a change in you lately - your distance, the polite smiles you forced yourself to give, a growing sorrow in your beautiful, expressive eyes. But he stayed silent for fear of pushing you away or making you uncomfortable. How could he have been so careless? You were close friends - he should have known, should have asked you. The guilt is so heavy it physically hurts him.

No answer.

His jaw clenches, his anxiety worsening. He hesitates for a moment before slowly turning the handle. Open. 

The room is dark, the curtains drawn tightly shut, leaving very little light to illuminate the emptiness within. Copia walks towards the bed and sees you lying there… unmoving, almost lifeless. As he gets closer, he could make out a bottle of sleeping pills discarded on the bedside counter, and a trail of clothes on the ground. His heart sinks but he refuses to give in to the fear that is gripping him.

"C'mon, dolcezza. Open your eyes for me," he whispers.

When you don't reply, he sits down next to you and takes one of your cold hands into his warm one. Your fingers are icy and your pulse is weak. Tears sting his eyes as he realizes the gravity of the situation. It makes him sick to his stomach. It can't be. Not his sweet, kind sorella.

Feeling an odd presence, you move slightly. "Copia… " you finally speak, your voice barely above a whisper. You could only open your eyes halfway. Everything felt numb, the slow pace of death blanketing you in its embrace.

"I'm here, I'm here." He reassures you with a firm squeeze of your hand. Panic rips through his body. Swiftly, he stands, picking up the phone and calling for one of the doctors in the infirmary. "P-please get here as quick as possible! È un'emergenza (It's an emergency)!" His voice wavers. Saying it aloud made it even more real. But thank Lucifer below, you are alive. Shallowing breathing, but alive.

Burying his face in your chest, tears fall onto your nightgown. "Stay with me, bella. Stay with me. Ti scongiuro (I beg you)."

𓆩♡𓆪

The infirmary lights burn his eyes as he paces in the waiting area. It felt like his heart had moved to his throat. He had been waiting for what seemed like hours. If only this had been a bad dream, a nightmare he could easily wake up from.

He could hear the distant sound of footsteps. Dr. Benedetti, one of the Ministry's physicians, emerges from the room you were being treated in. Copia rushes towards him, his eyes filled with desperation.

"Dottore (Doctor), how is she?" he asks, his voice shaking.

"She's stable, Your Eminence. She will need lots of rest, and I recommend that she begin therapy sessions as soon as possible. We can also discuss medications that might help ease her symptoms. I gave her something to help her sleep." He replies, a look of sympathy on his grizzled face.

"Can I see her?"

"Yes, of course. She's sleeping."

With a nod of gratitude, Copia enters the room. Even though you're alive, he can't shake the thought of what could have happened if he hadn't found you.

His heart bleeds in his chest as he looks at you, remembering the fear he felt when he found you half unconscious. He pulls up a chair next to the bed and takes your hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. He removes his leather gloves, the need to feel your skin is almost unbearable as if you might disappear if he doesn't touch you. You stir mildly but don't wake up. He finds some relief in seeing your chest rise and fall with your breathing. 

"Perdonami (Forgive me), mia cara. If only I had noticed sooner," he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Can you feel me longing for you? Come back to me."

His voice is far away, but you hear it.

He sees a single tear fall down the side of your face. You heard him.

"Mio cuore (My heart), you hear me, si?" You don't move, still frozen in your medicated sleep. He looks at you longingly before pressing a light kiss on your forehead.

Your body feels sore and tired, but you're aware of your surroundings. His kiss breaks through the fog clouding your mind. You open your eyes lightly and see his face, worry quickly turning into glee at seeing you awake.

"Bella!" He smiles, lunging forward to wrap you in a tight hug.

The warmth of his skin makes your heart swell with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Copia," you sob on his shoulder. "I hurt you. I shouldn't have. I-"

"Shh, dolcezza, please don't cry," he asks, wiping tears from your face. You didn't hurt me. I blame myself for not realizing how much pain you were in. Oh Satanas, I am just glad I was there to help you." 

"You can't blame yourself. I-I am just weak." You turn your face to look at the window, feeling remorseful for breaking his heart in such a way. "I am-" 

"Weak, tesoro? No, look at me," he grabs your cheek to meet his duochromatic gaze. "Why do you say this? No, amore mio, you are the strongest person I have ever met."

"Strong?" You stare at him puzzled. No one had called you strong before. 

"Si, strong. The way I see it, tesoro, you have struggled for a long time, but you kept going. And guarda (look), you are still here."

That soothing voice once again consoles you, washing away any guilt you feel.

You let your eyes linger on him for a minute. He always had been beautiful to you, but now he looks positively radiant. He was a lifeline; a light in the darkness.

Copia leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It's a tentative kiss - he stops himself. You're so vulnerable, he shouldn't kiss you, he thinks. But it feels like he will burst if he doesn't. 

You move towards him. "Kiss me, Papa. Please." His hand comes up to cradle your face, and he plants a delicate kiss. A warm emotion spills inside you, feeling his love enveloping you from within. "You will never walk alone, tesoro," he promises, looking deeply into your eyes.

As you indulge in his touch, the caress of his lips turns more fervent. And for the first time, you are brimming with a sense of joy, of peace, of hope.  

♡

✦ 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 and want to support me, please consider leaving comments, kudos, or reblogging my posts. :) ✦

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost the band #papa emeritus copia #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x female reader #papa copia fanfiction #copia #ghost band #ghost band fanfic #ghost fanfic #ghost band fic #papa emeritus iv #papa iv #tw depression #tw mental illness #tw sui implied #tw: suicide #papa emeritus 4 #papa copia x reader #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #my writings #my fics

[cookeybg]

Gotham Possesses

A cryptid Batfamily AU in which Gotham is the main character and follows its journey to consciousness as it follows its Bat and Birds. Chapters are short and a bit gloomy.

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd (more characters pop up later, will add them then.)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood (let me know if I should add more tags)

Word Count: 557

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 5 - Gotham Slept

Her Bat had always kept his secrets close. He had always prided the perceived control he had over himself. He always planned. He always prepared. Eventually his mission drove a wedge between him and her bird. Her bird was fed up, she could feel his frustration, his captivity and so she let her bird fly outside of her loving embrace. Her tendrils had extended farther than the city limits. Learning from the land, observing, absorbing, twinning and reaching until she touched another city. Bludhaven, it was called. Silently it slept, dormant. She led her bird there, close enough to keep the tether taut but lose enough to feel free. Unsure if the city would ever wake. Unsure if she was the only one aware. Relieved that her bird was within her grasp. Time ticked by and her Bat met a boy, small, with cracks but he made her Bat laugh. He brought him to the Manor and she watched curiously. He knew her differently than they, intimately. He had crawled within her muck and clawed and fought his way up just to be able to breathe, to eat. He had only known warmth in brief lucid windows and knew of the pain brought by meaty fists. He had been witness to the horrors brought on by need and even participated in a few. He was a survivor of a different kind. The boy would learn to fly, she knew. Some things are certain and her connection to her Bat, the tether, compelled. Her shadows embraced him. The boy donned the colors of her bird, of Robin, and her Bat’s loneliness was assuage. The new bird was not as graceful nor did he ride the skies as if he belonged, but he made up for it by being quick and clever of her streets. She watched them dance, aware of not being the only one, but too focused to care. She wove around him, caressing his hair, unable to do much else for him but lighten the burden of protection from her Bat. She made it harder for the villains, to see, to hear. Everything else was a learned skill, taught by her Bat. The day she felt her Bat’s pain, it was all consuming. In a wooden casket lay a shattered bird, the cracks finally given way. Cold, stiff and without warmth he was placed within her soil. The Bat blamed himself, claimed that he should have been better, should have done things differently. Her Bat blamed her, claimed that she took and took and took. She cried relentlessly, screamed and lit the skies. He was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. She would give back. She always did. Lightning struck her soil, tearing a spark of shadow from her. It did not work. She had given her shadow to the other bird once before and she would do it again. She struck again and again until a connection was formed. A rope to bind him to her. She called the vermin that slunk in her sewers and they dug. The bird took a breath, nearly drowning himself, but he had clawed his way up before and so he did again. The bird came out wrong. Twisted and confused. The bird was stolen, taken from his nest. She was too weak to hold onto him and in her exhaustion, Gotham slept.

Let me know what you guys think! I wrote this instead of working on my other fic. I just can't seem to get that chapter right.....

#gotham #gotham city #fanfic #fanfiction #cryptid batman #cryptid batfam #robin #nightwing #dick grayson #briefly mentioned #bruce wayne #jason todd #the second robin #grim #angsty #angst #obviously jason dies #the one who takes him is Talia al Ghul

[xrollingmyeyesx]

Memories

Pairing: Lo’ak x Omatikaya!Reader, Lo’ak x Fem!Reader

Anonymous Request: “Would you ever consider writing lo’ak calming down reader after they have a panic attack?” + “Can you write where reader has ptsd or smtg.”

Summary: As a warrior of the Omatikaya clan, you’ve witnessed a lot of death. Lo’ak and his family help you deal with the PTSD, and soon things get better. When you leave to stay with the Metkayina, reckless actions drag you back into old memories. 

Warnings: Panic attack, PTSD, death of a family member, angst. Please do not read if you are triggered by gun violence or the loss of a family member to gun violence.

Word Count: 4,647

Notes: I have mild anxiety and panic attacks, so I just wrote this from my own experience and from some research. This fic could be considered kind of graphic, so please do not read if that is going to bother you. If you think I didn’t add enough warning or I should add more tags, pls let me know. 

No smut like I usually write, so I’m not so confident in this, but I hope y’all like it❤

The Elders used to tell stories of the First Great War. They would gather up the young children and sit them in a circle. They told stories of fire and death and destruction. They told of the monstrosities that occurred at the hands of the Sky People; how Na’vi were slaughtered for defending their home. They told of the human’s greed. The stories remind us of what the sky People did. 

The Elders tell the stories so that The People never forget. 

For years, almost two decades, they were just stories to you; Memories of a time long before you were born. Sure, they were true events, and yes, it was horrible, but the war was over. The People were at peace and you had no reason to worry.

But peace cannot last forever. 

You were out in the forest hunting when the Sky People returned. The stars in the sky grew, their blinding light shattering the dark night. Massive ships descended with a mechanical screech. Their machines tore through the forest, setting everything ablaze. You remember choking on the dark smoke, your lungs burning as you sprinted for safety. You remember crying when you looked back at the damage. It felt like they had torn out a part of your soul, creating a hole in its wake.

When the Second War came, you fought beside your brothers and sisters. You were a good warrior and dedicated to the cause. You quickly grew to be a leader amongst the fighters, even sitting in on strategy meetings with the Olo’eyktan. So many of The People were lost, so much land destroyed. You tried to keep your spirit up, but over time you lost your happy demeanor. 

In the course of one year, you were forced to watch the people you loved die. 

One by one it happened, like the RDA was intentionally picking on you. Everyone had lost someone, but why did you have to lose everyone? Your parents, your sister, your best friend. Pieces of your heart and your sanity chipped away, bit by bit. 

Their deaths weighed on you, and you withdrew from the clan. You had no family to go home to, no friends to talk to. No one seemed to want to be around you, and you couldn’t blame them. You were a magnet for death, destined to be a sole survivor. You stopped going to evening meals and you barely slept. 

It was hard to sleep when you saw the dead behind your eyelids. 

Lo’ak was the one person who you could talk to. He found you one night outside your family's old home. You had been so distant from him, stuck in your own head. The two of you had always been close friends and he worried about you.

“Y/n?” He whispered as he lowered himself to sit beside you. You were staring off into the distance, your eyes blank. He laid a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not going to ask if you are okay, because I know you are not. But please, let me take some of this burden.”

Your knees were pulled up to your chest, your arms hugging them, as you turned to look at him. He had watched you lately, and it was like you were withering away right in front of his eyes. 

“I just,” His voice cracked. “I know it is hard, I do. Just…please talk to me.”

Your eyes watered as you tried to hold back the emotions. Your voice was scratchy from going unused. “I cannot stop seeing them.” 

You met his eyes. “I see my sister in the other children, how she used to run around, carefree, just like them.” Your voice picked up as tears fell down your face. “Sometimes I learn something new and I-” You stumbled over the words. “I turn to tell my mom, and she’s not there.” 

“Oh, y/n,” Lo’ak whispered sadly. 

You continued as if you didn't hear him. “Sometimes I think I see my dad, but when I turn to look for him he is gone.” You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Eywa is punishing me. I keep getting these, these things. Episodes where I am stuck rewatching their deaths.”

Lo’ak pulled you closer to him, draping his arms over your shoulders. You shook as tears racked through your body. You were so, so tired. “I cannot even sleep, Lo’ak. I’m the reason they’re dead and they haunt me for it.”

His grip tightened, pressing your face to his broad chest. “It’s okay, It’s okay. Their deaths are not your fault.” He felt himself getting emotional at seeing you so distraught. “They live within Eywa, they are not gone.”

“But they feel gone!” Your voice cracked at the sudden shout. “No one else feels the way I do. Something is wrong with me, Lo’ak.” You sounded as if you had given up all hope. 

“It is okay to feel these things. It’s normal after seeing so much.” He reassured you, his hand rubbing your shoulders. He hated that you had been dealing with these emotions alone for so long. 

Your cheek was squished against his chest, your tears marking his skin. “I don't know how to make them stop.” 

Your words were barely a whisper. Lo’ak kissed the top of your head, trying to soothe you. “We can figure out a way. Some method of coping. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

And you didn’t do it alone anymore. That night was the first time you slept in the Sully's hammock. They let you stay with them and you became part of their family. You grew close to their kids, and even considered Tuk and Kiri your sisters. 

The family quickly learned of your night terrors. Sometimes you didn’t move, frozen in terror as you screamed out for help in your sleep. Other times, they found you thrashing wildly on your sleeping mat. Jake tried to wake you once, attempted to calm you, but you fought him in your sleep. You tried apologizing the next day, but he wouldn’t have it. He told you that it was called PTSD, something you get after a traumatic event. He explained that he used to have it from his war on Earth. Jake said you might heal someday, but that it was hard.

A couple weeks later, Lo’ak was the one rushing to your aid at night. He slid onto the mat beside you and wrapped his strong arms around you. Something about the pressure calmed your thrashing. He stayed there, whispering words of comfort against your ear until your body relaxed against his. The family realized soon after that Lo’ak was the only one able to calm you. He woke every night to repeat the motions, and at some point they decided it was just easier for him to sleep next to you. The family grew used to you sleeping on the same mat, your back to his chest. 

His presence helped, and over time the terrors started to wane. You were able to go weeks without them, and everyone slept much better. Lo’ak was always there when you needed him. Despite your problems, he accepted you and helped you work through it. You guys worked out a method of bringing you out of panic attacks, and it worked. 

Lo’ak was your rock. He kept you safe from yourself, grounding you in your moments of weakness. He was the calm in the middle of a storm, the light in the darkness. You spent months slowly falling in love with him. 

The two of you spent a lot of time together, gathering or just talking walks in the forest. He accompanied you to the spirit tree most of the time, to support you in your efforts to see your family. 

You were leading him there now, but had different plans for your evening. You stopped at the tree and faced him, the soft glow of the Spirit Tree casting light over his face. “Lo’ak,” You reached to press a hand against his cheek. “You have always been there for me, always cared for me. You accepted me for who I am, flaws and all. 

“You deserve to have someone take care of you, tihona.” Cuteness. You smiled at the nickname. It was something he’d started to call you, and you often found yourself blushing at it. “And you do not have any flaws, not to me.” He said that part softly, his eyes locked on yours. 

Lo’ak had known for a while that he loved you, but had yet to say anything. He didn't want you to think he was only helping you heal because he wanted something out of it. He needed to make sure you felt the same. 

“You are everything.” He said, leaning close. “Everything to me.” 

“Lo’ak,” You whispered, glancing at his lips. 

He didn't need to hear more, instead pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, and gentle. Lo’ak pulled you into his body by the waist. He had waited so long to feel the press of your lips against his. When you pulled back for air, he finally said the words that had been aching to leave his mouth. 

“I See you.”

“I See you, Lo’ak.” You answered. 

....

A couple months into you and Lo’ak’s relationship, your life was uprooted. Sky People had built avatars and were using them to hunt down the Sullys. After an extremely close call, Jake made the decision to take his family and leave. No one questioned if you were going along. You had no one in your life, and you and Lo’ak were promised to each other. You weren’t mated yet, but there was no question that you would leave with him. 

It was difficult to convince the Metkayina to let you stay, but Jake assured them that all of you would adapt. You worked with the kids of the Olo’eyktan to learn their ways, and grew to be friends with them. Lo’ak and Neteyam had a rocky start with Aonung, but they too settled into friendship with him. 

No one knew of your past or looked at you with pity. It was a new start. Tsireya was a close friend, her honesty and positive attitude reminded you of your sister, and you enjoyed her spark of life. Aonung was decent too, the two of you often sparring together. Life in Awa’atlu was growing on you. You opened up more and the Sully family began to see you shift towards the happy girl they knew before the war.

Your group of friends often spent the day together, chasing each other around the island and playing stupid games. You were doing that now, sitting in a circle inside the Sully pod. Kiri called the game “Truth or Dare.” She sat to your left and Lo’ak to your right, his knee pressed to yours. The simple touch made your skin heat, and you found yourself blushing anytime his eyes found yours. 

“Okay….truth or dare, Rotxo.” Tsireya said, eyes twinkling mischievously.

He rolled his eyes. “Dare, obviously.” Rotxo always chose dare. He claimed it was “manly.”

“I dare you to kiss Kiri.” Tsireya said smugly. Her words elicited a blush from both Rotxo and Kiri, the latter tapping her fingers on her leg nervously. “Unless you do not want to.”

You knew that both of them liked the other, and chuckled at Tsireya’s matchmaker tendencies. 

“No, no, I want to.” The words rushed from Rotxo's mouth, causing the rest of you to laugh at his awkwardness. He sat beside Kiri, so neither needed to move to complete the dare. Their lips pressed together quickly, and then they both yanked their heads away. The rest of you laughed at their antics, Neteyam and Aonung teasing them.

Giggling, you turned to Lo’ak. “They would make a cute couple, huh?”

He smirked, his four fingered hand coming to rest on your knee. “Not cuter than us.” You smiled up at him, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Guys look!” You turn your head to see Aonung digging through stuff in the corner. 

“Aonung, you should not be going through their stuff!” His sister scolded. At her words, you turned back to the group. 

“I found a gun!” The boy spun around, Jake’s gun in his hand. Sunlight glinted off the metal, and you froze at the sight of it. 

“Hey, put that down.” Neteyam demanded, strutting over to Aonung. “That is not a toy.” 

Aonung didn’t listen, instead bringing the scope up to his eyes. “This is so cool. How many people has your dad shot?”

The older boys continued to argue over the weapon, Neteyam tugging at Aonung’s arm. A dull whine was starting to build up behind your ears and a feeling of unease settled in the pit of your stomach. You placed a hand over it and looked over to Lo’ak, who was already watching you intensely. His brows were furrowed in worry, and he grabbed your hand. 

“It’s okay,” He said to you under his breath, before addressing the fighting boys. “Seriously Aonung, stop. You do not know how dangerous those are, you can’t just go playing with it.”

The situation shouldn’t make you as nervous as it does. Yes, it’s a weapon, but you’ve been around plenty of weapons. You’ve been around guns many times, Jake even keeps one around constantly. But right now all you can focus on is the dark metal of the gun and Aonung’s finger by the trigger. 

Aonung either didn’t hear Lo’ak or pretended not to hear, because he continued fighting with Neteyam. He was trying to keep it away while Neteyam reached over his shoulders for it. “Skxawng, give it he–”

Pop. Pop. 

The crack of the gun firing made you flinch as everyone around you ducked for cover. It’s a blessing that Aonung’s recklessness had not left anyone injured. Instead, there are two holes in the floor of the marui pod. The room is silent for a moment, before everyone starts to raise their voice at the culprit. They’re yelling and he’s defending himself and Lo’ak is saying your name. 

The sound of the gun firing replays in your head, over and over. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. 

You could never describe to Lo’ak what the attacks felt like; You were never able to put the feelings into words. The only way you could describe it was like this horrible, terrifying feeling that took over your entire body. It was like every single nerve in your body was crying out in fear. The flashbacks were the worst. They felt like someone holding your head underwater, forcing you to watch but unable to help.

You’re not in Awa’atlu. You’re back home in the field where your parents died.

The sound of a crash was followed quickly by the shouts and war cries of your party. You were attacking a shipping convoy and had just blasted the train off the tracks. You led the ground troops, directing them to get the supplies and get out quickly. 

“Incoming!” Jake’s voice is heard over all the chatter and the groaning of burning metal. 

Two gunships round the corner, their guns trained on the team. “Take cover!” You shout, ducking behind a piece of debris. The sound of rapid shots rings out.

When it’s over and the gun ship has moved on, you stand to assess the damage. You see your parents a few yards away, and watch as they start to walk towards you, their arms loaded with supplies. They don’t see the second gunship turning back.

You sprint towards them, jumping over obstacles and yelling for them to run. The words had barely left your mouth when the gunship fired. You watch as the ship litters their bodies with bullet holes, right in front of you. Their faces were twisted in shock and pain. You stumble as you run for them. Their bodies fall to the ground, supplies scattering. By the time you make it to them, they are long gone. You run your hands over your mom’s body, trying to stop the bleeding somehow. But it’s impossible; There are too many wounds. 

The gunship had come back and was gearing up to shoot again when someone's hands dragged you to your feet. “Y/n! We gotta go, we gotta go!” 

“I can’t leave them!” You try to grasp onto their bodies, to stay with them, but Lo’ak is dragging you by your arms. You fought him and he was forced to half-drag, half-carry you away. 

You blink and the scene changes, becoming the familiar green and browns of the forest. 

“Do you see anything?”

You groan. “Nothing is happening at this post.”

You and your best friend, Ok’iye, are on a recon mission to scout one of the Sky People’s outposts. You’ve been there for a few hours already and have yet to see anything worth taking back to Jake. 

Ok’iye lays beside you as you hid in the foliage. You lay on your stomach with binoculars held to your eyes as he looked through the scope of a gun.

“Ok’iye, what are we even looking for?” You question, turning to face him. 

He glances over to you, a grin on his mischievous face. “I think Jake is pranking us, because there isn't–”

A dark splotch appears in the center of his forehead. His blood and flesh splatter across your face and chest. His blood is warm and you can taste it on your lips. His smiling face goes slack as blood flows out, marring his dark blue skin. It all happened so fast, and you duck down to hide from whoever is shooting at you. You don’t know how long you stayed like that, but eventually the day turned to night. You laid there next to his body for hours, cowered in fear.  

Once you are sure it is safe to leave, you start making your way home, Ok’iye’s lifeless form over your shoulder. You couldn’t leave him, you would say to yourself. He needed a proper ceremony so he could return to the Great Mother. 

You carried him for 2 hours. You didn’t cry for him or mourn him. You were just kind of… numb.

Later, Jake told you that it was something called shock, your body’s way of protecting you from the pain.

Sometimes you can still taste Ok’iye’s blood.

The scene shifts again. You’re still in the forest, but now you're in a meadow and the sun shines brightly. 

You walk through the meadow, your little sister on your heels. Sey’ax is a curious kid, and she likes to tag along with you when you scavenge. 

“Okay, stay in the meadow so I can keep an eye on you.” You order, an endearing smile on your face. 

“I know, tsmuke!” The girl laughs at you before running off towards the creek to play. 

You hadn’t thought twice about bringing her along. You did it all the time and this was safe territory. You walk through the forest, gathering berries and other materials. You can hear her laughter a few yards away, and smile to yourself as you pop a paskalin berry in your mouth. 

You didn't see the human soldiers coming. You didn’t know they were there until you heard the familiar screech of a bullet leaving the chamber of a gun. 

You drop your basket, fear squeezing your heart as you sprint to where you last saw her. You find Sey’ax’s lying face up in the stream, her laughter long gone.

“Oh no, no, no!” You fall to your knees, rocks digging into the soft flesh as you sob over her. Sey’ax’s blood turns the water red and it swirls around you. She is barely conscious as you cradle her in your arms. “You are okay, Sey’ax. I will get you to Mo’at.” Your throat is dry, tears spilling down your face.

“Tsmuke, help me.” She pleads, her voice a ragged sigh. Her last breath is used to ask you, her big sister, for help, and yet you can do nothing but watch as the light leaves her gold eyes. You hold her to you, begging the Great Mother to not take her, to not take the last person you had. 

The Sky People had shot her, a child, for nothing. She did not attack them, she had nothing to give them, and yet they murdered her. Your cries echo around the clearing. When you look down at your baby sister, you find your hands stained red with blood. 

She was a child. 

••••

To you it felt like hours, like you were really living those days over again, but it was only a few minutes. At first, Lo’ak couldn't tell if you were having an attack or if you were just shocked. You stared unblinking at the hole in the floor. 

 “tihona? Y/n, talk to me.” He shuffled to kneel in front of you, placing his hands on your shoulders. His voice sounded muffled, like he was talking to you through water. You were unresponsive to his words, which quickly grew the attention of the other teens. 

Kiri lifted a hand to cover her mouth. The whole family knew of your past and the episodes of sudden panic you got, but she was surprised nonetheless. You hadn’t had one in so long. Kiri had finally started to think you were healing. 

She came to your side, holding your hand. “Y/n, you’re okay.” 

The words may have sounded comforting to her, but in your head her voice sounded like Sey’ax. Your skin felt hot, like there were real flames searing into your flesh. You heard what you thought was your sister's voice and panicked. “No, no, no, no.”

The group watched as you lashed out. Your hands came up to your ears, trying to keep the haunting sound of her voice out of your head. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You are okay.” Lo’ak’s voice filtered through, and he briefly came into your eyesight, but then his face morphed into Ok’iye’s. The wound on his face dripped blood, trailing down and into his eyes and mouth. 

You can feel his blood, warm against your face, and claw at it desperately, trying to scrape it off. “No, no, no, no. Go away!” The words are a jumbled mix, some kind of mix between a groan and a wail. “Go away!” 

Lo’ak grabbed your wrists, holding them so you couldn’t injure yourself. You caught his chin with your nails, leaving an angry, red welt in your wake. 

Tsireya cried out as she watched. “What is wrong with her?”

Rotxo and Aonung stood close by, their faces an ashy white as they stared. Neteyam growled under his breath, protective of the girl who had become a sister to him. “This is your fault!” He pointed a finger at Aonung, poking him in the chest. 

Their voices reminded Lo’ak that there was an audience. “Get out! You all need to leave.” You thrashed in his arms with tears rolling down your face. Your mouth was parted, but no sound came out, only gasps for air. “Seriously, Neteyam, get them out of here.”

The older boy jumped into action, hastily ushering everyone out of the pod. “Is she going to be okay?” Tsireya asked Kiri, her own eyes watering at seeing you so distraught. Their voices were muffled as Neteyam led them from the home.

 “Y/n, I need you to breathe.” Lo’ak pleaded. His pulse raced but he did his best to maintain a calm composure for your sake. You weren't taking in any air, and he was scared you'd pass out. “Breathe, tihona, please.”

Helplessness and overwhelming fear made your body shake. Lo’ak maneuvered himself behind you, sitting you in between his legs, so he could wrap his arms around you. Not only did it allow him to apply pressure, which would help, but it was also able to keep you from hurting yourself further. 

Your head was foggy, and it felt like you were floating. It was a cold and empty feeling. A faraway voice filtered through. “Y/n. Come on.” It said, “You are not there. It’s not real.”

I'm not there.

“Come back to me, it’s okay. You are okay.”

You tried to focus on Lo’ak’s voice, to center yourself. Your eyes drifted around the room, but your vision tunneled as you searched for him. “Lo’ak.” You whimpered, voice barely audible. 

“I am right here, my love. I got you.” He cooed. Your heart beat erratically and you were gasping for air. 

“No,” You cried out, twisting in his hold. 

“It is Lo’ak,” He said, rocking you gently. “You aren’t there, y/n.” 

“Lo’ak?” You repeated, crying out for him. 

Lo’ak started leading you through the steps. “Count from 5, okay? I’ll do it with you. Mrr,” he started.

You copied him. “Mrr.” 5

“Tsing.” 4

“Tsing.”

Your breathing began to become less erratic as you counted. Slowly, your senses were starting to come back to you, piece by piece. 

He ran his hands over your arms comfortingly and spoke softly. “Tell me something you can see.”

You looked around the room, your gaze finding a blue blanket in the corner. “A blanket.”

“Good, you are doing so good.” He cooed. “Tell me something you can smell.”

You inhale softly through your nose, welcoming the strong scent of the communal fires in the village. “Fires.”

“Good, good. Something you can feel.”

You shifted a bit in his hold, your breathing finally back to normal. Your head ached, but it was normal after an attack. You leaned back against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart against your back. “I feel your heart.”

Lo’ak hummed behind you. No longer were you buried in flashbacks, but they left their toll on your body. You feel weak, emotionally and physically, and you want nothing more than to just fall asleep. It’s a bone deep tiredness, and settles into the corners of your mind and your body.

As you came down, you started to cry again, this time softly. You were mortified that you had regressed so much, and even more embarrassed that your friends had been there to see it. They must think I’m a monster, you thought. It only made you cry more. 

“Oh, hona,” Lo’ak sighed. “I got you, I got you.” 

“I am sorry, I am so sorry.” You mumbled, hating yourself. You hated doing this to him. You felt like a constant burden on him and his family. How could he possibly love you? You were broken, you thought.

“Shhh. You have nothing to be sorry for. Everything is okay.”

Lo’ak held you for a long time. He knew that you needed time to process and recuperate. He had seen you sleep for days after an attack, and wasn’t surprised when you started to drift off. 

He moved you to lay down, leaning over to grab a blanket for the both of you. Lo’ak draped it over you, and cuddled into your resting body. 

He thought for a long time about the two of you. You had such a hard life before and you had lost so much. Your pain felt like his pain. He wished he could bear the pain for you. 

He prayed that he could keep you safe, but knew deep down that he could not protect you from your own memories. 

••••

Later, his father and the rest of the family filtered into the pod for the night.  “She okay, son?” Jake asked, concerned etched on his face.

“Yeah,” Lo’ak answered. “She’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

Tag List

@lovely-turned-deadly@neteyamsgirll @strnqer @attlas567 @maria-1287 @erodastylinson​ @ihrtchickpeas​ @fucksnow​​ @grimes-gf​ @httpsplanetmarsdotcom​ @rainbowsocks @neteyamzmate @generalflapnickelbear @ellielovesrobinarellano​ @lovemyself-persona​ @alovingelf​ @sully-stick-together​ @whos3rn​ @meepmeepbark​ @amberofzo​ @melsunshine​ @astroponyo​ @tanchosanke​ @lizziesfirstwife​ @yeosxxx​ @seasonedcapsicum​ @kadu-5607​ @eringaitskill​ @doulcha​ @nijha2tact @shydestinypeach​ @ani-girl​ @midnight-star47​ @instabull​ @silententhusiastdreamer @ilymarkchan​ @neteyamoa​ @kaiya3333​ @lynbubble​ @bakugounuggets​ @primadonnagal-blog​ @taintedxkisses​ @hirokosoul​  @kyrah-williams​ @genshinimpactislife​ @erika-simps​ @summe-rliu @urfavbrunettebish​ @bbylime @ricecakeslove​ @lovesickbtch @idcalol @hotmarveladdict  @axionn​ @orinlin​ @pikuposts @corrupt-cadaver420​ @torchbearerkyle @luvlykrispy @elli-aesthetics @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @raven1234321 @lunamochii @scarletrosesposts @lolzies11 @lilithdonahue @jjkclub​ @zoeoii @softhetixx @heesoftiefreak @c78r​ @ripneteyam​ @tiddybiddy​ @findingourtreasure @traveleraroundsworld @aonungs-tsahik @gyriffndorkate @iikatsukii @euhmae25 @chloelmao67 @gracefulbumblebee​ @lovergyal @nao-cchi  @goodiesinthecloset21 @sharni07 @hangezoes-wife​ @neteyamsmate4life​ @hopelesslydevotedloser​ @carolinemacher​ @whyloakkinda @riverlikethelake​ @in-luvais​ @katsukisdaddy​ @tsireyassgurl​ @justhavingsomefun​ @sullymenrhot​ @midnightsnakesstuff​ @bbyhargrove  @ohmsjedi​ @zendayaswrld101​ @neteyamsgirl​ @laylasbunbunny​ @lichik​ @sakurayuki8655-blog​ @vevethirst @mangogloss-blog @eatassskatefast12 @liyahsocorro @kaealowri @leftbreadparadise @ihatecats123 @selinbaskaya​ @regulus-black-223048​ @itssiaaax​ @kachowness @lov3rluna

#loak x reader #pls read tw #loak sully #tw blood #angst #violence #panic attack #parental loss tw #loss of a sibling #loak x y/n #lo'ak x reader #ptsd #sad #graphic #tw gun violence

[psychedelic-ink]

( ✉︎ ) SHORTCUTS TO MY MULTI-CHAP FICS!

This masterlist has got all my series in one spot. I put it together because my pinned post was getting way too long, so now it's easier for you to find and enjoy everything hassle-free. And of course all series can be find in the characters respective masterlists as well!

[✦] MLISTS .  LIBRARY

ego & black powder: pero tovar x prisonguard!reader

ongoing series, loose-fit fic

A prison guard shouldn’t be infatuated with a prisoner. Simple as that. But this new prisoner who you didn’t know the name of, made this rule very difficult to follow.

million dollar man: jack daniels x reader x frankie morales

ongoing series

Two years had passed since your break up with Jack, a fellow Statesmen agent. But everything re-ignites again when Champ asks you to go to San Francisco to investigate the disappearance of multiple women across the country and, sadly enough, agent Malibu. While doing anything with Jack is chaos enough, you also run in to another ex, a man that actually showed you kindness and someone you thought you could spend the rest of your days with that is until he started asking too many questions about your job, Frankie Morales.

we fall like snow: dieter bravo x bodyguard!ofc!amina addams

completed

After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

advanced politics of human sexuality: javi g x ofc!mia pradera

ongoing series

Still struggling to come to terms with his father’s recent passing, burdened by the weight of the business he left behind, Javi feels adrift. Meanwhile, years later, an unexpected twist of fate brings you back into Javi’s life again—the daughter of his favorite housekeeper. Uncertain about your future and what to do with it, you find yourself at a crossroads, while Javi wrestles with the irresistible pull he feels towards you.

i've got you darlin': moonknight x reader x din djarin

ongoing series

you find yourself in the middle of a dangerous race of who will steal priam's treasure first; a mysterious cloaked figure who calls himself moon knight or a man in clad armor who calls himself the mandalorian. amongst the chaos, you and steven try to protect the remnants of history.

watercolor eyes: sw!santiago garcia x reader

loose-fit fic, ongoing

After another day of lack of customers and loneliness, you come across a flyer that might grant you a night of relief and pleasure.

musician!joel miller masterlist

loose-fit fic, complete

One night you decide to visit a bar all by yourself. There you meet a guitarist, Joel miller, and things escalate from there. Here you'll find snippets and one-shots of the relationship.

exile: joel miller x ofc!june

Completed

Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters. Domestics. All infected. One unlike the other. You expect the infection to eat you from the inside out, turning you into something horrid. But instead, you find yourself with leaf-shaped ears and antlers that belong to a deer. While you live out the rest of your days trying to adjust to your new features and survive, you meet Joel, a survivor just like you but with a more grim approach to life. Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.

stay in bed: joel miller x reader, one sided tommy miller x reader

Ongoing series

After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

Infections Of a Different Kind (TLOU AU): FEDRA javier p. x firefly!reader

Completed

Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest. As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

dark hearted people: joel miller x reader x ezra

Ongoing series

Trying to reach Tommy, you and Joel meet a charming stranger. He persuades the two of you into helping him find his stolen equipment. During your travels, none of you expect to fall for one another.

behind the velvet rope: joel miller x actress!reader x dieter bravo

loose-fit fic, Completed

a grumpy bodyguard, an eccentric actor, and you, who is thrust into the limelight. What can go wrong? The three navigate the challenges of Hollywood, tensions may arise and conflicts may occur but they’ll always have each other to lean on.

move me | the stripper saga: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

Completed

frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "whiskey".

ravish masterlist: joel miller x webcam model!reader

loose-fit fic, Completed

Joel, only now starting to feel the impending sense of loneliness, decides to listen to Tommy and sign up on an online streaming service called Ravish.

GLOSSARY

loose-fit fic: A fan fiction style characterized by a series that lacks a strict, predetermined plot or timeline, often with irregularly posted chapters.

loose-fit fic, complete: A series that is complete but might produce new chapters typically driven by audience demand or interest.

loose-fit fic, ongoing: A series that lacks a strict, predetermined plot or timeline, often with irregularly posted chapters.

#masterlist #multichapter #series masterlist

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Okay, I'm not done cross-posting, but I've reached page 8 of my fic tag and still need to go through the asks, and I've started thinking mean things about past!Tamara, so it's time to stop! I ended up cross-posting 15 fics, most of them actually recognizable as fics rather than headcanon rambles or ask games. For the curious, here they are. I didn't go for composer-style titles, but given how I devolved into random single verb titles by the end, maybe I should have...

The Family Stuart (Askbox game in the key of Robin Stuart)

And yet they persist (Duet for Immortal Bahorel and Ghost Jehan)

History's Eyes (Philosophy in Barricade Day Major)

The Element of Surprise (Space AU in Battle Pillow Major)

Now the fighting's done (Dirge for Fallen Leader in the key of dysfunctional survivors)

Demons (Askbox game in the key of Sirius Black [This one would be Duet for Solo Voice except I have an actual fic called that])

A doctor's heart (Sick fic in C/C minor)

The burden of evidence (Modern AU in author projection major)

Sealed in starlight (Character study for a single twin) [HP fic]

History of Magic (Mutual Appreciation Society in HP fusion major)

Take these wings and learn to fly (Wingfic for Feuilly and Courfeyrac)

Maybe it's magic (Headcanon in Americana major)

Bigger than us (Daemonverse #11)

Silence (Projection in Blorbo major)

Entangled (3 sentence fic for Enjolras)

#thoughts from the fire escape #this is why i don't recognize any of my own fics by title #the titles are so often random words or phrases #because i'm bad at this #and don't even talk to me about tagging!