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frantic-fiction · 3 months

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Reunions

(Pic: lovelybluebirdie) I cropped it a bit

Astarion x gn!reader, Astarion x reincarnated!Tav

Summary: A few months after reconnecting to your past life as Tav, a party is set to meet the rest of the group. You're nervous, worried about not living up to who you once were. Will you be enough?

This is a little part 2 of I'll Find My Way Back to You

Notes/ Warning: Pretty much just fluff. Reader is insecure. Astarion is a supportive partner. I kept all 6 origin characters alive because it's my story and I don't want to imagine any of them dead. Also, Halsin's here cause druids live to be like a thousand or whatever.

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist

You're not panicking. Why would you be? It's not like you're meeting a group of people you've only met in dreams—a group of strangers you've painted for the better part of your existence- a family forged through hardship from a past life you're still trying to remember fully.

No, you're not panicking. You're not scared that the people who are so excited to see you will not like what they see. You're not terrified the family Astarion has helped you remember will look at you disappointed once they realize you are no longer the Tav they once knew. You're not worried at all. Not. One. Bit.

You spent the afternoon cleaning the house from top to bottom. It was sparkling, and your fingers ached from the hours of scrubbing you filled in the restless day with. No surface was left untouched. Bookshelves were dusted, baseboards were spotless, and even the top of the cupboards, where no one would ever see, were wiped down. The floors were swept and mopped three times now, but you keep finding spots you missed. Astarion even physically stopped you from scaling the roof to clean the chimney when you ran out of things to occupy yourself with.

There's a roast in the oven, potatoes, and veggies cooking alongside it, and a pie cooling on the counter. You wanted to cook more, but you were worried that not everyone would like blueberries or that someone had turned to a plant-based diet. Astarion quickly reminded you that they used to eat food out of dusty barrels and mildewed chests.

Currently, you stand in front of your floor-length mirror. Astarion is out on a quick hunt before the party arrives, leaving you to obsess over your thoughts of inadequacy. The majority of your closet littered the floor. You're scrutinizing a simple tunic and legging combo. Was it too simple? Should you wear something more eye-catching?

You're trying to remember what Tav would have worn. All you can recall is blood-stained armor and simple camp clothes. But this occasion garners something more. Fuck. Stripping off the current outfit, you replace it with an almost identical one and look at yourself in the mirror again. You weren't sure what you expected, maybe to magically love this pair of pants and old tunic. But in reality, you were just as frustrated and worried.

The clothes weren't the problem, you knew that, but it was easier to be pissed at a blouse than to accept that you were scared. You were frightened to face Astarion and Tav's friends. You have Tav's memories and feel an odd kinship with these people. But you weren't Tav, and you would never be them, at least not entirely.

You felt like an imposter to try and convince anyone otherwise. Tears of frustration and disappointment in yourself began to trail down your cheeks. How could a silly artist hold a candle to the kind and heroic savior of Baldur's Gate? You glared at yourself, wishing things could have been different.

You jump when you feel cold arms wrap around your torso and a warm kiss at the nape of your neck. Astarion loved to use his lack of reflection to sneak up on you. You, on the other hand, hated it. Still, you found yourself leaning back into his firm chest.

"Hello, my love,"

You try to stop the pathetic sniffle, but it's useless. Astarion turns you in his arms and cups your jaw. "Darling," is all he says because he knows. Of course, he knows.

That simple pet name causes the floodgates to open, and you crumple into Astarion's chest, nuzzling his neck. He tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body. Astarion lets you cry, knowing how nervous you've been for this meetup.

He rubs soft circles on the small of your back and peppers kisses to the crown of your head. "You can talk to me,"

"W-what if they don't li-like me?"

Astarion moves you both to the bed, skirting around the mess you made. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap to look you in the eyes better. "Why wouldn't they love you?" He prompts, not wanting to push you.

"Star, you know why. I'm not Tav," you hiccup, and you're positive the words you're speaking are incoherent. "I have their memories and some of their mannerisms and…and I'm also allergic to bees, but I'm not them. What if they hate me because I'm not Tav."

Astarion pecks your lips to halt your panicked words. He wipes the tears from your damp face. "No, you are not Tav, but they are part of you. They live in your art, laugh, and kind heart."

"But wha-"

"Let me finish, my love," Astarion smiles, brushing some hair behind your ear. "No one expects you to be Tav. We all love them deeply, but Tav's gone." He swallows hard, the words still hard to voice for him.

Astarion kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and continues to pepper kisses over your face, catching stray tears. "They just want to get to know the beautiful artist I fell in love with. Gale's big mouth might have let them know more about our history than I would have liked, but that doesn't change anything."

"And if they don't like the person you fell in love with?" You ask softly.

"Then fuck all of them. I love you, and if they don't love you as well, then they have no place in my life." His eyes pierce deep into yours, and there's no denying the truth of his words. You are overcome with a wave of love for your vampire and kiss him softly once more. "Now come, my love, by the smell, your roast is done."

"Shit!" You jump off his lap and rush out of the room, self-doubt pushed to the side.

The roast is fine if slightly burnt on the top. It looked juicy and smelled amazing. The vegetables are mush, but the potatoes are tender and seasoned well. It's not your best meal, but there's nothing you can do to fix it now. You left it on the counter to rest and found Astarion in the living room.

He was rehanging one of your paintings- the one you drew late last year after waking up in a cold sweat. It was a complete picture of the party standing on a dock overlooking the Grey Harbor just as the sun rose above the horizon. Astarion helps you fill in the gaps, telling you that this followed the fall of the Absolute.

"What are you doing?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the wall. You had hidden away most of your art, too embarrassed by the sheer number of canvases depicting the guest due here any minute.

Astarion finishes hanging the painting above the fireplace and turns to you. "I liked this one and thought I'd put it back."

Before you could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Your stomach instantly dropped, and your heart beat hard in your chest. As if sensing your rising anxiety, Astarion moved to your side, his large palm finding the small of your back.

He swiftly kisses your cheek. "One word and I'll throw them all out."

Astarion leaves you and walks to answer the door. Your palms are sweating, and you rub them down your thighs. You take a few deep breaths and pace the room. Not knowing what else to do, you idly fluff up the decorative pillows of the couch and stall.

"Pull yourself together." You mumbled under your breath. You hear the sounds of multiple footsteps, and you know they're all here.

Why did Astarion request for them to arrive all at once? You're still not sure. But you're suddenly very pissed at him for his decision. Having all of them looking upon you like an art exhibit terrifies you.

"My dear," Astarion pokes his head into the room, a warm smile adorning his sharp features. "Would you like to meet our guest?"

You swallowed hard and nodded. Putting on a brave smile, you rounded the couch and reached for Astarion's hand. Threading his fingers with yours, you curled around his arm like a lifeline.

Moving out into the foyer, you shyly look at the group before you. Gale, given the circumstances of your and Astarion's meeting, you had already met. He had relentlessly bothered Astarion until an introduction was made between you and the wizard. But you've only seen the others in the paintings you've made and the dreams you've seen.

Karlach bounced on her feet, Wyll smiling brightly behind her left shoulder. Haslin stood by the door, a beautifully sculpted wooden bear in his arms. Shadowheart stood beside him, her face passive but relaxed and almost pleased. Lae'zel was the farthest from the group, brooding in the corner, looking at you suspiciously. Still, she even loosened her tense shoulders and stepped forward upon your entry.

"Um, hi." You waved meekly, giving them your name, cringing when your voice cracked.

It's quiet for a moment too long, and you're a step away from fleeing when Karlach skips over to you.

"Can I hug you?!" She almost yells, shaking her fists excitedly.

"Karlach!" Astarion scolds. The Tiefling had, by the looks of it, broken a rule he had set for your comfort.

"Sorry, sorry." Karlach's smile fades, and she moves to retreat. Your heart clenches, and it's like your body moves on instinct. You detach from Astarion before you can think, and then your arms are around her waist. Her scalding heat seeps into your bones and listen to the cranks of her engine.

"Hi Karlach," you whispered into her torso. The wind squeezed from your body, and your feet were off the ground.

"It's nice to finally meet you! The letters fangs write didn't do you justice."

Quickly, the group connects like magnets. Wyll crowds in and hugs you from behind, pressing you closer to Karlach. Gale piles on after, then Halsin. Shadowheart nudges her way between the men and apologizes on behalf of everyone but gives you an equally tight squeeze. The group even wrangles Astarion and Lae'zel into this group hug.

These people are supposed to be strangers, but having them close, seeing this family you've watched through someone else's memories for most of your life right before you. It fills you with familiar warmth and affection and has tears of joy in your eyes. You might not be Tav, not entirely, but you still have a place in this little family.

"Um…excuse me, I can't breathe." You squeak out after a moment of suffocation, and the group is quick to disperse.

Wiping away the lingering dampness from your cheek, you take a moment to compose yourself, clearing your throat with a subtle grace. Your hand instinctively finds its way back, and Astarion swiftly recovers it, his touch reassuring. Soft circles dance on the back of your hand, a silent question lingering in his gaze, seeking affirmation that you're all right. You respond with a nod and a comforting squeeze of his hand.

"Ah, well…" you chuckle with a hint of self-awareness. "I have a roast with everyone's names on it. And a blueberry pie; Astarion found a wild patch on one of his hunts."

"Thank the gods, I'm famished," Wyll sighs, his appetite evident as he sniffs the air dreamily. A nudged Karlach sets the communal movement toward the dining room in motion.

Astarion emerges with the wine, gracefully pouring glasses of red for everyone. Gale, the sole visitor to your home beforehand, takes charge of the table settings. With a flick of his fingers and a whispered incantation, plates and silverware align harmoniously. The stage set, the food emerges, and the night takes flight.

It feels like a cinematic scene picking up where it had once paused, a seamless continuation. Laughter weaves through the air, stories unfold, and even the occasional argument dissolves into a chorus of joyous laughter. Though new and fresh, the conversation flows as naturally as breathing. Strangers evolve into friends, and amidst the clinking of glasses, a familial bond begins to sprout. Tav was indeed fortunate to have these beautiful souls around.

As the night bids farewell and everyone departs, you find solace curled up against Astarion. His voice, a gentle undercurrent, softly reads from his newest book, and you gaze up, fixated on the beautiful man before you. A silent expression of gratitude graces your lips, an unspoken acknowledgment directed at Tav. Thanks for giving you a family and the love of your life.

Astarion's fingers scratch your scalp, tenderly coaxing your eyes closed. "What are you thinking about, little love?"

"Just how lucky I am."

"I would argue I'm the lucky one, but I suppose we can share," he smiles; he continues to read to you and massage your scalp until you're puddy against his body, sleep having all but consumed you. The night settles into a tranquil symphony, the warmth of shared love lingering in the serenity.

Okay I know it was a bit cheesy, but I needed so fluffy shit today. Anyway, tell me what you thought I love talking with y'all.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna, marina-and-the-memes

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #reader insert #fanfic #writing #frantic fiction #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #bg3 x tav

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ecoamerica · 19 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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mllemaenad · 8 months

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Listening to Wyll's backstory in context of all the details we're acquiring on devil's contracts and soul selling is fascinating.

See - I listened to Lann Tarv's three tales to get my soul coins. I felt bad for making Karlach listen to that, obviously, but to be honest I didn't even want the coins that much. I actually wanted the stories. I wanted a better understanding of how this works.

And what I'm learning is - for the gods (and godlike beings) of this world, cruelty seems to be the point. I mean - it's possible there's a god in this world I wouldn't want to stab to death with a rusty fork, but if so I have not met them yet.

These beings have the power to save people and places, to change lives, to do anything. And when someone asks them to - they demand a terrible price. But they don't just demand a price. They subvert the original request in such a way that they utterly fail to deliver on the original promise.

An abused woman wishes to be loved - and her true love appears, but dies instantly. A man wishes to save his children from starvation, and ends up personally growing masses of meat on his own body - not only painful for him, but forcing his children into survival cannibalism, which they were trying to avoid.

Auntie Ethel works the same way. Every one of her customers is left in a tortured state, while Ethel still takes her payment.

The idea is that the person must come to regret their wish long before the payment comes due. Every cry for help must be met with a boot to the face. Or else the mortals will get uppity? Or something.

What is interesting is how consciously Wyll defies that. And how much Mizora is dancing around, trying to force him into that state of miserable regret.

Wyll was manipulated into selling his soul. He was a kid, and he was summoned into a terrible situation - and in that moment, he could see no other way to save the city. Mizora did need to save Baldur's Gate to serve her boss's purposes, so she couldn't take that victory from him - but she did everything she could to take the joy of it.

He didn't get respect, or admiration, or his father's pride for saving the city. He lost his home and his family. He was assumed to have done something monstrous because he was denied an opportunity to defend himself.

That was supposed to fill him with bitterness and regret - but he got to work building his own life instead. By the time you run into him, the Blade of Frontiers is a hero of some renown. He's remade himself, and found a way to enjoy what his powers can do, however he came by them.

So that didn't work.

Then Mizora sent him after Karlach, and that was a mission tailored to break him. Karlach is kind and heroic herself, and that the start she has been sold into slavery, mutilated and forced to fight in a war against her will. If Wyll killed her, and then found out who she really was, then he betrayed everything the Blade of Frontiers is supposed to stand for - and he would lose the life he made for himself.

But he didn't, and that didn't work either. He's got a friend, now, who at least knows part of what he's dealing with.

So Mizora gave him demonic features. That would destroy the life he's made for himself, because no one would trust him to help them.

Except now Wyll basically goes nowhere on his own, and a small army of people can attest that he got those horns and eyes as punishment for being a good man. Mizora might be able to shut his mouth, but she can't silence his friends - and the group absolutely have shouting sessions about everything. Wyll's horns become a battle scar, like his missing eye, and nothing more.

And beyond that, if you are playing as a heroic character, a significant throughline in the game's story is the journey of the tiefling refugees. The story makes it clear that these people experience a constant barrage of racism, due to their appearance and "demonic" heritage. It also makes it abundantly clear that this prejudice is entirely undeserved - they're just people, with virtues and flaws like everyone else, and what is happening to them is terrible. So Wyll turns up to assist a bunch of people whom he now at least somewhat resembles - and with Karlach along, you have two people in the group who technically count as "infernal", but haven't got an evil bone in either of their bodies.

Mizora created solidarity. Oops.

Wyll is deeply suspicious of gods and higher powers. He doesn't want to make more deals with devils. When Elminster arrives to tell Gale what Mystra demands of him, he explicitly says he does not do religion. When you get Mizora to agree to let his contract expire in six months, he starts by casually invoking the gods - but switches to thanking the player character instead, because he knows who helped, and who did not.

But he utterly refuses to regret the pact he made. That can be a struggle. He clearly misses his dad, and would like that relationship repaired. The fact that he was transformed very much against his will is clearly a source of distress from him.

But if he regrets, then Mizora wins. That's it. Game over. She gets what she wanted all along. So he doesn't.

The main companion characters all have this kind of problem, and naturally have different ways of dealing with it. You have characters like Shadowheart and Lae'zel, who were indoctrinated as children, or Gale, who was literally seduced by one of these nightmare deities - and with them you have to start out by convincing them they they were the wronged party in the first place.

But Wyll knows exactly what game he's playing, and he's been screaming defiance the whole time. It's just that, in his case, the "defiance" is grinning and carrying on every time Mizora inflicts some more bullshit on him.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

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sauntervaguelydown · 7 months

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Love & Pratchett

The thing about Terry Pratchett is that he wrote about people falling in love plenty, but he never wrote about what I'd call typical romance. When love is sincere and profound it is also very... understated. Practical. Sybil & Vimes--his most famous couple--are like this. The demonstration of devotion is in small things, like wearing the horrible uncomfortable socks your wife made for you because she made them for you. There's a sense of the inevitable about them coming together.

In many cases you wouldn't know it was romance except that the recognizable formula of "boy and girl" picks it out. Look at Newt & Anathema in Good Omens--that's classic Pratchett. They barely exchange a romantic word and in fact it's almost out of Anathema's hands whether she's going to hook up with this absolute soyboy (affectionate). She's not really that nice to him. I always get the impression that the core of their connection is that they're bonded by this experience that no one else can understand. Bonding through shared experience (and even trauma) is a common theme in these subplots.

There's definitely a few showier romance plots, but they're always very tongue in cheek--for example, the literal Romeo & Juliet in Unseen Academicals where Juliet is a very good hearted but basically stupid girl and the POV character is her exasperated mom-friend. There's a lot of gags in the early Discworld novels about male and female characters who Have to fall in love because that's the way narrative works. It's not that they're doomed to be unhappy or even fake or anything, they're just not that deep. Mostly, monogamy is a mundane affair and not really the business of onlookers anyway. Admittedly, the female pov characters have a tendency to wish that things could be a bit more... dramatic. Look at Angua, she's always vaguely frustrated that her boyfriend doesn't react to their relationship with a bit more angst, but ultimately she's practical too. She just wants her partner to be a bit less practical for a moment.

I just reread Nation. Nation isn't a Discworld novel, but I think in a lot of ways it's the most condensed Terry Pratchett you'll ever find in one place. Two characters who are both clever to start with, and wise by the ending, have fallen in love with each other. It's never directly stated. No one confesses to anyone. They get teased about it a little by adults around them. They rescue each other, perform feats of unasked-for heroism on each other's behalf. And at the end, although they want to stay together, they choose their responsibility to their families--and to the future of the world--over staying together. There's one kiss on the cheek as a farewell. But you know that they're still thinking of each other, because at the end of the timeline despite living worlds apart their entire lives, they ask to be buried together.

This is, in my estimation, is the most romantic thing in the Terry Pratchett catalogue. If I can be forgiven for pretending to know the mind of a stranger, I think this is what he found the most romantic. It really is just a profound friendship, between two people who maybe don't always understand each other but always respect each other. Sex really is just a bonus thing, it's nice and certain characters (Angua, Carrot come to mind) pretty clearly have a good time with it, but it's sort of taken for granted. Even kissing isn't all that important. You can't really tell who's in love with who in a Pratchett novel just by looking for physical demonstrations of affection.

Anyway, over the years of Good Omens discourse, this has been the main thing that informs my reading of Aziraphale & Crowley. I'm not widely read in Gaiman material, so I can't speak to that, but from a Pratchett-canon lens, Aziraphale and Crowley fit the vibes of a romantic relationship pretty well. The shared experience, the sense that only they really can understand each other because no one else has seen what they've seen. The heroic gesture of Crowley in the burning shop--the respect that they have for each other, despite the occasional bitching--the "ah. so it's like that." observation of people around them. And most of all, the way they come back together at the end of the novel in a poetic but understated moment, because coming back together of your own free will and going forward together is possibly the most romantic thing that a couple can do in a Pratchett novel.

#discworld #meta

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months

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All These Years [Part 10: "The Weight of Grief"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 5.4k

a/n: This one is quite heavy on the angst. Also--if you haven't realized already, the timeline and events of this series aren't exactly canon. Just for clarification. I split this installment into two parts so the next one is actually going to be titled "Last to Know." Feedback is always appreciated! And I have not published this to AO3 with whatever is going on, but I will whenever things have calmed down over there. I just didn't want to leave everyone hanging when I had updates ready!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine

“How about you let me take you out for dinner Saturday night?”

Shouldering your phone against your ear, you continued to distractedly chop vegetables for the late dinner you were making in your kitchen. A smile made its way onto your lips at the prospect of a third date already.

“How bold of you, Adam,” you teased. “Three Saturday nights in a row? A girl might think you like her.”

“Maybe I want the girl to think I like her,” he teased back.

Pausing your chopping, you set the knife down on the cutting board before wiping your hands on the towel next to it. Grabbing your phone from your shoulder, you turned and rested your back against the countertop. Chewing your lip, you felt a faint blush rise to your cheeks.

You’d met Adam through a speed dating event that Karen had dragged you along with her to. That had been about a month ago now. You’d thought the whole idea was terrible and you’d made her promise not to say anything to Foggy or Matt, not wanting either of them to judge you for going. You figured it would make you sound desperate because you were sure Karen wasn’t really having trouble in the dating department. It was clearly a ploy to get you to go in the hopes of finding someone instead of Matt to think about.

And you and Karen had considered the experience successful because you’d instantly clicked with Adam that night. From the moment he sat down at your table and smiled at you, you’d been hooked. He was a veterinary technician with a big heart and a love of animals, something that had immediately won you over with him. He was cute, too. And funny. And he seemed like he was close with his family. With Adam, you found you weren’t actively trying to forget about Matt and push him out of your thoughts. Something that had you instantly drawn to him because no one else had ever accomplished that since you'd met Matt back at Columbia.

And ever since Matt and Elektra had surprised you at your apartment a few months ago, you'd tried hard to let your feelings for him go. There would never be anything more between you and him, you knew that now. So now you were doing your best to focus on just letting Matt be your friend, especially while you tried to adjust to the new knowledge about his heightened senses and him being the masked man running around the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night performing heroics. Though now he’d recently become known as Daredevil in the news ever since he'd gotten that protective new suit made for him. And you were glad he had because you'd worried a lot less about his well-being; he was visibly sporting less injuries at least.

But you didn't spend as much time with Matt as you used to, even if you had stopped actively avoiding him. He was often busy with his vigilante endeavors, and it just felt weird and uncomfortable being around him knowing he knew you had feelings for him that he didn't return. And from your knowledge, he had spent the past few months helping Elektra with something. You were certain they were back together again even if you'd never asked and had it confirmed. You didn't want to even think about it.

And as for what he was helping her with–you didn't ask about that either. You weren't as in the know about what was going on as Foggy and Karen seemed to be, and frankly you didn't want to be. Despite having come to accept Matt's secret alter ego, you didn't want to know about anything that involved Elektra. So whenever the topic of her came up, you usually asked about the bare minimum and found a way to quickly exit the conversation–especially when you’d later overheard that Elektra had died, but also apparently had been resurrected from the dead. Which had confused you too much to want to try to understand.

"Well I am free Saturday night," you answered Adam.

"Should we try that new Italian restaurant?" he asked over the line. "You were talking about craving pasta earlier this week."

The smile on your lips grew wider. You'd told him that offhandedly on the phone three nights ago and apparently he'd remembered.

"I would like that," you told him. "I'm–"

A few knocks on your apartment door interrupted you, your attention shifting to it across the room. A frown settled on your mouth. It was after seven on a Thursday night, who would be stopping by? You hadn't been expecting company.

"Hey, Adam, someone's apparently at my door," you told him. "Mind if we finalize the details tomorrow?"

"Not at all," he told you, the smile apparent in his chipper tone. "I'll call you in the evening? After work?"

"That sounds great," you told him.

You exchanged goodbyes before hanging up, setting your phone onto your kitchen counter. Eyeing your door curiously, you made your way across your apartment towards it. It took you a few moments to unlock the door, unlatching the deadbolt before pulling it open.

Your eyebrows rose up high onto your forehead at the unexpected sight of Foggy and Karen standing there. Both of them had red, puffy eyes that were glistening with tears on their sullen faces. Heart beating harder in your chest, your hand tightened around the doorknob you were still holding. Whatever had brought them here couldn't be good, not with the way Foggy’s lips were suddenly trembling as he opened his mouth, clearly struggling to form a sentence.

And that's when you knew what this visit had to be about. You'd felt the rumble and shaking earlier tonight when you'd been grabbing food at the store on your way home from work. Everyone had been saying it had been an earthquake at the time, but you'd later heard something about a building collapsing nearby in Hell’s Kitchen.

Something must have happened to Matt. There was no other reason for both of them to be standing there looking at you like they were. Not in the state they were in.

Tears immediately stung at your eyes, a feeling of dread washing over you as your gaze danced between the pair of them before you. It felt like your throat was closing up, making it almost impossible for you to swallow. Shaking your head, you felt the first tears fall.

"No," you said, voice breaking on the word. "No, don't tell me he got hurt."

A choked sob fell out of Karen instantly, your heart feeling like someone had crushed it in their fist at the sound. One of her hands rose up to cover her mouth as she turned away, unable to look at you. Beside her, Foggy sent you an apologetic smile when your eyes met his, but he couldn’t hide the tears present and ready to spill over.

"There was an–an accident," Foggy said softly. "Matt he was–was out helping those others like him. The ones we'd told you a bit about. They were over at Midland Circle." He paused, exhaling a shuddering breath. "Trying to destroy that Hand group. And they–they blew up the building."

Both of your hands flew to your face at the tremble in Foggy’s voice and the implication of his words. You felt like you were going to be sick.

"No," you repeated, shaking your head more firmly. "No, no he's okay. Tell me he's okay, Foggy!" you shouted.

Foggy said your name softly, stepping into your apartment slowly with his hands raised placatingly as if he was approaching a wild animal. A painful grimace was on his face as he approached you and you took a step back, still shaking your head as more tears streamed down your cheeks.

"He didn't make it out," he whispered.

"No," you growled through clenched teeth. "No, don't you tell me that! Don’t you fucking tell me that, Foggy!"

"The others said he stayed behind," Foggy continued gently. "Trying to save Elektra."

It felt like you’d been barreled over by a city bus at his words. Matt had stayed behind…to save Elektra? He died for her? The heartless woman who’d only toyed with him? The woman who didn’t even know the beautiful, fragile heart she held in the palm of her hands? Who’d never truly loved him, abandoning him back at Columbia with a shattered heart? The very same heart you’d spent months trying to help him piece back together just for him to give it back to her years later to permanently destroy?

He died for her?

You collapsed to your knees, hot tears steadily pouring down your cheeks. It wasn’t until Foggy was kneeling on the floor before you, his hands gingerly grasping your shoulders and drawing you towards him, that you realized you were screaming. You fought Foggy’s attempts to soothe you, struggling against him as he tried to hold you still. The entire time you heard him repeatedly croaking out ‘I know, I know’ over and over, emotion thick in his own voice.

“He’s not dead!” you wailed, still thrashing against Foggy. “He’s not dead! Matt’s not dead!!”

“Hey, hey,” Karen said gently, her voice breaking as she kneeled down beside you and Foggy on the floor. “I–I know it’s hard to hear,” she whispered, “but Matt he–he didn’t make it. They–they said they saw him stay behind.”

“Well maybe he made it out!” you cried hysterically, sniffling loudly as the tears didn’t stop falling. “They’re wrong! It’s–it’s Matt we’re talking about, guys! He’s–he’s like a goddamn superhero! He isn’t dead! He can’t be!”

There was no way you would believe Matt was gone. That his smiling face wouldn't still greet you if you headed over to his apartment right now. That he wouldn't be calling you tomorrow night to see if you wanted to grab drinks with him, Foggy, and Karen at Josie’s. That he wouldn’t be making one of his stupid blind jokes to you over a few beers.

He wasn't dead. You'd have known if he was. Felt it somehow.

Matt wasn’t dead.

You shook your head, pulling away out of Foggy’s embrace and roughly wiping the backs of your hands against your tear stained cheeks. Sniffling loudly again, you ignored the pitying looks on their faces.

“Was there a body?” you asked, trying to calm down.

“What?” Foggy asked you.

“Was there a body?” you repeated, forcefully enunciating each word.

“No, not yet,” he answered. “But they just started trying to sort through the rubble. The emergency responders said it could take days for them to sort through the mess.” Foggy’s frown deepened as he said your name again. “It doesn’t sound like he made it.”

“No,” you said firmly, rising back up to your feet and wiping at your eyes again. “I’m not believing it until there’s a body. He’s alive, I know he is.”

Karen sent you a sad smile, tears still falling down her own cheeks. “Okay,” she said softly with a nod. “Let’s give it a few days. Maybe–maybe they were wrong.”

You were kneeling, bent over the pew before you with your forehead resting against your clasped hands. You'd lost track of the time a while ago, unsure how long you'd been here. But your back was now stiff from however long you'd remained stationary in prayer, your knees aching.

Praying wasn't something you did. You'd never been the religious type, though lately you'd often found yourself seeking solace at Clinton Church. Because it was Matt's church, the place where he told you he grew up going to. The place he had told you he frequented for advice from Father Lantom–who you'd met now with all the time you'd been spending here since Matt had gone missing. The orphanage he grew up in was just next door to this church, too.

Coming here in the recent days since Matt had disappeared had always made you feel closer to him for some unexplainable reason. Like you could just feel him here in the walls of the church somehow. It was comforting to you, the only comfort you’d come to find over the past couple of weeks.

Despite the fact that everyone had told you he'd been in the building when it collapsed, and that he'd been missing for over two weeks, and the fact that you'd gone to a memorial service for him at this very church just a few days ago, you still absolutely refused to believe Matt was dead. There had never been a body found among the wreckage of Midland Circle–for him or Elektra. Which only cemented it in your mind that he was out there alive somewhere.

But your friends were not of the same mind. They’d tried to grieve him at his memorial service, and they’d spent many conversations already trying to convince you that the facts all pointed to Matt having passed in the building’s collapse. Foggy had even asked you to explain why Matt wouldn't have reached out to let any of you know he was alive if he really had made it out of the building. All you could think was that he was lying horribly injured somewhere and unable to reach out. That had to be what was going on.

Because Matt Murdock wasn't dead. He just wasn't. You didn't care that Foggy looked at you now with a different and more infuriating sympathetic look on his face whenever he saw you, one that wasn't just because you were in love with Matt and he didn’t return those feelings. He thought you were in denial and delusional now, unable to accept reality.

Maybe you were, but you weren’t going to accept his death without proof of a body.

You heard movement nearby as someone came and sat down in the pew beside where you were kneeling. Almost immediately you recognized the scent of incense and smoke and you already knew who’d taken a seat–Father Lantom. Over the past few days he’d been stopping to chat with you, having recognized you from Matt’s memorial service and realizing you’d been showing up often.

With a sigh you lifted your head, turning and glancing at Father Lantom in the pew. He was smiling at you, the expression somehow reassuring and comforting just like the church itself. Pushing yourself away from the kneeler, you settled into the pew beside him, your focus on your hands in your lap.

“You’re back again today,” Father Lantom observed.

“I come every day after work,” you muttered.

“You do,” he agreed lightly. “And how’re you feeling today?”

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap. “Furious,” you answered, eyes still focused on your hands. “I’m still angry. Probably more angry than anything lately.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Father Lantom nod. He shifted in the pew, turning to face you more fully.

“Anger is a common reaction when a loved one is taken from us,” he told you. “Especially when the loss is so unexpected.”

Your head darted up, your eyes brimming with tears as you focused on the priest beside you. “He’s not dead,” you stated, shaking your head firmly. “I told you that. He’s not dead.”

Something flickered across Father Lantom’s face briefly before his lips pressed into a thin line, his expression becoming something neutral. He nodded his head just once.

“So much like Matthew yourself,” he mused. “He was always stubborn. Ever since he was a boy, really. When he had an idea in his head you couldn’t shake it from him for anything.”

A tear slipped out of your eye, your hand darting up to quickly wipe it away as your focus shifted to the large crucifix at the front of the church. It was the one thing you didn’t like about Clinton Church–the way Christ was always staring back at you from within the sanctuary, battered and bleeding on the cross. It felt too much like Matt.

“I miss him,” you whispered, eyes falling back down to your hands in your lap.

I still love him.

“Well,” Father Lantom began slowly, “the most we can do for those we’ve lost–however it is that we’ve lost them–is to keep on living. I believe Matthew would want that for you. To keep living your life. To move forward.”

“I feel like all I’ve done is move backwards,” you admitted quietly, your fingers twisting around each other now. “I barely sleep. I can’t focus at work. I broke things off with the guy I was seeing not too long ago because I just can’t–can’t pretend everything is okay. Because it’s not, nothing is.”

Father Lantom sighed loudly, shifting in the pew beside you to clasp his own hands in his lap. His mouth opened as if he was about to speak, but you saw his focus shift towards a nun, your own eyes following the movement. She looked quite stern as she eyed the priest beside you, almost like she was trying to tell him something with her eyes, but when her attention turned to you her expression softened. You swore she offered you a smile before you ducked your head, tears once again threatening to fall.

You abruptly rose to your feet, the threat of tears urging you to seek the solitude of your apartment before you broke down publicly in the church. That was usually your cue to leave.

“Going already?” Father Lantom asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, turning away from him and making your way towards the other end of the pew. “I’m sure I’ll be back tomorrow, though. And the next day.”

Matt’s hand tentatively reached out, fingers brushing over the cool stone of the statue. He could feel the grainy texture of it under the pads of his fingers. Each and every little divot in the stone. His sense of touch hadn’t really been affected by the collapse of Midland Circle, not quite, but what a shitty and useless sense to have retained. All it did was make him further aware of how uncomfortable the cheap cotton clothes he was wearing felt on his skin, and how scratchy the little bed he attempted to sleep in every night felt underneath him. It only brought him further discomfort and pain to match his injuries.

His hearing hadn’t fully come back to him, either; it was often touch and go. Sometimes he’d hear a ringing in one or both of his ears if it didn’t sound like he was underwater. He also hadn’t regained his heightened sense of taste–didn’t matter what food Sister Maggie brought him, it all tasted like blood and ash. And his sense of smell was basically nonexistent. He hadn’t been able to smell a damn thing besides smoke since he’d woken up in the undercroft of Clinton Church. He was utterly and pathetically useless without his senses. Just plodding around clumsily with a cane and tripping over his own goddamn feet in the church’s basement.

Yet for some reason, he still found himself trying. Which is what he’d been up out of his bed trying to do now as he attempted to map out the space he was in. He had no idea what time of day it was–it’s not like he could hear much besides the room he was in to even gauge time–and he was becoming stir crazy trapped in this church basement trying to heal. So he’d been up the past few minutes wandering around, his cane left hanging off one of the statues somewhere in the room. He honestly didn’t even know where, which wouldn’t have been the case if he’d been back to his normal self. Something that only further pissed him off.

Matt took a handful of careful steps forward, focusing intensely on where he was going. But as he took one more step, his foot hit something solid and he lost his balance. He fell to the floor, his hands flying out to try to brace himself for the impact, but he’d cut his palm on the corner of something sharp before he landed roughly on his side. He groaned out, his eyes closing as he curled into a ball.

He wished he’d have died in that goddamn building.

But that wasn’t quite true. What he’d really wished was that Elektra hadn’t been so dead set on getting her hands on what the Hand had been after. That she hadn’t become the Hand’s puppet when they’d resurrected her as the Black Sky. If she’d have just listened to him he wouldn’t have stayed behind. He wouldn’t have felt the need to try to save her. Because despite the hurt she’d put him through, despite the way she’d broken his heart those years ago, he couldn’t just leave her to die. That wasn’t him. But ever since he’d woken up after he’d been dragged out of that wreckage, he’d hated her for having made him make that choice. For not just leaving with him and everyone else. For choosing to die trying to get what she wanted, and in true Elektra fashion, dragging him down with her.

But it wasn’t Elektra he’d been thinking about when the building had collapsed and he knew he was about to die.

It was you.

Every moment he’d ever had with you felt like it raced through his mind in a matter of seconds. The first time he’d stumbled on you on campus, when you'd stopped to help that stranger pick up their spilled belongings and you’d been so unbelievably kind. All that time he’d spent searching Columbia's campus for a sign of you afterwards. The unexplainable excitement when he’d accidentally ran into you at the library and finally got your name and your phone number. And every good memory he had of you ever since then; all of those Saturday nights he’d spent with you and Foggy, and the times he got you all to himself when Foggy had inevitably passed out early in his bed. Every conversation at meal times in the dining hall. He recalled graduation night when he’d almost kissed you, almost told you he loved you–and he regretted it so much right now that he’d never just said it back then.

He recalled every moment with you that he could–every single one of them. Because he wanted you to be his dying thought.

As the building fell around him, Elektra had been shouting something at him, trying to rile him up one last time, but he hadn’t been paying attention to her because he’d been trying to remember the way it felt when he held you in his arms. You’d always fit so perfectly against him. He’d tried his hardest to recall the scent of your shampoo–something faintly floral and sweet, but never overpowering–and the softness of your hair the times he’d been bold enough to press his nose into it. You almost always buried your face into his left shoulder when he embraced you, a small random detail, but one he always remembered nevertheless. Your arms always wrapped around him so hesitant at first, but then you’d almost melt into him for a moment, expelling the softest little sigh that he always wondered about, even then in that moment.

And that’s what Matt believed would be his last thought. The memory of that soft, contented sigh that always confused him whenever you hugged him.

Except it wasn’t his last thought because he hadn’t died in the explosion. He’d somehow been spared. Saved. But all he could think about since he had woken without his senses was how absurd that was considering God had clearly turned his back on him. He’d been spared for what? What was the point of him without his heightened senses that he’d always thought God had bestowed on him?

So he’d decided to let Matt Murdock die at Midland Circle. He figured he would finally listen to Stick–he’d cut out the people in his life he cared about who cared about him in order to keep them safe. Foggy, Karen, and you.

You were all safer without him. Safer thinking he was dead and gone.

And then he would just be Daredevil. Nothing left to live for, nothing left to lose.

Matt heard the faint, muddled sound of footsteps hitting his ears as someone descended the church’s basement steps. The sound pulled him from his bleak thoughts. Gradually he pushed himself upright, leaning against the stone of whatever it was he’d tripped over. He wasn’t surprised when he heard Sister Maggie’s voice speak a moment later. It was only ever her or Father Lantom that checked on him down here to begin with.

“What on earth are you doing on the floor?” Sister Maggie asked.

Matt huffed out a frustrated breath from his place on the hard floor. He could hear Maggie’s footsteps approaching him and he tried to focus on them, attempting to lock on to her movement in the room.

“Falling, apparently,” he muttered bitterly.

He heard the way Sister Maggie sighed, the noise coming from nearby. He realized she’d lowered to sit on the floor next to him a few seconds later when he registered her body temperature near his right side.

“I brought you something,” she told him.

“I’m guessing food?” he asked flatly. “Not like I can smell anything still. Everything tastes the same too–like blood and ash.”

Matt felt Sister Maggie press something into his hand. It was long and cylindrical. Wrapped in something like a wax paper wrapping.

“It’s a sandwich from the deli nearby,” she said. “Thought you might enjoy it more than the soup Sister Ethel made tonight for the children.”

Matt’s fingers ran over the paper wrapper for a moment, trying to ignore the stirring in his chest at the kind gesture from Sister Maggie.

“Thank you,” Matt murmured.

He heard her unscrew the cap of something next. It sounded like a pill bottle; the sound of a few pills rattled out of it and into her hand.

“Brought you water, too,” she continued. “And you need to keep taking these.”

Matt held out a hand expectantly, waiting for her to drop the two pills into his upturned palm as she came down here to do every few hours. When she did, he quickly tossed them into his mouth. Holding out his hand again, Sister Maggie handed him an opened bottle of water. He drank down the pills, frowning as he swallowed and stared blankly ahead.

“How’s the hearing?” she asked.

Matt made a face, the fingers of his left hand absently fiddling with the sandwich wrapper again. “Still can’t hear for shit,” he replied.

“Well your body took quite a beating,” she told him. “Everything’s swollen. Maybe your hearing will come back when it goes down.” There was a brief pause before she added, “Or maybe it’ll come back when you finally take your head out of your ass.”

A sharp, bitter laugh fell out of Matt at her words. He hadn’t been expecting that, but she'd been full of crass and unexpected comments like that since he'd woken here.

Humorless laughter subsiding quickly, a heavy silence fell around the pair of them. Matt didn't need his extra senses to know there was more she wanted to say. And he had a feeling he knew what it would be, too.

"What?" he asked.

He briefly registered the sound of Sister Maggie’s shoes lightly tapping along the cement floor, almost like a nervous fidget. Matt's frown only deepened as he waited in silence.

"She was back again this evening," she eventually said.

Matt's eyelids slowly lowered, his heart feeling like it sank to the floor beside him. She didn't have to even say your name, he knew she meant you. Father Lantom had told him he'd seen you every day here for over a week now. Always bent over a pew in prayer–which was odd because he knew you weren't religious and you weren’t a parishioner at Clinton Church.

"Who is she?" Sister Maggie asked curiously. "She comes here everyday grieving over you. I saw her at your memorial service with those friends of yours that you refuse to call friends.”

“Just someone who used to be a friend, too,” Matt mumbled morosely.

“Seems like more than a friend with how often she frequents this church because of you,” Sister Maggie replied. “Paul seems to think so, too.”

Matt’s head darted towards her at her words, his brows furrowing. “Father Lantom has spoken with her?” he asked. “He’s never told me that.”

“Mmm, oh yes,” Maggie answered. “Often. She comes around the same time every evening. Just after work. Always praying silently in the same pew. Paul says she doesn’t believe you’ve actually died.”

Matt’s brows drew together even further on his forehead, his mouth going dry. “What?” he breathed out.

“She refuses to believe you're dead without a body,” Sister Maggie explained. “And she’d be right, because you aren’t dead. But you are stubborn as hell, though. Tormenting your friends like this. Letting them think you’re dead and forcing them to mourn the loss of you. Letting that poor young woman up there put her life on hold–”

“She’s not putting her life on hold,” Matt cut her off sharply. “She’ll move on soon enough.”

Sister Maggie drew in a deep breath, silence once again falling between the pair of them. Matt’s attention shifted back to the space in front of him. His fingers were still absently fiddling with the sandwich wrapper.

Why were you coming here every day praying for him though? Refusing to believe he’d died? Why not just mourn with Foggy and Karen and move on already? Just forget about him. He wasn’t any good for you anyway. You deserved a better friend, one who wasn’t in love with you and keeping your secret from Foggy just because he was selfish.

“Was she more than your friend, Matthew?”

The question broke through his thoughts, Matt’s face scrunching together in confusion at the unexpectedness of it. Why would she even ask that?

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “She’s just a friend. From Columbia.”

“Hmm,” Sister Maggie hummed curiously. “But you love her, don’t you?”

Matt’s teeth grit together, his jaw clenching in frustration at that question. He had been trying his best to ignore those feelings. And also–how the hell could she possibly know that?

“You flinch everytime Paul or I say her name,” she clarified. “Every time we tell you she’s been by the church crying again. It hurts you that she’s hurting. I can see it plain on your face, Matthew. It’s killing you.”

“She’s not safe being around me,” Matt ground out.

Sister Maggie scoffed loudly. “That’s bullshit and self-pity talking,” she shot back. “Clearly the woman loves you, too. Why keep up the lie? Why keep hurting her?”

Matt shook his head, his fist tightening around the bottle of water in his right hand. “She’s in love with our mutual best friend. She’s told me that already,” he gritted out. “And she’ll move on from the loss of me.”

He heard the frustrated sigh come from the nun beside him, vaguely aware of her rising back up to her feet. For some reason the thought of her leaving him alone again down here had him grinding his teeth harder together. He didn’t want to be alone. But it was better if he learned to live like that.

“I think you’re being foolish and stupid,” Sister Maggie stated bluntly. “Causing undue harm to those you love most–and it's only going to backfire on you. And if you really think that young woman repeatedly coming here doesn’t have feelings for you, you’re more foolish than I ever thought.”

Sister Maggie’s steps slowly grew fainter and fainter until he could no longer hear them anymore. His focus shifted down to the sandwich in his lap that she’d brought him, his fingers carefully tearing the paper open.

She didn’t know what she was talking about, he thought angrily to himself. Sister Maggie couldn’t possibly understand the decisions he’d made or why you kept coming to Clinton Church. He’d been one of your best friends–a shitty one, truthfully–and you were grieving. That was all.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fic #daredevil x reader #matt murdock

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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months

Text

It's Cold Outside.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: A stranger has weaseled his way into every aspect of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, non-con/dub-con (the reader is under the influence of aphrodisiacs but non-consensually), the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectfully, threats of violence, stalking, manipulation, Chrollo the Creepster, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 2.2k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

(You’re The) Devil in Disguise by Elvis Presley

Salvatore by Lana Del Ray

Who Is She? by I Monster

Kiss Of Fire by Georgia Gibbs

Money, Money, Money by ABBA

Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

4:00A.M. by Taeko Onuki

How I’d Kill by Cowboy Malfoy

Sonne by Rammstein

The Great Gig in the Sky by Pink Floyd

“I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.” — Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from the Underground

*~*~*~*

i. “Technicolor worlds with white clouds are bound to be destroyed by silver snow.”

When you step into your house, it is like you are instantly transported back to a year ago. Everything in sight, from the walls to the shelves, has decorations of some kind, whether going all out with the kitchen table having an entire feast of delicious holiday treats made by your grandparents, or just a green and red painting of a Christmas tree placed in your older sister’s usually monochromatic room. Perhaps the painting is yet another way she proves that she can somewhat react well to requests to change her room a little bit. Even if the painting is on the farthest wall from the door and is partially hidden from view by the many anime figurines and books larger than your head. Your mother claims that it is a miracle she convinced her to put up any holiday decorations in her room at all and thus doesn’t bother her further.

Each room also has a different festive scent, your younger sister’s room having a hot chocolate scent mixed with the smell of piled up dishes on her desk, most coming from when she was ‘helping’ your grandparents cook by ‘testing to make sure the food isn't poison’.

How heroic of her to sacrifice herself for the family.

Your room, you think, looks much better than your sisters’ combined, having decked it out to the maximum by taking out all of your Halloween decorations and replacing them with Christmas ones. It took you the whole weekend, sure, and caused you to break the bank, but your love for accessories outweighs your logic and reason by quite a lot. Your beloved record player is back on your table that also simultaneously houses your television and jewelry playing Elvis Presley’s Blue Christmas. A wreath larger than your torso is on your door and your room smells like all the holiday air fresheners you found in your closet. Pine, peppermint, orange, lemon, cranberry… all mix to make a beautiful festive scent unmatched by even your parents’ bedroom. Everything is how it should be, and how it always is every year.

Well, almost. A man named Chrollo, a man who gives you anything but comfort, has been invited to your family-only yearly Christmas party. When your father, who has always been too protective of you and your sisters and never lets you spend time with the opposite gender, told you that Chrollo of all people would be attending, you tried to argue otherwise. You tried telling him that none of you had known Chrollo for so long, but he had rebutted Chrollo’s lie that you had known him for over a year with you two developing a close bond. You realized it was too late then, and Chrollo had charmed your entire family, with even your older sister always having a smile on her face whenever she saw him at her workplace.

ii. “Like actors, each snowflake has a different role to play. They sing along with every step of a boot as a deceitful way to express their pain.”

The moment the doorbell chimes, its piercing resonance assaults your eardrums and causes an unsettling shiver to course through your spine.

You find yourself in an unsettling situation as your family eagerly awaits, and to your dismay, you are the designated individual tasked with the responsibility of opening the door. You two are such good friends, aren’t you? We wouldn’t want to get in the way of your bonding time.

You want to say he is lying, to tell them everything, every threat he has told you, him meaning them or otherwise. But as soon as they know of what Chrollo really and truly is, they will meet a painful end; that being pushed onto train tracks, their drink being laced with a poison that destroys the body from the inside out, or having nails thrusted into their bloody palms as they hang on their bedroom wall as you look in horror. Elton, Anya, and Robert all being examples of such… You don’t want to think of the bodies just waiting to rot around the Riverbend, your fault or otherwise.

You also don’t want to drown in this river. A river inhospitable to any aquatic life whatsoever, and only harbors a barrier of carnivorous plants that eat those who dare come close. Butterworts, large lilac purple ones that feel like they have been dipped in the most tempting butter mixed with forbidden fruit and honey produced by none other than the queen bee herself. Are you the fly, or are they? You have no idea, and you don’t want to find out.

“Hello.” Your response is concise and devoid of warmth, with a noticeable absence of your usual cheerful demeanor evident in your expression and tone.

Chrollo's smile is so sinister that even the most depraved devil's grin would pale in comparison, with all the large gift bags behind him swinging like a tail.

“Ah, [First]. Happy holidays. No need to be so cold, you know. The snow is already doing that for you. So-”

Despite your strong desire to slam the door in his face, you choose to step aside and allow him entry, in an attempt to silence him.

“Put the gifts by the tree by the kitchen table. The white table and not the black one.”

However, rather than fulfilling your expectations, all he does is elicit a burst of laughter so unique that it resonates within you, while discreetly handing over the most colossal gift bag, compelling you to accept it as if under some intangible force.

“Just a little something. I know it’s customary to wait until later but… I simply can’t help myself. Open it whenever you get the chance, dearest.”

…He means right now, in your room, doesn’t he? Perhaps he installed a camera in your room as you slept, he has certainly threatened to do that before. Or maybe he will just spy on you through the little space between the door and the frame. He has done that before, after all.

…

You resisted the urge to scream when you saw a picture of your mother sleeping blissfully, the camera focused on her ring finger with the caption Should I take another souvenir? written on it, but the card, as beautiful as it appeared with a lace envelope and your name written in script on the card’s cover above Chrollo’s, proved to be even more of a challenge. When you read the words on it, your heart plunges so deeply that you fear your gastric acid will erode it.

Save your tears. For even if you cry to the whole world, it will never be enough to make me disappear. Meet me outside in five minutes, and make whatever excuse you deem necessary. No exceptions.

As you begin to read further, a wave of fragrant and delicate floral scents envelops your senses, instantly igniting a warm sensation in your head, leaving no time for contemplation.

Trying to ignore your slight dizziness, you read the rest of the card.

Just a little something to make sure you do this. We wouldn’t want your family to see you in… what state you are about to be in, do we?

…Just what did he do to you?

iii. “With the burden of wintertime ending, nature spends time creating beautiful trees and flowers. To accompany them, she makes twisted vines and weeds, for she knows that without them there cannot be balance or purpose in being comfortably numb.”

You were on your back, on his bed, within what felt like one second, not remembering the car ride over to his place, your wrists pinned beneath the strength of one of Chrollo's hands while he looked down at you within another, his other undoing the tie of the bandana on his forehead and showing you, for the very first time, of the cross tattoo underneath it.

All you can do is watch your whole world slow down and be replaced by a dream.

A blissful and sweet dream, as sugary as saccharine and as dissolvable as cotton candy, that is a veil and covers your eyes from what is happening; until it is too late, until you feel some of his fingers go into the band of your skirt and start pulling and pulling, downward, and that is when terror went to combat with your unwanted lust.

“...What… are… you… doing…? Chroooooo…” Your words slur as your mind buzzes with euphoria, and you can feel every sensation in vivid detail, every touch and every breath feeling heightening and intoxicating. As much as you want to, you can’t tell him to stop, not now.

“Shh, it’s what you want, isn’t it?” At least that is what you think he said, because as Chrollo spoke, you struggled to decipher his words amidst the haze that enveloped your mind. Reality fragments, leaving you unable to muster the strength to plead for him to cease. “It will feel oh so very good, I promise. Very, very nice and very, very good.” With that, you come to realize the wetness between your rubbing thighs, amidst the cloudiness and the larger-than-life headache that rips your skull apart. “Do you trust me?” The voice sounds almost heartfelt, not as intimate as it could be, but it was still more than enough for your hands to cling to him and pull him in closer, faster, so he could relieve you of this hell. “I will assume that that is a yes.” His hands move to the two buttons on your blouse, undoing them with ease, softly, gently, like it was a baby bird.

“Faster… faster…!” You feel like a man who hasn’t seen water on any day of their life, and if you lose the location of the oasis you are sure to never find it again.

Like a man lost in the desert, you choke on imaginary quicksand, soon to drown if water does not save you.

“Aw, such a precious little thing, aren’t you?” You are gently flipped over in an instant and he unbuckles your bra, quickly.

“If you love me… really love me… make me feel better… please.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” He flips you over again and his fingers lower to your panties, pulling them down from your trembling legs, just like he did with your skirt. “You trust me after all, don’t you?”

You cry out yes after utterly desperate yes, as he watches, his smile getting wider as he starts undoing his belt. He puts a finger on your lips after he has heard enough, shushing you gently.

“Then trust me when I say that this, my dear, is for your own good.”

Beneath the surface, whether it be shallow or not, you have no desire to comprehend his intentions.

You don’t want to know. You just want this to go away.

iv. “Through discoveries, there is a hint of madness that enters our minds. Only then can we see our world’s colors change from squid ink and bone to begonias and finches.”

Chrollo undoes his belt, then his pants, and then his boxers. You focus on his face to ignore what is currently nearly touching the side of the mattress by a hair or two, hard and enlarged and slightly pink and-

He takes off his shirt button after button, much, much, much slower than how he took off the rest of his clothing. There exists a deep-seated anger within you, yet it is accompanied by a sense of gratitude, as both you and he are aware of your mutual aversion towards this situation.

Despite both of you being aware that this is not your desired outcome, he still kisses you, gently, full of warmth, and tenderly. What you truly desire is to satisfy the ache within you. But he won’t give it to you yet, will he?

Time seems to drag on as his kisses get faster, and more hungry, with his tongue essentially becoming another of your muscles, wet, and neither wanted nor unwanted.

Eventually, you get what you want, after enough begging for him to just get it over with. At the beginning, there is a gentle caress resembling a warm and velvety rose petal. However, as time progresses, the touch becomes increasingly forceful until his fingers enter. But it does not hurt. Should you be thankful for that? At least he is being nice.

He starts thrusting, and that also does not hurt. No soreness. You won't feel any discomfort until your eyes meet, causing a sensation that almost makes you want to throw up, were it not for the illicit satisfaction this dreadful encounter brings. It's a peculiar kind of pain, one that lingers like a ghost stealthily gliding through walls, catching you off guard before you can comprehend its presence.

Nothing hurts, and that in of itself gives you the most pain anyone could imagine.

v. “Heat lightning gives way to summer storms and verdant wind. This makes for a hauntingly beautiful melody of ripples and thunder.”

“…And this maiden, she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me.”

vi. “The dead, fallen leaves of autumn come in many shades from bright red to a dull brown. They flow with the wind from one place to the next as invitations from those who passed on to the living.”

#TIME TO WRITE SIN..........#(sweats nervously)#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh #phantom troupe #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #not sfw #yandere hxh x reader #hxh x reader

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little-pondhead · 1 year

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Wanted to hop in on the supervillain Danny au questions! Do we think Valerie would have any interest to get in on this? Between being a pawn for Vlad as Red Huntress and her "friends" ditching her as soon as she stopped being rich, I like the idea that evil billionare mastermind is her general vibe. Heck, maybe she and Tucker flip roles and she becomes the guy in the chair, not being a front line powerhouse and actually coming up with elaborate plans.

And on that note, do we think that if Vlad somehow found his way into this mess, he'd see the whole thing as a fun little game of "opposite world" and try his hand at being a hero? Because I for one think that would be hilarious, I actually don't have ideas for that because I can't imagine a heroic Vlad.

Amyway, that's all I got for now. Love your work!

You're one of the vertebrae creatures who keep hoarding all the brain wrinkles, aren't you??

---

[Okay, so I lost your ask, wrote this shit, then found it again so it's not exact but I'm trying here.]

Let's start with Valerie, or keeping up with the trend, Gray in the DC universe.

Valerie is so tired. It's a different kind of tiredness that has a grip on the others. Danny is tired of being a hero, Sam is tired of her parent's expectations, and Tucker is tired of being unable to protect his friends. Jazz is tired of being the bigger person, and Dani is tired of not having someone to rely on. The DC universe is their escape, and honestly, it's doing wonders for their mental health. Valerie notices. She has a shaky truce with Phantom and his crew, but she can't just let him get a leg up on her, can she? So Valerie follows them, through town, through the portal, through the new world they popped up in.

There, she stops. Phantom is now Fenton, and doesn't that make sense? Many things click into place and Valerie starts to understand as she watches the others from the shadows. She's surprised they haven't noticed her, but a little green sticky note on her visor says she had a little hand in her reconnaissance. So when she's done, she returns to her dimension. Back to Amity Park and back to her bed. Valerie lays there for a while, staring at the ceiling and fingering the sticky note, committing every detail to memory.

And you know what? Valerie gets pissed. How come Danny and his friends lovers? and family get to just visit other dimensions whenever they want a break and have no repercussions whatsoever? Just because hero work is hard?? She's a hero too, dammit!

Obviously, someone out there apparently agreed with her because, in a quick, dizzying moment, Valerie finds herself suddenly in the Ghost Zone, plopped down on a ratty blue couch with a very old ghost sitting across from her. He introduces himself as Clockwork, the ghost of time, the regent of the king, and Danny's guardian. Mentor? She wasn't sure; ghost speech always gave her a headache. Either way, Valerie found herself exceptionally calm and somehow struck a deal with the Ancient. To her chagrin, Clockwork informed her that Valerie was well and truly Liminal now, despite her best efforts. (What did she expect? Her suit was practically drenched in ectoplasm.) As part of the deal, Clockwork extended the same courtesy to her that he had to the others. Anytime she wanted, Valerie could have free reign and access to the DC universe and could do anything she liked with no bad consequences. And because of her liminality, he was able to grant her just enough power for her to create her own portals directly to the other realm.

[What did Clockwork get out of this deal? Well, that's up to someone else who's not me.]

So Valerie goes to this new universe. She switches her name to Gray, as if to mock Fenton, who had no idea she was there. She does not try to become a supervillain. And what's this? Outfit analysis time!!

In the show, I've always liked Valerie as a character, and whether it was intentional or not, her design seems to fit her attitude and actions. They were in high school in the early 2000s before her dad lost her job; Valerie was very popular, from what I remember. Her family had money. Other kids expected her to keep up with social norms, so her outfit looked more stylish than practical. She wears yellow, which is most commonly seen as a happy color. Her hair is slicked back so people can see her whole face. She has nothing to hide. She's confident and youthful, ready to lead, and overall enjoying her lot in life. Then ghosts start appearing, and we all know her backstory as Red Huntress. Her suit is tight to her skin, bright red, and overall she's armed to the teeth. Everything about that screams DANGER! Valerie is a threat now.

Her civilian outfit also never changes, which is understandable because this is a cartoon from 2004. But it's secretly genius because yellow is often considered a cautious color. It turns from being a happy color to a warning. Yellow is also associated with anxiety, betrayal, and even egotism, which is something both she and Danny experience during their interactions. She's uptight and constantly on edge. She feels like she has to provide for her family and is quick to anger.

Now for the opposite of that? Valerie is tired of being angry all the time. Rather than go apeshit on a bunch of poor heroes and villains-been there, done that-she treats this whole thing like an actual vacation. Gray wears a soft long sleeve, sweats, and fuzzy slippers. Her hair is relaxed and in a bun, with her bangs hiding half of her face. It takes some pressure off of constantly keeping her expressions in check. People also can't see how she's silently judging them. She lets the stress melt from her shoulders and lets herself curse like a sailor whenever she feels like it. Her clothes are dimmer colors, which don’t stand out or demand attention. She lets herself be not perfect.

Although, just because this is a vacation for her doesn't mean Gray can't just lounge around doing nothing. She has no money! So Gray, after shuffling through a couple decades of this world's history and discovering that Craigslist is universal, applies for the first work ad she sees. In short, Gray joins the Goonion. She ends up making a deal with the guy who hired her. And her new boss. And her new neighbor. And-

Gray very quickly becomes the John Constantine of the criminal underworld. She brushes up on her people skills and learns to talk rings around other people, getting people to owe her favors as much as she dishes them out. Balance is the key here, as she’s learned from Danny. Gray is never tied down by too many IOUs at a time, and her tight grip on her companions and team quickly earn her a questionable but reliable reputation. She presents a morally-gray character, if you will.

Gray’s quick climb to power-that was definitely sped along by Clockwork-earns her a powerful position in the Goonion. If she plays her cards right, Gray doesn’t have to do any work at all. She just leans back and enjoys being paid for wearing pajamas all day and occasionally signing some paperwork. She siphons away bits of her own paycheck to a dimensional bank account she threatened asked Technus to set up, and Gray is finally able to slip more than a few tens into her father’s wallet when it’s time for him to pay his rent. It’s a good life.

Now, Vlad? Oh, he's fucked. This can work for whatever redemption au you want. He can be exactly like he is in the show or working towards bettering himself as a person. I imagine him being halfway to a redemption plot, and in an effort to gain the Fenton's trust, he starts hanging around with the family more. Jack loves this. The others do not, but what can they do? Everyone is just trying to be civil to each other in an effort to make Jack happy. Since old habits die hard, Vlad very quickly notices Danny's improved state of mind and is attuned to the Zone enough to feel when Clockwork stops time on their end. He starts to purposefully rile up Danny and realizes that the time stops happen right after Danny leaves the room in a fit of anger. Then the boy comes back all smiles and sometimes doesn't even remember what Vlad had said to him in the first place.

So he puts his ear to the ground. Whispers are floating around about a new portal that's been opened near Phantom's Keep. A natural one. A permanent one. No one can investigate due to its location, but the young king and members of his fraid have been seen frequenting it more often than late. Not suspicious in the slightest, Danny would have protested. Vlad goes poking around. Entering the Keep uninvited felt like millions of bugs tugging at his skin, but turning human helped ease the sensation. It was laughably easy to slip between the cold stone walls of the Keep, avoiding Fright Knight's walking path and sticking to the shadows. The portal was in the courtyard, under the watchful gaze of two stone gargoyles leftover from Pariah's reign. Right before Vlad can investigate further stick his head in and see what happens the world warps, and suddenly the older halfa is sitting on his ass in front of a very old ghost.

Looks like Vlad fucked around and found out.

Basically, Clockwork yoinked Vlad to his side of existence right before he entered the portal. Even if all he wanted to do was relate to Danny in an effort to mend their relationship, The Master of Time wasn't okay with Vlad going off into the DC universe all willy-nilly. Oh no. Letting Vlad loose in this world would lead to bad things regardless of his intentions. Even if Vlad promised to play by all the rules and pretended to be human, he was bound to slip up and cause trouble.

So there were two courses of action Clockwork could take here. One, he could pull in a few favors and wipe Vlad's memory, sending him back to his own universe until he inevitably went sniffing around again, and this whole song and dance continued. Or second, he could equip Vlad with similar ghost artifacts Manson and Foley possessed and temporarily seal away Vlad's powers while he was gallivanting around the DC universe. He'd be on Clockwork's payroll, so to speak, and could only act on the older ghost's instructions. Clockwork presented these two choices to Vlad. The older halfa chose the second option after weighing the pros and cons. He didn't want to be controlled by Clockwork, but he also didn't want to lose his memories (over and over again, from how he worded it.)

This is how Vlad's hero persona is born. I'm unsure if he should stick with his last name, Masters, or take on something different to distance himself from Fenton and his family. Let's stick with Masters for now.

Clockwork has this drowning little rat man on a rehab program and uses some fancy ghost jewelry to inhibit his halfa abilities. He doesn't make Masters do much, just drops him in here and there when the DC timestream needs a little nudge. It's not like Clockwork will have Danny deal with it; the kid already helps out with every other timestream when asked. Masters can help out here. And since his halfa abilities are blocked, he gets to do everything as a human, which brings its own set of challenges. The idea is that by throwing Masters face-first into a new world filled with people who could end his existence and be forced to win every fight or else, he'll come to appreciate what Danny goes through on a daily basis.

The JL Dark becomes very familiar with the mysterious Masters, who doesn't seem to have any powers but still fights like he does. The man can be extraordinarily clumsy and short-tempered but still graceful and light on his feet when it matters the most. More than once has someone caught Masters muttering under his breath, cursing out gravity and a 'purple-cloak wearing bitch.' Masters always shows up out of the blue at the most random times. He is literally just there, and sometimes even Masters himself looks shocked about his sudden scene change. But he's always suited up and ready to go, so not many heroes question it. They usually need the help anyway.

In the DC universe, Masters is wearing four magic bands, each engraved with the words Dominion of Time on them. Several bands made from tungsten were buried deep with Clockwork's Tower in an old wooden box made from aspen and diamonds. Each band was a blank slate, glowing slightly from magic long past. Clockwork had simply selected the four he needed, engraved the spells needed in ghost speech, and handed them over. Vlad grumbled and tried to find a loophole in the artifacts, but ultimately accepted his fate and wore them whenever Masters was needed.

Vlad's new outfit for this outfit is similar to Valerie's; it's loose and uncomplicated. (Actually, there are a lot of parallels between these two.) In the show, Vlad always wears a tailored suit and dress shoes. He's well-groomed and his hair is slicked back. He always tries to show off his wealth and power by having full control over his appearance. In layman's terms, he's the walking cliché trope of a rich billionaire villain in every superhero media to ever exist. After all, in a kid's show with a teenage protagonist, what's more intimidating than an adult nemesis who has their life together?

As Masters, Vlad is forced to throw all that out the window.

The hero outfit he wears was literally picked up off the street. If glowing metal bands were not adorning his arms, some would assume that Masters was a homeless man. The top was dug out from a dumpster behind a costume store, and the sandals were given to him by a woman who couldn't wear them anymore. His arm sleeves were sewn together from some blackout curtains he found at an old housing demolition site, and the pants were just some sweatpants that were a tad too short. The mask was bought from the corner store, his belt salvaged from a junkyard, and his scarf was actually a gift from Jack-not that he'd wear it around the oaf. The only 'expensive' things Masters wore were the four magic bands, a handful of large glass beads hanging from his belt, and the sharp metal claws he wore on top of each finger. The claws were bought on a whim years ago when Vlad was building his fortune, and boy, was he glad for them now. They were the only real weapons Clockwork allowed him to carry for some reason.

In other words, Masters is exposed. With his loose hair and flowing clothes, Masters is forced to trust the others around him to have his back. He's humbled every time someone covers an obvious blind spot of his that he's not used to compensating for. He gets dirty and messy, fighting to survive against enemies he knows nothing about. His outfit symbolizes his efforts to change. Masters is re-learning what it's like to be truly vulnerable in a world you don't understand with no help whatsoever. Clockwork has no issue pitting him against demons and ghouls even John Constantine would hesitate at, and his narrow victories quickly earn him an invitation to the Watchtower.

The Justice League is puzzled by this walking lump of wet spaghetti. He disappears so easily into the background and doesn't stand out at all. Every once in a while his eyes scrunch up like he's confused about something, but he won't admit that he's lost the conversation. Masters will offhandedly say weird things and turn as if expecting someone to be there, then suddenly stop himself with a soft flinch. He refuses any form of payment. He can stare down Batman. His appearances are random and the man carries no form of contact. Masters often has an aura of resignation and regret around him, as if he didn't want to be there in the first place. He's awkward around kids but fiercely protective of a few teen heroes. (Mostly Conner.)

It finally starts to come together in the JL's mind when Masters becomes more widely known in the world of supers. One of the higher-ups in the Goonion hates him. Dani held a gun to his head. Manson screeched bloody murder when she saw him. Nightingale declared herself his official nemesis. The final piece was when, after a long and exhausting fight, Masters temporarily removed his mask to wipe away some blood around his mouth.

The Flash, who was sitting next to him, nearly let out a squeak.

Masters' blood was bright green.

Masters' teeth were shaped like a shark's.

Masters was another fucking Fenton, wasn't he?

#pondhead replies #DPxDC #supervillain danny au #villain! everlasting trio #The Fenton Menace #FUCKING FOUND THE ASK #FINALLY #GODDAMN #does this make any coherent sense #jesus fuck i'm going to bed

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hansoeii · 6 months

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Not a Sylki shipper, but do you genuinely believe they won't be endgame? Like I get it, it seems like Sylvie is not in love with him and they're kinda pushing Lokius (might be just mocking us), but don't you think they could do a 180 in the last episode? It would make no sense, but the writer is a cishet man, who ships Sylki. Marvel is not good at writing romance. I feel sad, because I'm seeing all these people say that Sylki is over, celebrating and I feel like they'll be crushed on Thursday. They could absolutely do a 180, rush the romance with "she was always in love, she was just pushing him away" and make them endgame. Again, it would be bad writing and it'd make zero sense, but the majority of the people don't care about the romance, including my irls, they only want to see the multiverse stuff. So they won't care. And I feel like Disney/Marvel don't care either.

Yes, I totally believe that Sylkie is over and that nothing will happen between them again.

What makes me say that? It's simple. All Sylvie wants is a simple life on the timeline, they've made that clear several times. She only ever follows Loki once that life and her timeline are in danger. And I can't blame her for that. She has no interest in Loki and his friends and what's even more important: she has even less than zero interest in the TVA. She's selfish, she admitted that herself.

The TVA is what's important here. The TVA has become Loki's home, it's the place where he found his family. He (and Mobius) is the heart of the TVA. And he won't part with it, and Sylvie would never willingly stay there for longer than necessary.

She has made it clear by telling Loki to write his own story that their stories are separate ones.

This season so far has been incredibly well written, and I don't believe they're gonna do a big 180 in the finale. I could totally be wrong, but I don't think it's likely.

I believe that Sylvie will be the one to restore everyone's memories in the last episode as her final heroic act and then once the timelines are restored, she will go back to her simple life.

And when it comes to Eric Martin: just ignore him. He's a troll, and I don't believe a single thing he says about any ships. He constantly likes Sylkie tweets and then suddenly switches to liking Lokius tweets. It's best to just watch the show and ignore what any of the creators have to say (besides Tom Hiddleston, I adore his commentary) about it, just draw your own conclusions! And so far, we have gotten 5 episodes that made it clear that there's nothing even close to romantic going on between Sylvie and Loki anymore.

#ask #anon #loki

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an-au-blog · 5 months

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I wondered if I should post this for the longest time but...

The whole plot of One Piece but they're all in an asylum (with zosan and a bit frobin bc i love them)

(Disclaimer: consider all the CW that could come with a mental institution (e.g. self harm, mental illnesses, death, violence etc.))

Listen, listen I have it all planned out!

They call the wing they're in "East Blue" because it's the most east part of the facility and it's painted in blue. They keep the patients in small groups at first so that they don't act out or feel threatened. They call this group "the straw hats" after they let one of the patients propose it (the patients all agreed on it).

Luffy is taken in because he can't discern the difference between reality and fiction and thinks there's a pirate treasure he needs to find. It started after his second adopted brother's death - his brain refuses to believe it, so it creates an alternative reality in which his death was heroic and grand.

Both Nami and Sanji are taken in for self-harm and suicidal tendencies (they both failed to commit suicide, main difference was Nami did it during a depressive episode, while Sanji had tried multiple times but stopped himself every time until he almost succeed but was found by his boss- Zeff).

Zoro is highly delusional, has violent tendencies and has paranoia - he thinks anyone who looks strong is challenging him to a fight.

Brook has cotard delusion (also known as corpse syndrome), where he thinks that his body is dead/dying or doesn't exist.

Usopp is a pathological liar with severe depression. He admitted himself with the encouragement of his girlfriend, who had tried helping him after his mother's death.

Franky is a volunteer, who the patients absolutely love. He helps with renovations as well, since his day job is in construction.

Robin and Chopper are doctors. Robin started working at the institution because she used to struggle with suicidal thoughts and self worth and wishes to help those like her. Chopper is a man with dwarfism and has a nice short beard, so some of the patients with a rich imagination think he's a raccoon dog or baby rairdeer.

Jinbe is the owner of the establishment. Everyone loves him and he does his best to provide his patients with what they need. His favorite food is fish and he often orders or takes it from home to eat in his lunch break, so the other employees call him a fish man or First Son of the Sea. he thinks it's funny.

In group sessions, they all share their experiences and progress. It starts off with just Luffy telling stories of him fighting bad guys and monsters in the sea. His stories slowly started including the rest of the east wing. First it was Koby who was an intern nurse and then it was Zoro - he's selectively mute but nodded in agreement on a couple of the stories that he told.

Then he started including Nami, to which she objected at first but slowly stopped, it was nice to feel included. Usopp joined in with his own overexaggerated stories. Then it was Sanji, Luffy called him the cook of his crew, which was oddly fitting but still ironic. Yes, he was a cook before coming in but he also had a severe eating disorder. He didn't tell anyone about it. Until one day he told Luffy, Zoro, Usopp, and Nami. Luffy made it into a grand heroic story about him surviving starvation on a big rock. Sanji liked it more than having an eating disorder so he accepted it - even added his own spark to it, saying it was Zeff who helped him. (He knew it wasn't true, but he wanted to pretend that he knew Zeff long enough for him to have become the healthy father figure he was deprived of as a child.)

While on the subject of Sanji - he refused to eat. Most times he wouldn't even sit at the table. In the beginning it was so bad that the nurses had to hold him down and force feed him. Slowly he started obeying. It was mainly because they called in either Zeff or Reiju (though he got scared that she would tell the rest of the family where he was, she didn't). The doctors figured he needed a support system but he didn't trust anyone in a white coat and they couldn't ask other patients. Luffy had a thing for freedom and anyone choosing whether or not they did anything... do he was no help. Although on a couple of occasions they would see Zoro taking Sanji's plate and sitting in the corner with him. He would take two bites and feed Sanji one. He refused at first but Zoro told him that "If you don't eat, I won't either." which was one of the few times anyone had heard him talk. Though they had heard him laugh once with Luffy and he responded a few times when Usopp kept asking him questions.

Eventually, Robin came back from her honeymoon with Franky and started bonding with the patients. She became a part of Luffy's "crew" as well. Not long after Franky was welcomed as well.

When Brook came in, he was so skinny that he looked like a skeleton, so when he told Luffy he was, he believed him immediately. Brook is the only one who is allowed to use the musical instruments since he's the only one who can play. Musical therapy turns out to be quite effective, if not for anything else, for calming the patients.

There were a few "incidents" in the courtyard - first with Arlong a few other guards that got moved to another wing, then with some of the other patients. Luffy seemed aggressive on visitation day as well, not recognizing his parent after he went through top surgery, he just called him Crocodile and made up a story about Nami's visitor - her girlfriend Vivi. He would talk about how if she looked pretty like a princess, she must be one and how she was fighting for her country and he would help her.

One of the bigger fights was when he fought Enel - a patient who thought he was a god and had tried starting a cult.

Every once in a while, he'd start a fight and Zoro (and sometimes Sanji) joined in to help their friend. It happened a couple more times until one of the upper-ranked doctors (Dr Kuma) decided to separate them for a while to see if their attitude changed. It was only a few months but it seemed like they got worse. Luffy and Zoro would get all silent and non-responsive for hours sometimes days. Sanji would lose all the progress he made with his eating disorder and would try to find sharp objects to self-harm again. Nami and Usopp's emotional state would worsen as well, having full-blown panic attacks, Usopp developed paranoia and an eating disorder (but he started handling it little before getting released back with the rest of the east wing).

#one piece au #zosan #but not that much #a bit of #frobin #east blue asylum wing au #or something like that #i like that name sure...#op

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jokeringcutio · 5 months

Text

Albert Shaw x (younger f girlfriend) Reader - Unwind (Explicit/Smut)

Fandom: Black Phone

Pairing: Albert Shaw (the Grabber) x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Rough sex on the couch, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Older man/younger woman, Age difference/Age Gap, Girlfriend Reader, College Reader, Mention of parents, mention of not being on birth control. (Not beta-read)

Unwind

The warmth of Albert Shaw's cozy living room enveloped you. The two of you were set on the grey soft couch, the flickering lights of the television screen forming patterns over Albert’s face. The sound was turned off – there were adverts on anyway. And so you studied him instead.

You thought back to the day you met Albert - a kid's birthday party, your younger brother's. His magical performance had left everyone in awe. You smiled at the memory as he sat across from you, his chestnut hair framing his face, flecks of grey at the roots.

How he had captured your heart with just a smile. You came to understand that picking you out as his assistant had not been a coincidence at all. But, as he later told you once things between you got serious, it had been love at first sight. And he had wanted to see you from up close.

"Another child went missing last night," you said softly, an uneasy tension settling over the room while outside the wind howled like a beast. "They're calling him the Grabber."

Albert flinched, his bright blue eyes darkening for a moment. He glanced towards the basement door, then back at you. "That's terrible," he muttered, his voice low and gruff. You noticed the way his fingers tapped nervously on the armrest of the couch, but you continued talking, trying to fill the silence that threatened to swallow you both.

"Everyone in Denver is terrified. No one knows who it could be." Your voice wavered, betraying your own fear. "Can you imagine what those poor families must be going through?"

Albert pursed his lips, staring ahead of him before his blue eyes finally found yours. You didn’t need to voice the fear that was deep inside of you. Your brother was just the right age to be of interest to the mysterious kidnapper that plagued your city.

“I don’t want you to worry about it, dear,” he said, voice low and smooth. Whenever you heard him you felt butterflies fluttering deep inside. How could a man sound like this and be real? It sounded too good to be true. But here he was, with you, comforting you.

“If you worry about your brother, know that I am here,” his hand gave yours a gentle squeeze, and a small smile played on his lips. “I’ll make sure the Grabber doesn’t get him.”

You let out a soft laugh. His words were exactly what you needed to hear. “Then I am happy to have such a heroic man as my boyfriend.”

Next to your side, Albert seemed to stiffen, then his eyes settled on you again and he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Yeah,” was all he said. But you’d noticed it. Something was off about him, had been off for a while. But today it was worse. There was a certain glint to his eyes, a twitch to his hands. As if he was nervous.

"Albert," you said gently, noticing his jitteriness. "Is everything alright? Did something happen at work?"

He avoided your gaze and shook his head. "No, nothing happened. I'm just... a little on edge, that's all." His fingers brushed against yours as he let out a low chuckle. "You know what could help me relax, though, don't you?"

You furrowed your brow, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. He had always been a bit cryptic, but this time, you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

“Want some tea? Or a massage?” You stuttered, thinking of all the possible things that could help make him relax. “I could run you a hot bath?”

“Hmm, a massage sounds about right,” Albert hummed, hand withdrawing from the armrest as he turned to look at you, blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the room. “A very specific massage.”

You blinked at him, mind raking over the possible types of massage that there existed. “Sure,’ you said.

You watched as he moved his hands downward until they rested above the bulge between his legs. In the dim light, you hadn’t quite recognized the tent he was sporting. And when he remained silent and just observed you patiently, as if waiting for something, you grew worried.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" you asked, concern lacing your voice. You wanted to be there for him, to support him through whatever was causing him distress.

"Maybe you could... help me unwind?" Albert suggested with a sly grin, leaning closer to you. His hand slid up your arm, fingertips sending shivers down your spine. "You've got such a soothing touch."

You blinked in confusion, still not fully grasping the implications of his words. Your heart pounded in your chest, an odd mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling within you. Albert's closeness was both comforting and electrifying, and you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"Of course," you murmured, unsure of what he truly desired, yet eager to bring him relief from his tension.

His lips descended on your hair again, then slowly trailed down to your cheek. Open-mouthed kisses, with his tongue peeking out every now and again. His hand grasped yours and placed it on his bulge where you felt him swell underneath your palm and e fabric. Your eyes widened when you finally understood what this was all leading to.

"Albert," you whispered, realization finally dawning upon you. "You want me to...?"

"Help me find release," he finished your sentence, his voice husky and low. The intensity in his bright blue eyes darkened as desire consumed him.

"Of course," you breathed, a shiver of anticipation running through you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His lips met yours hungrily, pressing forcefully against your own.

He responded with a needy growl, his hands gripping your waist tightly, almost painfully so.

"Such a good girl," he praised between fevered kisses, his chestnut brown hair brushing against your face as he moved to your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there. Your whimpers only seemed to spur him on further as his hand slid underneath your shirt and bra.

He peeled away your clothes one by one, mouth feverishly covering all parts of you, leaving no part of you unexplored. All the while, your hand moved up and down his bulge, still covered by his pants. A wet spot had started to form, soaking through his clothes. And a low groan near your ear made you look up to see a hunger in his eyes that left you breathless.

His rough hands explored every inch of your body, leaving no part untouched. The forcefulness of his actions sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making you acutely aware of how much you craved this side of him. He bent you over the couch, flipped you, and angled you in such ways as gave him the most pleasure. The light of the television lit your body and formed patterns of fireworks and stars across your naked skin as Albert undid his belt.

The revelation made your mouth water. It wasn’t that you hadn’t ever done this before. Albert had been quite persuasive and you had been just as hungry for him to allow him to take you to his bed. You’d bled for him that first time, had tasted him out of curiosity, had allowed him to own you completely and fuck all of your holes. And now that he craved you, you felt you craved him as well.

Let him unwind. You could do with a little fun yourself.

"Please," you gasped, desperate for him to take you completely. "I need you, Albert."

He didn't need any more encouragement. He flipped you over until you were lying on your tummy on the couch. His hand pressed your head down while the other traced past your hip – gently.

His breath stuttered – a deep inhale that sounded more like a beast ready to pounce on its prey. Perhaps it was, because, in one swift motion, he entered you, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. He moved his hips without allowing you to accommodate, tight pussy being stretched unreasonably past its limits. The pain quickly gave way to exquisite pleasure as he started to move, and you pushed your hands against the couch as he thrust into you with a ferocity that made your head spin. The loud moan that escaped you had Albert halt.

“Be quiet now, baby girl,” his low voice grunted. “We don’t want to wake Samson.”

You glanced over at where the dog was, thinking that surely the creature would not mind. But Albert had been more often like this. One day he wanted you to scream, the next he wanted no one to know he was fucking his much younger girlfriend.

“Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep silent. But it took effort as his hips pushed against your pelvis deliciously hard, like a man possessed. For a moment you thought about asking him to be gentler with you, but then you remembered you’d promised to help him out. And if this was what he needed, then let him have it. You could take it.

He moved with fierce movements, cockhead hitting your cervix with bruising force, over and over. It was different than any fucking you had before. How could you remain silent like this?

You gasped and clawed your fingers against the couch in an attempt to get some leverage. He straightened his spine and then raised your hips, propping a pillow underneath, before he bore down deep inside of your cunt, grunting and groaning as he punished your pussy relentlessly with harsh thrusts. He was no longer a man, but something from Hell. Something devilish, both in looks and actions.

“So tight,” he groaned, words like hoarse whispers falling from his lips. “So fucking good.”

Soft gasps and unbidden moans escaped your lips as wet squelching sounds filled the room. A dull ache was felt deep below, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. The scent of sex tainted the air and sweat made your bodies shimmer in the flickering lights.

Animalistic groans escaped the man above you and you wished you could see him. But he had your head pushed forward onto the couch, ass against his chest while his cock nestled deep inside your cunt while he groaned. He pulsed deep inside of you. Had he come? He hadn’t, right?

He left you no time to ponder because his hand grasped your hair and pulled at it, hand forming a fist as he lifted you from your current position. He was thrusting harshly inside of you again. You’d never known him like this before. So wild, so violent. Yet your pussy loved it, walls fluttering around his shaft in a way you never had experienced before.

The thrusts were deep, too deep perhaps, and you were gasping, biting back pleas to be gentle because you fucking loved it. You loved how he roughly manhandled you until you knew that bruises from his hands would form on your arms and hips.

You loved how good his cock felt battering deep inside your cunt even if you knew it would leave you sore for days to come. You loved how he dominated you, uncaring about your well-being or your wishes or the fact that he wasn’t supposed to come inside. His hips moved against yours roughly, and as he tried to reposition you – being so strong despite his age – your arm bumped against the table next to the couch, accidentally knocking something off the table. You turned your head to look, even if Albert tried to pull you back for a kiss.

The television’s light became bright, illuminating a hideous grin that stared up at you. Taunting. Haunting.

“What is that mask doing here?” you wondered, catching a glimpse of what could only be described as a demonic-looking mask, bigger than Albert’s head.

Your head was forcefully tugged aside, the grip on your hair making you flinch and unable to look at the mask any longer, as Albert guided you back onto the couch until you were on your back with him on top, legs spread wide at either side of his chest, allowing him to plow as deep inside of you as your tight little channel allowed. When he re-entered you, the slick sounds were a disturbing indicator of how wet he had made you.

“I said, keep your mouth shut,” Albert said through gritted teeth, forcing your head to turn so you were looking at him again. A thrust of his hips, a wet squelch as cum slipped past the hilt of his cock, escaping the depths of your cunt.

He was on his way to his second orgasm, hips stuttering irregularly against your own. You did not see it though, only heard the wet sounds from where your bodies met and felt the irregularity of his thrusts.

“Lips sealed, sweetheart,” he muttered before he descended upon you once more, lips hungrily working against your own.

You gasped, allowing him easy access until his tongue was licking against yours. You kissed him back just as eagerly, hands finding a way to his chest to hold him – perhaps teasing his nipples a bit deliberately but he had definitely earned that.

The kiss ended abruptly. Your mind was foggy and no longer focused on the hideous mask you had seen. Instead, all you could focus on was his mesmerizing blue half-lidded eyes as he studied you in between thrusts. His right hand grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head. His left rested on your waist, near your hipbone, pressing down possessively.

It felt good, so good.

"Mine," he grunted, eyes locked onto yours as he claimed you entirely. His relentless pace continued, pushing you both towards a precipice neither of you could resist.

"Yours," you managed to choke out, overcome by the intensity of the moment. The hard fucking was delicious, the battering of his cock against your cervix sent ripples of pleasure down your core until your walls pulsed around his shaft, milking him, begging him to come.

He hunched over you, his chest warm against your breasts as he rutted into you like a beast in heat. As the wave of ecstasy crashed over you, his grip held your hands above your head while your pussy pulsed around his throbbing cock. You gasped as he leaned in even further, folding you even more than you were, getting in so deep it hurt.

"Remember this," Albert panted, his gaze never leaving yours. The world around you seemed to blur and fade away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in a moment of raw, unbridled passion. “Only I can give you what you crave.”

And you believed him. He had ruined you, he once told you. And in this moment, you fully believed he had.

Albert groaned your name in your ear as he came, as the warmth of his cum filled you for a second time and a low groan exhibited his release. Wordlessly, Albert moved his hips against you, his cock moving inside you with less force now, thrusts light. You gasped, eyes searching for his. But he was studying the way your bodies connected. Another low groan as he carefully slipped from your core.

A deep sigh and a rustle of the couch as Albert got up off it to get some tissues. You watched through half-lidded eyes how he cleaned his cock, then got out some fresh tissues to dab between your legs. He halted there, looking up at you to make sure he had your attention, tissue still pressed against your weeping cunt.

“I got a bit rough with you, sweetheart,” he said, although you were not quite sure if it was an apology or just a statement.

You flashed him a small smile, lying on your back, sated. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you quipped.

Albert grinned and continued wiping your sore pussy clean. You noticed the copious amount of cum that came into the tissues, but decided not to comment on any of it. You’d get the morning-after pill, you decided quietly. He didn’t need to know or worry, and neither should you.

After you were both presentable again, you felt how Albert scooted on the couch with you. He held you close, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. His lips, tender and searching, found yours in a kiss that was both soft and intense. It felt as if he was trying to convey his deepest emotions through the delicate press of skin against skin.

"God," he murmured, his breath warm on your cheek. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, banishing the chill that had begun to seep into your bones. You smiled, nestling closer to him as your fingers traced lazy patterns on the expanse of his chest.

"Me neither," you whispered, feeling a sense of belonging that you hadn't known was possible.

Moments later, Albert reluctantly untangled himself from you, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to memorize every detail. With a soft kiss placed on your forehead, he rose from the couch and made his way to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you were left alone with your thoughts. The memory of Albert's rough touch lingered on your skin. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized just how much you'd enjoyed it. The raw, unbridled passion. You enjoyed it too.

And then, how you had allowed him to fully conquer you. It should raise questions. In a way, it did, because you should have stopped him from having this unprotected sex when he knew you weren’t on the pill. You wanted to, but… something about money. Plus, you were still in college and your parents were being a bitch about you dating anyone.

You couldn't help but wonder how you could introduce Albert to them. They would surely question your relationship with someone so much older than you. But you were certain they would come to see what a genuinely incredible man he was – if only they could look past the age difference. They had liked him at your brother’s party. Your dad had always spoken highly of Albert, knowing him of the Denver bowling team.

Carefully, you got off the couch, not completely surprised when a squelch announced some more cum escaping your core. Annoyed by the mess that dribbled down your legs, and the fact that Albert was keeping the bathroom occupied, you threw on your sweater and walked to the kitchen instead.

You rinsed your hands with water before taking another tissue to dab between your legs. Was sex always this messy, you wondered? The times you and Albert had been at it, he’d often pulled out and cum over your chest. You’d even swallowed his load a few times. But this… this was new.

Not to say you didn’t like it.

Lost in thought, you were startled by a sudden pounding noise coming from the direction of the basement door. Your heart skipped a beat as the eerie sound echoed through the otherwise silent house.

"Albert?" you called out, hoping that the noise was nothing more than a trick of your imagination. But the banging continued, insistent and undeniable.

“Samson?” you asked, hoping it was Albert’s dog. But Samson came padding around the corner and looked at you with blurry eyes, as if your call had just awoken him.

“Hmm, not Samson then,” you whispered, patting the dog on his head and telling him he was a good boy – even if Samson sniffed between your legs, pressing his wet nose a bit too close to your private parts before letting out a happy yip and scurrying back into the living room again.

Tentatively, you pulled the sweater lower so it covered most of your hips, making you feel a little less exposed as you as you approached the door. A sense of dread began to worm its way into your chest, tightening its grip with every step you took.

"Albert?" you called again, more urgently this time. There was no response, only the relentless pounding that seemed to grow louder with each passing second.

Finally, you reached the door, your hand hovering uncertainly above the doorknob. Inhaling a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever lay beyond. With your heart hammering in your chest, you grasped the cold metal and turned it.

Fin

AN: Whoops, sorry not so sorry about that ending. Anyway, I wrote this in a hurry and slept 12 hours after my latest hospital visit yesterday, so pardon any inconsistencies or mistakes.

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#albert shaw #albert shaw x reader #reader insert #female reader #black phone #the grabber x reader #the grabber x you #I have more grabber x reader content and need to update my masterlist

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stone-stars · 21 days

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a while ago i saw a post by @sideblogdotjpeg about how the cycles in c3 seem a lot more personal/familial. and i kind of went insane in the tags at the time and i’ve been thinking about it a lot since because like…

you have the heroic cycles that the band of boobs parallel/break on this large scale. the idea of these broken trios of adventurers is there throughout the campaign, but they really start to engage with it towards the end— with the divine hearts, and thiala, and the wheel of suffering/wheel of joy idea. the thing hardwon says as he takes the divine heart, that no matter what anybody chooses from then on it’s with love in their hearts, i feel is very relevant to how they break the cycle. they love each other, and they choose over and over to hold each other tighter rather than be driven apart.

and on the other hand, you have duck team’s refusal of fate vs their family’s resignation to it. look at swag working with mothership, oliana’s contrition, and the stuff that is currently ongoing with gowan. you know— sol is a version of swag who fully rejected mothership and found his friends instead. callie refused to be a part of her family’s business, and her love for the wild and the serpents is giving the world a chance. calder, when he makes the deal with ultrus, telling callie and sol that he trusts them to save him. and now calder is refusing to sit back and let gowan handle things in the ice knife.

it's not that duck team aren't trying to save the world. they are. and it's not that the boobs didn't have a personal connection to the cycles they were breaking. they did. but it's like... well... how do i put this into words. right--

the song melora's boon plays when the boobs arrive at the heart of the world and speak to melora. when she talks to beverly about duty, shows him the places he faltered and how at the last second, he gets back up. (later, when they face thiala, bev doesn't go unconscious once. at one point, he's the only one standing.) for sol, this is the song that plays when he expresses his fear of going down again. when he admits to callie that he's scared of the day that she and calder are down and he's the one that needs to stand up alone. when callie says she's not afraid of that day, and sol finds himself empowered by the mushroom in his chest. the moment that sets up sol's long death monk ability, where he's able to refuse to go down and keep on fighting.

melora’s boon is also the song that plays for moonshine’s boon at the heart of the world. there are actually two songs in this scene, hardwon’s is different, and the transition back happens when melora says there’s a part of herself that moonshine hasn’t embraced. when she speaks to moonshine leading her people to a better future like an alpha wolf leading her pack. for callie, it plays when she tells hardwon and sol that she’s a liability and she needs to change— to embrace winter— in order to get calder back, even as they reassure her that she doesn’t. it also plays when callie asks the others to help her protect honeysuckle while he’s weakened. when they promise to lead honeysuckle home and free him from his connections to gromdal.

the writing on the wall plays when the boobs reach the court of gods. there's the wall of prayers there, and they hear the prayers of the people of bahumia, reaching out to them. prayers of protection-- for and by them. prayers that put the future of bahumia in their hands. for callie, this is the song that plays when she sees aryox's carving of her reaching the cave. when she realizes her mother acted the way she did because she could see what was coming in the future. when she realizes her mother was leaving the world in her hands.

the songs that the boobs first encounter at the end— when they’re basically demigods stepping up to face thiala— return for duck team in these personal moments. when sol finds the strength to refuse death. when callie talks about embracing winter, her mother’s season, something she eventually finds strength in, to save her friend. when callie asks the others to help honeysuckle, one of the serpents that she’s promised to protect partially due to the harm her family caused to the wild. and when callie realizes her mother saw the future and acted as she did because of it, pushing callie to walk the path she’s walking now.

anyway. this was a post about naddpod music.

#naddpod #ba2mia #naddmusic tag #sorry to leave calder out his story is too ongoing to fit yet #(and we haven’t had any songs that fit in his arc either)#if we get a late stage bahumia song during this arc #for calder and gowan im gonna fucking. die.#truly just going insane over here anyway #like obviously on a meta level the reason the songs were never used for the bob #before the endgame is bc they weren’t written yet #but like. when you start to think about it #it kind of fits that it happens like this #there’s also more examples like i just want to know you’re taken care of #which is used in c1e91 for moonshine and paw paw’s convo #being used for callie and foster in ep10 #of c3 #specifically in the context of callie’s love and her fear of loving big #(contrasted against moonshine resigning herself to hell and her fear of that future)#anyway if i keep talking abt this i’ll explode so #enjoy? i guess?#hanbles

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audible-smiles · 3 months

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So, I think I may have accidentally found the worst book ever written by a human being.

I don't know if you guys have ever heard of Savitri Devi; she was a Hitler stan who moved from Greece to India, got really excited about "Aryan" racial mythology, changed her name, and tried to fuse Nazism with Hinduism. A lot of her ideology is patently absurd (e.g. Hitler is an avatar of Vishnu), but none of it is funny because she spent her entire life actively trying to build a coalition of the most violently racist people you can imagine. Hindutva paramilitary groups, American neo-Nazis, early ecofascists; you name them, she probably went to their meetings and wrote propaganda for them.

So, knowing this, it makes one feel particularly deranged to learn that she also wrote fiction about- and from the POV of- her many cats.

The book in question is called Long-Whiskers and the Two-Legged Goddess, or The True Story of a "most objectionable Nazi" and half-a-dozen Cats.

Published in 1965, this text features a protagonist named "Heliodora", who Devi admits in the introduction is just her lightly fictionalized self-insert. In the beginning Heliodora heroically rescues a stray kitten and its mother, but then the narrative grinds to a halt to explain the weird racial theories that brought her to India, before it picks right back up with the cat fancying. Here is an excerpt that may convey a little of how jarring these transitions can be:

"An unexpected thought crossed Heliodora’s mind, like a flash of lightning: “Had I gone to Europe in 1939, or even in 1940, 1 should not have had this lovely creature, nor, in fact, any of these cats to which I have given a home. They probably all would have been dead, by now — would have died of misery, in some gutter, without love, poor beautiful felines!” And a strange question followed that thought: “Was it for them that I was fated to remain here?” She knew the thought was a nonsensical one and the question too. For of what account was the life and happiness of any creatures, nay, of any human beings, including her own, compared with the Service of the Aryan Reich and of the Cause of truth?

It is all. Fucking. Like This. There are grim descriptions of feline suffering contrasted with long, ecstatic descriptions of her cats learning to trust the only nice human in the world (her). There are passages on the virtue of vegetarianism and the evils of (especially Kosher) slaughterhouses. She thinks it's a great idea to do medical experiments on criminals rather than animals! She thinks kids who throw rocks at cats should have their hands cut off! She starts chapters with direct quotes from Mein Kampf! When her favorite cat runs away she writes the (fully imaginary) story of his adventures on the streets, including him having cat sex. Here is the cat sex:

"The coquettish she-cat jumped up and ran away, only to stop again some twenty yards further and again to roll in the grass, calling for love, — and again to ran away as soon as the lover was about to take her. At last, however, — after many an unsuccessful leap and further and further galloping in the moonshine, Long- whiskers overcame her faked resistance and possessed her. He forgot himself, and she — his black silky panther — forgot herself. Their individualities ceased for a while to exist, and in him, the eternal He-Cat, Creator and Lord of everything, and in her, the co-eternal, sphinx-like, dark Feline Mother, Lady of all Life, once more mingled their opposite polarities and took consciousness of their double Godhead, as they had been doing for millions and millions of years. And once more the divine spark — the Creative Lightning — flashed through their furry bodies, and the daily miracle took place: there was life in the female’s womb."

Sooooo......anyway...........the lost cat finds its way back to her, but has caught feline distemper and dies in her arms, but then he is REINCARNATED IN ENGLAND, as a kitten in a decent (white) home where his family loves him. Heliodora is coincidentally going back to Europe at this time (she lists her religion as "national socialist" on the travel paperwork), which means we get pages and pages of her obsessing over every 'misstep' in the war, and Germany's tragic loss, but more importantly, she meets a random cat and he is (unknown to her), the reincarnation of her beloved Long-whiskers, the Cat Who Fucked. She sees that he's well-fed and happy and is like "I finally understand why Hitler was so nice to the British; they treat cats well so I guess they're Aryan too". I am not making any of this up:

“They have poured streams of fire over Germany; betrayed their own race; identified themselves with its worst enemies ...”

“Prrr, prrr, prrr,” purred back the cat; “that is because they had been (as they are still being) misled, deceived. But one day they shall wake up from their delusion, tum against their bad shepherds, and help the people of their own blood to build up a new Europe — the very Europe of your dreams, in which we creatures will all be happy — for they are good people at heart; good people like Aryans generally are, taken as a whole. Prrr, prrr, prrr . . . The proof of it is that they have taken such good care of me! Prrrrrrrrr . . .”

This version of her cat grows old and dies. Meanwhile, Heliodora is arrested and imprisoned for distributing Nazi propaganda. When she gets out, she meets the reincarnation of a different cat she had left behind in India. (All of her cats want to find her again after death because they love her so very much.) In between her banal, mundane descriptions of caring for this new cat, she describes her various arrests, interrogations, and brief periods of imprisonment. And then she moves, gives that cat away and gets another fucking cat. It is at this point where I completely lose track of which cat is meant to be the reincarnation of which other cat; this woman goes through cats like potato chips. She says she doesn't even love them as individuals, but as one piece of "the intangible Essence of Catdom", so I guess it doesn't fucking matter whether I know their names or not.

This woman's primary thesis is "human suffering doesn't matter, only animal suffering matters" and she beats it into the ground. Her secondary thesis is that national socialism is the one true religion and will save the world. Not only is this a deeply self-obsessed, morally incoherent, grotesque piece of writing, it is also boring as hell. It's half stories about how people who are mean to animals all deserve to get murdered, and half a travelogue where the protagonist goes on screeds about race-mixing every time she visits a new city. While you're reading it you feel as if time has stopped, and you will be stuck reading this terrible book for the rest of your life. All she knows how to do is repeat her two ideas over and over again. Honestly, it reads like heavy-handed satire of a very specific type of white woman. Heliodora wears golden swastika earrings.

I'm exhausted. Never read this book.

#nazi cw #nazis cw #books #just...really terrible books

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ecoterrorist-katara · 2 months

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Hey bestie any zutara fic recs. I feel like I’ve read all the classics.

Hello anon! Oh boy have you come to the right place because I have read several million words of these two dorks falling in love and though I plan to read several million more, I am always down to screech about talented fanfic writers!!! Here are most of my faves, some of which you’ve probably read but my enthusiasm simply needs an outlet. No WIPs to minimize heartbreak.

In the spirit of not recommending too many classics, I’m not including anything from the first page of the Katara/Zuko tag on AO3 sorted by kudos, with one exception. Same rule does not apply to FF.net because nobody visits that site anymore, yet we mustn’t forget our roots!!!

TL;DR of my Zutara Fic Recs:

Half Asleep for a Miyazaki-esque adventure romance

Southern Lights for a sweeping epic where A Song of Ice and Fire meets Middlemarch

Refraction for a swoon-worthy post-war political romance ft. Katara learning how to politick in a patriarchal world

Stormbenders for a fun undercover romance that is a ZK classic for a very good reason

Another Word for Alchemy and The Slow Path for hilarious yet emotionally compelling adventures with found family themes

The Undying Fire for world-building, more Gaang shenanigans, and super satisfying slow canon divergence

Katara Alone for our fave girl’s post-war Bildungsroman/travelogue/heroic tour

Simple Misunderstanding for a hilarious rendition of Ponytail Zuko capturing Katara and trying to not be a creep

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow for a mostly canon-compliant (so, v angsty) story about the different ways that love can evolve

And some one-shots and modern AUs I feel like deserve some more love

Summaries, reviews, and general fangirling under the cut because holy shit this post is long lmao

Long fics / series:

Half Asleep, by crushinator | Rating: T | Word Count: 82,335

Summary: Five years after the Hundred-Year War, Fire Lord Zuko is hit with an assassin's dart, and falls into a coma from which he cannot wake. A week passes, and his prognosis is grim. But Katara could swear she hears him in her dreams.

My thoughts: this fic, in many ways, is novel quality. The pacing? Immaculate. The action scenes? Exciting and interesting yet super easy to visualize. The characterization? On point. Katara is peak Miyazaki heroine in this, setting out on a quest to the Spirit World to save her boy (who’s not really her boy) from whichever Eldritch horror has him in its clutches. I love the little glimpses we have of the mutual pining between Katara and Zuko, and there are no words to describe how much I love the resolution of Katara and Aang’s relationship in this story. And oh boy, is the climax of the fic super romantic. This is just a really well written, emotionally compelling, tight fic. Deserves to be a fandom classic.

Southern Lights, by colourwhirled | Rating: M | Word Count: 769,274

Summary: A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin’s Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand One last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.

OR:

The avatar has four heads.

My thoughts: Is it a Bildungsroman? Is it a war story? Is it a politics story? Is it a love story? Is it a friendship story? Is it a story about colonial violence and well-meaning complicity and finding justice in a world where it simply doesn’t seem to exist? Yes to all of the above, because at 700k+ words YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL. You know how Virginia Woolf once said that Middlemarch is one of the few novels written for grownups? Well, Southern Lights feels adult, not because of violence or sex or general grimness (looking at you, HBO), but because it’s fundamentally about having the courage to make choices, live with the consequences, and make more choices, and repeat that over and over again. If Katara is a Miyazaki heroine in Half Asleep, she is full on Daenarys (pre-character assassination) in Southern Lights, a heroine who gets put through her paces yet retains her unwavering resilience to find her place in the world. Katara can be pretty frustrating in this and I know a lot of the commenters on this fic wanted to smack her up the head halfway through, but I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs and her decisions make sense to me even when I also want to smack her for them, and isn’t that a symptom of good writing? I count my lucky stars that I joined the ATLA fandom after this fic is finished (which was only last year!) because I got to binge it in a few days and I have not been the same person since. Deserves classic status.

Refraction, by caroe3725 | Rating: E | Word Count: 215,249

Summary: Making choices after the war was supposed to be the easy part. Her future decided and neatly packaged based on what everyone else wanted for her, what she should want, too. But Katara’s destiny had a funny way of being exactly what she wanted to run from. (As if anyone needed another Zutara post-finale slow burn after 15 years.)

My thoughts: YES WE DEFINITELY NEEDED ANOTHER POST-WAR ZK SLOWBURN OF SUCH IMMACULATE QUALITY. Both Katara and Zuko’s internal monologues are excellent in this, but I particularly love Zuko’s. The writer is so good at capturing his resolve, his earnestness, and his awkwardness. This is a very restrained fic — no great histrionics — but also incredibly romantic. The first kiss scene made me want to both sigh and screech. I’m also just a huge sucker for “Katara learns politics” which this fic has in spades, with a bonus of very thoughtful gender dynamics. Anyway, if you liked AJ Lenoire’s The Summit or andromeda13’s such selfish prayers, you’d probably like Refraction. Zuko and Katara are very much dumb teens in the beginning portions of this fic, which I personally like because it makes me nostalgic. Oh, and Katara is low key chaotic good in this, which is super in-character and hilarious.

Stormbenders, by Fandomme | Rating: T | Word Count: 171,000+

Summary: S3 AU from FBM. Deep in the Fire Nation jungle, the Gaang meets a group of rogue water ninja who send Zuko and Katara on a mission to retrieve Ozai's secret battle plans.

My thoughts: I’m aware that if you asked the average ZK shipper ten years ago what the ship classics are, the answers are probably Stormbenders, His Majesty Prefers Blue, and the Sparrowkeet series. The other classics are good (classics for a reason!), but Stormbenders remains my favourite. It’s funny. It’s exciting. It’s WELL PACED. The ZK relationship grows so organically, which is a huge feat considering this fic was started before we even got The Southern Raiders. The events are a little more adult than the show, but the tone remains very ATLA. There’s a lovely little animatic of the beginning of the scene on YouTube to show you exactly what I mean about the tone and the humour. I am always weak for a well-structured adventure romance, and Stormbenders stands the test of time because it’s just such a well-written fic.

The Undying Fire, by Boogum | Rating: T | Word Count: 534,665

Summary: "He has the eyes, Princess Ursa." They were half-forgotten words, a whisper of fears never explained. Zuko had dismissed it all as nothing to worry about—until he somehow healed the Avatar. Fire healers weren't meant to exist, except he did. He'd saved the kid's life. Naturally, he wanted answers. Too bad finding them wasn't so simple...

My thoughts: This fic is mostly Gen, and Zutara shows up in the latter half of the series. Despite being a ZK shipper I like plenty of Gen fics too, and The Undying Fire gives me the best of both worlds. I love the world building, the humour, and the slow ramp up of the Gaang friendships. I absolutely love how the canon divergence is so subtle at first and gradually unfurls into something super different, yet retains much of its ATLA charm. Boogum’s written some other bangers too, and I have to give honorable mention to Zuko’s Tiny Dilemma (where a spirit transforms ponytail Zuko into his six-year-old self, and Uncle into a teapot, and somehow it becomes an emotionally compelling 100k word saga) and Following Blue (season 2 canon divergent Bluetara with a bigger focus on romance).

Katara Alone & associated fics by cablesscutie | Rating: T | Word Count: 86,890

Summary: The war is over, and with it goes the only life she has ever known. In this era of love and peace, the world is becoming new, and Katara is unsure of her place in it. That's okay though. Katara has rebuilt her life from scratch before, and she will do it again.

My thoughts: I love post-war “Katara sets out to find herself and also finds Zuko” fics. Katara Alone is a fabulous coming-of-age story with some good old fashioned letter flirting during Katara’s solo travels. The sequel, Lady of the Tides, has some very thoughtful depictions of Katara’s place within the post-war Fire Nation, and the accompanying story from Zuko’s POV, The Fire Lord at Home, hits all my buttons. Like…Zuko is Fire Lord Good Boy! He passes legislation! There is political optimism! Swoon.

Another Word for Alchemy, by FanPanda 13 | Rating: T | Word Count: 108,000+

Summary: Five years have passed since the Avatar defeated Fire Lord Ozai, and the members of the Gaang have all gone in their own direction. But when Aang invites them all to a Peace Summit at the North Pole and tells them of his new project, for which he will need their support, the group comes together again for adventure, fun and romance. AU. Zutara. COMPLETE.

My thoughts: Now this is a fic that thoroughly crept up on me. The first 3/4 is good old fashioned fluffy, funny, fourth wall-breaking Gaang shenanigans with plenty of Zutara. But the last quarter? Oh boy does it come right at you and slam you in the solar plexus with the platonic love and found family feels and the complexities of those feelings when you’re a teenager. The impact of Aang’s loss of the Air Nomads is treated very thoughtfully here, way more so than in the show.

The Slow Path, by TazmainianDevil | Rating: T | Word Count: 125,723

Summary: Eight years after the fall of Ozai, Aang returns to the friends he left behind.

My thoughts: This is actually a Taang story with a great ZK subplot. But what I love about it is that the whole Gaang (including Suki ALWAYS INCLUDING SUKI) is superbly characterized. The ZK banter is top notch. I could actually hear their voices in my head in some of the scenes. Their relationship is playful but has plenty of emotional heft. And the plot is exciting and well-developed. My favourite thing, though, is how the author treats Toph’s POV: it’s very thoughtfully written, with consideration towards how she perceives the world.

Simple Misunderstanding, by ShamelessLiar | Rating: T | Word Count: 80,965

Summary: Katara was captured by Zuko, but there was a lapse in communication. Takes place after The Fortuneteller. Fierce Katara, honorable Zuko, and meddlesome Iroh. Also, music night

My thoughts: Generally I don’t love fics where Katara gets captured, especially by Zuko (just a personal preference, not here to judge). But! I love this one, because…well, the circumstances of Katara’s capture by Ponytail Zuko are simply hilarious. Katara is suspicious and stubborn; Zuko has a one-track mind and doesn’t understand why Iroh is treating his prisoner so nicely; oh, and Aang gets into an amazing side quest with some spiritual animals. The only thing about this story is that it ends a little abruptly since the author was considering a sequel, but it still reads as a standalone fic. The author also wrote His Majesty Prefers Blue and Call Me Katto, two ZK classics, but Simple Misunderstanding is far and away my favourite work.

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow, by sadladybug | Rating: T | Word Count: 62,026

Summary: It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

Review: sadladybug lives up to the username by creating a sadness so contagious that I have yet to recover from it, and I cope by recommending this fic to other Zutara shippers so that more may suffer like I did. (Stop the cycle? No.) Look — I think there’s something extremely beautiful and poetic about a love that changes in nature and form and expression, but not in intensity and devotion, and that’s what this fic is about. Loved it. Never reading it again.

One shots:

There’s a category of canon-compliant Zutara one-shots that are all extremely painful, and I cannot get enough of them: in the next life by we-were-angels, taking place right before Katara’s wedding to Aang; water can heal, water can break by crazyache, about why Katara didn’t attend Yakone’s trial.

To combat the above, here’s a few funny, fluffy ones that make me cackle: i am older now by ama (who wrote the banger that is The Blackfish and the Dragon), an old!ZK fic that I read to counteract the emotional damage inflicted by psychedelic_aya’s we hold our hearts in silence; all good things start with tea by yodalorian, where Zuko’s hapless Disney sidekick-esque advisors try to get him a wife; And Half at One Another’s Throats by songofhopeandhonor (whose account is deleted), about Zuko’s harebrained proposals to Katara; The Dragon of the West’s Guide to Flirting by bluesunflower44, which is exactly what it says on the tin and the awkward disaster you’d expect. Waiting on a Steady Sun, by nire, is a long version of my favourite tropes: fake marriage + idiots to lovers ft. pining for your spouse.

I generally don’t love modern AUs, but akaiiko’s talk is cheap (and i’ve got expensive taste), where Katara meets Zuko at a frat party, is a whole damn delight; my old aches become new again by jamesstruttingpotter is a wonderfully indulgent modern AU based on Our Beloved Summer.

And finally, some season 3 character studies: don’t tell me how to feel by paintingcranes, ft Katara at the Western Air Temple being increasingly incensed at both Zuko trying to be helpful and how other people react to his helpfulness; the other side of mercy by crazyache, where Sokka calls Katara “high-strung and crazy” and that really makes Zuko think; The Silent Garden by romilley (whose WIP The Horizon is also fabulous), where Katara and Zuko avoid their feelings through a reluctant-allies-with-benefits arrangement (ft a way of depicting intimacy and sex that makes me think of Normal People); a deep delight of the blood by eruthros, where Zuko asks Katara to practice bloodbending on him out of pragmatism but also a little bit of guilt (it’s unrated, but that “Kink Without Sex” tag is there for a reason).

Thank you for asking me for my recs, anon, because I needed an outlet to rave about fanfiction and my irl friends have heard enough. Feel free to ask me questions about specific fics that aren’t on this list: I always love talking to people about fic and I’m always looking for new ones to read!

#Zutara Fic Recs #This post is brought to you by my autism #Which demanded that I swap out my last special interest for ZK fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #Zutara fanfic #Zutara #can i ask you a question?

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dreaming-of-hope · 11 months

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They are parents now. They adopted that child even before bode was out of the picture.

I know many people are hoping they have a bio child in the next game, but I honestly think they just keep adopting children as they go.

So much of the spirit of the Jedi series is breaking free from the idea of bloodlines (against the main continuity of the movies) and I feel they should keep it that way.

The found family trope is strong with this one.

That said, I do fear the worse for Cal in the next game, his connection to the darkside could potentially make him the perfect grey jedi, but if he keeps getting worse those visions he saw on Fallen Order could become a reality or worse he could have an heroic death, if he stays in the light OR a redemption death, if he keeps using the darkside, to save his family and his legacy, in a way that mirrors his own masters sacrifices (but this is probably just me after being exposed to too many "doomed by the narrative" types of media).

Also... in a less dark thought, I just realized I subconsciously made Merrin and Cal match clothes! I love them so much <3

#jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #cal kestis #nightsister merrin #merrin #merrical #merrin x cal #kata akuna #also the dark/light side could be a system implemented like in mass effect or red dead redemption #where it changes some things gameplay wise but not history wise if they have trouble with disney #... i just noticed those are two games where the protagonists die but oh well #i do love angst

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nickybloodhead · 1 year

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In my head Thorin's company looks something like...

Balin: *all these dwarves are grown up but it looks like I deal with a kindergarten*

Dwalin: *Fucking hippies*

Ori: *you see me as the quietest but I could kill you*

Nori: *mission impossible song in the background*

Dori: *along with Balin, seem to be the only adults in the company*

Bofur: *a single brain cell and it's just full of bad jokes*

Bifur: *curse everyone in khuzdul*

Bombur: *daydreaming is his state of mind*

Óin: *first-rate healer, but enjoys torturing his patients a bit*

Glóin: *constantly thinking of the most elaborate compliments for his beloved wife and little Gimli*

Fíli and Kíli: *they play the fool but in reality they are the most diabolical of minds*

Bilbo: *seems to be done with the dwarves but they are his found family...and he thinks no one can see how in love he is with the King under the mountain*

Thorin: *I want to look heroic and strong but I really need a hug... especially from the halfling*

#bilbo baggins #the hobbit #bagginshield #lotr #thorin oakenshield #there and back again #balin #dwalin #orí #Nori #Dori #the hobbit bofur #bifur #bombur #fili and kili #Oin #gloin #thorins company

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spookykoolkat · 8 months

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the red j.m. | chapter one

CHAPTER ONE: STIFF AND COLD

series masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter

pairings: older!joel miller x younger!plus sized!reader

chapter summary: the life you lived was not the one you wanted, and unfortunately on your journey to absolutely nowhere, you were heroically saved by two men who were far from heroes.

warnings: su*cidal tendencies, thoughts, and actions (attempted su*cide), poor mental health, swearing, mentions of brief violence, MDNI!

wc: 5K

na: omg omg omg omg i'm so excited to share this with everyone. i've been working on this series for about two weeks now, and i'm trying to make sure everything is perfect before i post. thank you guys for ALLLLL the love and support i've gotten it makes me feel so warm inside :P please do nottt be shy! i love feeback, i love the comments and the asks, i'm friendly!!! AND thank you for 100 followers omg my gift to U! please like and reblog and leave your thoughts and comments i love all of it!!! i hope this is good!

YOU

november 15th, 2024

this was fucking impossible. 20 years later. and still, fighting to survive. fighting your way to survive by yourself, losing the people you stuck by, fighting to save people just for them to be taken by the world you lived in. you were pissed, to say the least. and as you trudge through city after city, sleeping and camping in the woods, killing those who were alive and those who weren’t people anymore, you truly wished you were dead. you practically were, it was going to find you sooner or later. death.

but you accepted it. you knew that this long trail of steps you've taken from texas to where ever you are now, was going to come to an end. but it wasn't ending without a never ending fight you put up for yourself. as long as you were here, you refused to accept defeat and lay down to die.

with all of the silence you had to yourself, you found yourself thinking a lot. you remembered the first day it started, down to the minute, down to what you were wearing. you were only five, five years old when everything came crashing down, literally. you promised yourself that the fear you felt growing up as a child and having to watch everyone you’ve ever loved be ripped from you, picking up a gun to shoot your first clicker, and picking it up again to kill those who tried to kill you—you wouldn’t experience again.

so, you avoided civilization. or what FEDRA called civilization. it was bullshit to you. it felt like an excuse for not having anything locked and loaded in a situation like this, and it felt the same as your last government. it was suppression, control, lack of free will. they wanted assimilation and compliance in return for what seemed like a dictatorship ran by none other, those in power. those who were left at least. you'd been trapped inside of a QZ not too far from texas, one with harsh summers and hot winters. you felt like you were in actual hell.

you avoided people, their pleas for help as you traveled by yourself or in groups that never lasted long. the only person that mattered in this world was you, and there was no grace from god that you would find any other family, any other friends—because you had none. you didn't make any, and you were better off for it.

you couldn’t deny that you had days where you wanted to let it go. let all of the survival tactics, the lessons you’ve learned from people you traveled with—let yourself be consumed by the evil of the world.

you also didn’t understand why people, and yourself, fought so hard to live in a world that was worse than the one before. why people fought so hard to live in a world where now, people just take. it was an endless cycle of blood and violence, the only way of survival is by taking. never giving, because when you give, you’re dead.

but you realized if you didn't fight, if you didn't resort to a bullet to the head, you would die just like the ones around you. you tried to be better than the people that were left. by better you meant not resorting to killing innocent people to survive, but you failed. and so did the rest of the world.

you really didn't know who was innocent and who was guilty. it wasn't black and white. everyone did what they needed to do to survive, and if it meant being the guilty one, then you were okay with that. some people were in the wrong place at the wrong time, fighting for the wrong side, invested in a belief that the world will be good if we are divided.

you refused to take the accountability of taking someone's life. it wasn't your fault. this wasn't what you were made to be doing. you told yourself, but the blood on your hands said otherwise. it was this fucked up cycle that you grew apart of, because if you didn't assimilate you would die. so it got easier to take the lives of people, it was for your own safety.

as you carefully stepped in the snow, nothing but rocks, trees and snow surrounding you, you thought about how this was almost comical to you. how many movies about zombie apocalypses, night of the living dead, were out and you still felt it was impossible. there was no way that the world could turn into ruins within 24 hours, no way that your friends and family turned into vessels, having to die at your hand. this was simply too hard to wrap your head around, even being almost 26 years old now. you truly didn’t know how you made it this long, how you were able to keep up and fight despite everything–even down to the way you were shaped.

you were five when it happened, not knowing what the concept of anything really was. and as you got older— you did what you could to make surviving the easiest for you, rummaging through empty yet not so empty malls to find a decent sports bra, taking feminine hygiene needs and making sure your clothes fit loose/tight enough for your benefit. you learned as you lived, and you didn’t have much around you to learn from. you imagined being a woman in the real world was less difficult than this, but realized that life as a woman has never been easy. just made it more real in the apocalypse.

the violence, the danger, the belief towards women just got worse. you were at risk just existing, and the infected that walked amongst you weren't the only danger of humanity. you knew that you'd die by the hands of your fellow person, a clicker, or hunger. it was only a matter of time.

it wasn’t until you heard the sounds of the devilish creatures screech in a distance that you shook back to your reality. it was way too dark, snow falling too fast to see clearly, only using your ability of sight and precision to protect yourself. your gun felt light in your hand as you squeezed, finger lightly over the trigger as you reminded yourself of quietness. you knew you should’ve stayed back, waited until the sun was out to at least search for safety. but you knew you wouldn’t make it, the stab wound was lodged deep in your abdomen. you held the wound tight hoping to stop the bleeding, bit it was too much, too deep.

you realized the time you took to reflect back on your life and stolen childhood, it was your life flashing before your eyes.

you truly didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know how you got there, and you knew this might be your last night. here you were in the midst of snow and darkness, and you felt yourself losing hope. what were you fighting for exactly? you were tired. you fled from your safe space miles back, and you fled from the place before that, and before that. all you knew was that your stomach was crying to be fed and fixed up, your throat was dry with nothing but a lick of spit, and while you made your way closer towards the sound of a river you noticed that the sound of clickers sounded more distant.

there was no pain in your stomach anymore, it was a throbbing dullness now and you felt the tips of your fingers tingling, becoming frozen around your gun. you weren’t sure if it was because your ears began to ring and your vision started blacking out on the edges, but you felt sick.

before you could even register that you were going down, you fell into the hard snow and accepted the fact that this was it. and it was okay. you sunk into the darkness, feeling warm all around now, and allowed it.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

tommy and joel were on their patrol route around the commune when they heard the sound of screeching, possibly heading the other way. it was late when maria told tommy there was a wire tripped right outside of the commune, needing him and joel to take a patrol shift at eleven at night instead of the two rookies that were on it.

“they ain’t gonna come over here,” tommy reassured, mostly for himself after hearing the screeches of distant infected.

“right,” joel sarcastically agreed, keeping his rifle aimed and ready for anything and anyone to jump out at him or tommy. joel kept following the trail he remembered following himself, wanting to make sure there wasn’t anything going on without his knowledge of it.

joel was tired, to be frank. but the minute he heard there was a threat around the area, he didn't waste time to gear up and tell ellie to stay inside while he's gone. now, he and tommy were searching for something, anything that could be the cause of maria's concern.

they walked around a little more, searching the ground area and looking within the trees, finding nothing but a few deer and elk.

“joel!” tommy yelled out.

joel stopped in his tracks, tightening the grip on his rifle and immediately following his brother’s panicked voice.

“joel! c’mere man, holy fuck,” tommy shouted, sending joels heart racing and making him speed up, passing by trees and large rocks to get to him.

“where are ya?” he shouted panicked, and as tommy said ‘over here,’ joel followed his voice, the only thing he could hear being the crunch of the snow. finally, he made it towards the river where tommy was kneeling down before something, something that looked like a body.

“look man, we gotta take her back,” tommy said, checking her pulse and setting his gun down. joel just shook his head, looking at the small pool of blood that trailed from the woman's abdomen in the snow.

“she’s dead. if she’s been out here for however long, she’s gone. ain’t worth it.” he gruffly said, pointing his rifle at the body instead.

“joel her heart is beatin’, i can feel her pulse. we gotta take her,” tommy said and joel felt himself grow angry.

“it ain’t worth it.” he said once again and tommy shook his head, moving to flip your body over to see your face.

tommy swiftly moved your backpack and gun out of the way, and saw how blue your face was. your lips were practically purple, and your body was freezing cold, stiff. both the men's eyes trailed to the blood soaked white shirt that clung to your body, the injury deep and wide. but tommy saw the shallow breaths, he saw your chest stutter as it tried to rise and fall.

“she’s just a kid, joel,” he said.

he was right. joel was fifty seven, and tommy was nearing his late forties and he could tell you weren’t older than thirty. why should it matter? he wanted to say, but he knew. his own lack of trust makes him take a bit to decide. what if it’s a trap? what if she got bit? then she wouldn’t be cold and frozen, idiot. what if this is just a distraction? from what! joel’s inner thoughts fighting with each other, fighting with his gut and finally closed his eyes hard before opening them back up.

“fuck,” he sighed and moved his rifle to sit on his shoulder, going to tommy and deciding to just pick your body up and carry you bridal style.

tommy saw joel was angry, already knowing the thoughts in his mind saying she wasn't worth it, the girl's practically dead.

“go,” joel demanded and began to follow him as tommy protected the both of you. he didn’t know if this was a good idea. if taking you in and disrupting the course of nature was the best idea. just another mouth to feed. he thought to himself. if you even survived this. he knew he was cold hearted, he knew he wasn’t close to being a good person.

joel couldn’t help it. he was selfish, he was hard headed, and he was cold. children, women, animals, it got to a point where it was all the same to him. if you were gone, you were gone. he’d killed so many clickers who posed themselves as children, so many women who weren’t women anymore, families even. he was desensitized in the worst way and even though it benefited him and helped keep him alive for twenty years, it was his biggest downfall.

a little bit of him wished he was softer. more inviting, more trusting but in what fucking world? this was always a world of hate, he thought. a world of pain and despair, and it was only a matter of time before it turned into some sort of hell.

and as he carried you in your arms, limp and blue, he wondered if you were even going to make it. what was the point of trudging through all of this snow for a dead body? he didn’t have much hope for anything else, for anything but his and ellie’s survival. and as you soaked his shirt with blood, he highly doubted there was a chance you'd live. maybe it was for the best.

joel was just so angry. this was not what he wanted to find. he did not want to be responsible for another person, one who seemed like she didn't even put up a fight. had she walked thirty more feet she would've made it. he thought.

the thing about joel is that the things that softened everyone else up, just made him irritated. even the fact that ellie opened him up as much as she did, he even wanted to resent her for it. but he couldn’t, because to him he could never blame ellie for anything. she was just a kid. but she gave him something to fight for, gave him hope again in a world where hope was seen as childish, naive. he couldn’t resent her for that.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

was this life after death? you knew your eyes were closed, but you didn’t know how you were still conscious. until you heard the sounds of beeping and heart monitors, you believed you had found purgatory. you wanted to smile, and it creeped on your lips until you heard the noises of what sounded like people shuffling around and immediately you shot up with your eyes wide.

you were running on pure adrenaline. where am i? what the fuck? where is my gun? who the fuck are these people?

you looked around the room to see a woman, a man and another child in the beds, the woman was pregnant, the child was coughing into their arm. but it wasn’t until you looked right next to you to see a man with a mustache and a woman with locs standing closer to your hospital bed.

“where the fuck is my shit?” you asked harshly, pulling the IV out of your arm and detaching any other wires on your body.

“no, no honey don’t do that,” the woman said as she tried to step closer to you, and as you were going to defend yourself from her touch, you looked down and saw the swollen belly in all her vulnerability. so all you did was scoot further back into your bed, not wanting to get violent. that's a first.

“where is my gun?” you asked, looking around at the makeshift infirmary that was stocked with everything you could possibly need.

“we have it. just for right now, you can have everything back just, who are you? was there anyone else with you? do you work for anyone?” the man said swiftly.

you just laughed breathlessly, looking down at the fact that you were naked in a hospital gown but feeling the sharp pain of the wound you remembered, now wrapped with gauze around your abdomen.

“i don’t have to tell you a fuckin’ thing,” you said shaking your head.

“just let me go. i wanna go.” you couldn’t help but feel scared. the same fear that rattled you as a kid. you couldn't even meet their eyes. you forgot how to talk to people really.

“look, we can help you. i’m tommy, this is my wife maria. she managed and built a space for us to live with the help of her community, our community, without the threat of those ugly fuckin’ things. you’re here in jackson, wyoming. it’s a safe community.” he said and you looked between the two. wyoming?

“we don’t take kindly to strangers, dear. and you happened upon an area that was real close to our commune, tommy and his brother found you, almost dead, bleeding to death.” maria said as she sat down on the other side of the bed, you just watched her.

“why didn’t you just leave me?” you asked, weakly. you felt so powerless. so bare. no gun, no knife, no protection.

“i told ya,” a gruff voice said, making your eyes search the room to see a broad dark figure walking to the edge of your bed. your eyebrows knit together at him and looked away quickly.

“what were you doin’ out there anyway?” tommy asked and you shook your head, looking down at your hands.

“how long have i been here?” you ignored his question and tommy looked between maria and the man at the foot of your bed, who watched you closely.

“a week.” you whipped your head to maria, asking with your eyes if she was serious.

“you were taking your last breaths when they found you. you were so frozen, so stiff we didn’t really think you’d make it past that night. but, we managed to warm you up and put a feeding tube through your nose, stitch you up, hoping for the best. we weren’t sure you’d wake up.” maria informed and you ran your fingers through your hair, suddenly tired.

“i need to go.” you whispered.

“go where? is there someone you’re meetin’ or waitin’ on?” tommy asked. joel was silent, watching the exchange between everyone. but his eyes never leaving your figure. he looked at you like he didn't trust you, th same way you looked at all three of them.

“are you just gonna stare at me like a fuckin’ asshole or what?” you spit, looking at the man who was staring at you and glaring at him. he was making you so angry for some odd reason, not understanding why he’s just staring and not talking.

“no. i’m not meeting no one. i don’t work for anyone. i don’t even remember where i was last before coming up here. i knew i wasn’t gonna make it.” you confessed and the three of them looked between each other.

“you were alone?” maria asked, getting closer. you were so tired, so drained all of the sudden.

“been that way since 2012.” you said.

“how old are you?” joel asked finally, his arms crossed against his chest.

“i’m twenty five.” you said reluctantly and tommy shook his head, looking at maria. tommy was right. you were just a kid.

“how long before i can leave?” you asked.

“i want you to stay,” she said and joel looked at her sideways. this wasn’t like maria, or tommy actually. joel wondered if this was putting everything at risk, if taking you in like a lost kitten was going to jeopardize everything.

“you don’t trust us. that’s fine. you don’t want to stay? that’s fine. but letting you go back out there right now is suicide, and you know it. stay for a few weeks, or even a week. everyone deserves a home and a community, especially now. let me help you.” maria pleaded.

she didn’t know exactly why she felt so strongly about you, why she was okay with letting everyone else be denied and dumped from this place. even killed if they didn't leave fast enough. maybe it was her pregnancy, but she felt enough compassion to compensate for all three of you.

she sensed a sadness in you. everyone carried themselves in sadness, regret, guilt. but maria had never seen it so darkly, and she’s been around joel. she knew you could protect yourself out there, that’s not why it was suicide to go back in the open. it was suicide because she knew that’s what you wanted. she knew because she’s been there before.

“why? what for? i’m just another mouth to feed, another person to take care of. it’s better if i’m on my own.” joel wanted to laugh honestly. he said the exact same thing, and honestly felt the exact same way. he understood where you were coming from, he saw the pain in your face, the eagerness to stand alone even if it killed you.

“the more the merrier.”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

you finally got your things back, but not how you remembered and when joel threw the backpack on your hospital bed, you glared at him.

“where’s my walkman?” you asked and he raised his eyebrow.

“your walkman? it’s 2024,” joel said as a joke and you glared at him, fisting the fabric of your backpack.

“where is it?” you asked again and he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.

“it was broken, guess you landed on it or somethin’. maria took it down to get it fixed.” you looked down at your bag again and noticed your knife, ammo, and a smaller gun was still in there as well as cassettes that belonged to your mother, empty water bottles, tampons, and matches. you decided to get off the bed, leaving your backpack there and searching the room that was lined with hospital beds.

“where are my clothes?” you asked him and he nodded to the shelf above the bed, and you sighed.

without missing a beat you swiftly got on the bed and stood up to grab the clothes, not the ones you came in but new ones, duller ones. it was a faded red t-shirt with some university logo, a black sports bra, black underwear and dark brown cargo jeans that were big enough to fit you.

“can you close the curtain?” you asked, and he stepped back before closing it and letting you be in your own privacy to change. but you saw his shadow under the curtain, still standing there.

“you don’t have to babysit me. i’m not gonna kill anyone.” you said as you removed the gown and slid on the undergarments quickly.

“you think i want to? got a lot of other things to do, maria put you on suicide watch.” he said from behind the curtain, facing all the other beds and the exit. you scoffed and slid the shirt over your body, a little snug but good enough for you.

you pulled the curtains away from you, grabbing your backpack and heading to the door that kept you.

“where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked as he followed you, grabbing your wrist.

“don’t fucking touch me, are you crazy?!” you asked and took the gun from your waistband, pointing it at him after cocking the hammer.

“get your gun out of my face,” he seethed, letting your wrist go and staring at you with his hands at his side.

“just let me go, don’t say nothin’ to them, let me be on my way. it’s what i want, and i know it’s what you want too.” you said and slowly backed away from him, watching him as carefully as he watched you.

“i can’t let you do that,” he said.

you felt hopeless. like you were stuck there and even as you tried to back into the door, it wouldn’t budge.

“fuck!” you screamed and used the back of your hand that was gripping the gun to wipe the sweat from your forehead.

“don’t do anythin’ stupid, just wait for maria. don’t do nothin’,” he warned and you shook your head.

“or what?! you’ll kill me? here,” you said and cocked your gun again after letting the hammer go back into place, raising it to your temple. “i’ll fuckin’ do it for you. i’m dead anyways! i can’t leave, you’re keepin’ me here, what’s the fucking point!”

for the first time in a while, joel felt his heart beat pick up in anxiety. he was nervous, a feeling he'd only had a few times in his life. not only because you were threatening to scatter your brains everywhere, but because you were doing it in front of three other patients, one pregnant, one child and one in a coma. not only will you traumatize him, but everyone around you and he can’t let you do that.

but a part of him feels for you. because he knows what that feeling was like. to put a gun to your own head and pull the trigger, only it didn’t seem like you’d flinch like he did when you pulled the trigger. you weren’t scared to die, he felt it. you pull the trigger and you’re dead.

joel had his hands up to you, suddenly wanting to take some of that anger and pain from you. you were nine to ten years old when you were forced to be a killer, and he knew it took so much away from you. you were desperate, you were tired, and he understood, for once in his life the sincerity and empathy was present. It was a weird feeling for him, to not want you here but to also want to make sure you’re safe from yourself.

he felt responsible now.

“give me the gun,” he said, stepping closer and closer to you as your finger danced on the trigger. you didn’t acknowledge the crying child, or the expecting mother clutching on to her belly. your eyes were on joels, turning from hard and angry to soft, worried, almost afraid.

“i want to go,” you choked, tears streaming down your face as you pressed into the unwilling door.

“go where? there is no where to go. i reckon your family is gone? hometown gone?” he said, his hands in surrender.

“i shouldn’t be here.” he knew you weren’t talking about jackson. his heart twinged at it, it reminded him too much of when he and ellie witnessed the same thing a year back. he couldn't let it this happen again under his watch.

he saw your hand fall a bit weak, the barrel of the gun sliding on your temple. watching your every movement he stepped closer, and closer—until he was somewhat right in front of you. he figured if you wanted to kill yourself, you wouldn't have thought twice about pulling the trigger, you were unsure, he could tell. he took the opportunity to get as close as you allowed.

“you ain’t gotta trust us. trust is earned. but i can promise you that these folks won’t let anythin’ happen to ya,” he said, “i know what it’s like, i was you. couldn’t trust not a damn person, killed anyone i had to. i’ve lost too. but i found somethin’ worth fightin’ for.”

you just listened. you wanted to fight him on it, you wanted to ignore everything he said and just pull the trigger. you felt it was destined, you couldn’t fight anymore, you didn’t want to. you kept the gun at your temple, and in the silence between the two of you, you hear an immediate worried and frantic ‘what are you doing’ from maria and tommy behind him. you couldn't take your eyes off of joel.

the grip on your gun just gets tighter, and joel notices. he shakes his head fast.

“stop! stay right there.” he said and held up a hand to them, still having his eyes on you.

“i’m tired of fightin’,” he heard your slight texan accent, coming out more in the light of your crying.

maybe it was ellie, maybe it was him still mourning sarah, and all the women he failed. but he felt something in his throat tighten, watching you so vulnerable like this and he doesn’t even know you. he didn’t know why this was so different for him. he’s seen people do this, seen people want to fall off the edge. and for some reason, he can’t fail you. he can’t let you take your life.

“if you stay here, you ain’t gotta fight by yourself no more. you ain’t alone out here,” joel said and reached slow to your hand.

“let me help you, please,” you heard the honesty in his voice, how he was practicing pleading for you to put it down.

your eyes kept searching his as you took your lip between your teeth, streams pouring down your face. you let him grab the gun, click the safety on and put it in his waistband. and as you stood there, silently crying and staring into his eyes asking for help, asking for comfort—he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t simply wrap his arms around you to let you fall apart for a minute, he wouldn’t let himself.

he was like stone, and even though he talked you off a ledge, his heart wouldn't open the way you needed right now. he was going to tell you to leave, to take it somewhere else because now you couldn't be trusted alone. he was angry now. the fact that you did that in front of not only him but a child, he thought you were selfish. but he couldn't blame you.

he knew something was off with you. he saw how this world chewed people up and spit them out, sometimes swallowing them whole. he knew what it did to people, turning them into monsters themselves or people too weak to fight. to him, you weren't the monster.

he was.

maria ran past joel even being five months pregnant, and took you in her arms once she got to you. but your eyes could never leave joels, you were stuck. you were out of it, out of your mind, almost out of your body. you didn’t want this life, and you didn’t want to be around strangers. for once, in a long fucking time, you were scared.

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