#like why is his trauma digging up all of mine?

[thiamblogger]

thanks to @thiamsxbitch i am deeper indulged in my heartbreak of the character that is theodore raeken

we see theo standing at tara's bridge and with him, he has white lilies, which symbolise purity, innocence, rebirth AND the virgin mary herself.

BUT theo is an atheist, so he doesn't believe in the virgin mary.

the purity and innocence clearly represents both him and tara. it represents how young they both were, the purity of theo's actions and the innocence of being a child. theo's actions might not have been seen as pure to someone such as stiles, but to theo, a 9 year old, death isn't relative. not to mention he probably thought that once he got her heart that the dread doctors would clean their hands with him, not drag him down into this hole of evil.

the bridge is the rebirthing.

theo being back there at that very same bridge where his sister died, and him taking that moment to add those flowers was him taking something so horrific and turning it into something so beautiful. not only was he giving tara's name a new meaning, but he was also a different person and by doing this he was rebirthing who they once were.

theo not being religious makes a lot of sense.

after all why would he?

people often tend to say phrases such as "this is all part of god's plan", "god only gives you things you can handle", or "god doesn't make mistakes", but when your whole life has been nothing except you trying to survive you start to believe others, that god doesn't love you or that nobody is watching over you.

what child could handle so much trauma and still believe that someone is watching over them, looking out for them, wanting what's best for them?

#i can't with these analysis' anymore #like why is his trauma digging up all of mine? #i always get super carried away too #whoops 🤭 #theo raeken #tara raeken #dread doctors #teen wolf

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 5 Nevermore

Chp. 5 Summary: It's hard to understand why everything feels so right. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, heavy kissing, unprotected piv sex, semi-rough sex, creampie, praise kink, (kinda) size kink, aftercare, fluff and a LOT of angst, light banter, lots of emotions, mentions of past trauma, brief flashback of trauma, another cliffhanger (sorry) A/N: Well, if you're here, I hope you're prepared for what's coming. A HUGE shoutout to @loonmartell for helping co-conspire the trajectory of this story. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it as always <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in—

“Miss Smith?” 

Your head jerked up at the sound, and the pencil you were drawing circles with fell against your desk. Bradley, one of your students, was standing at the edge of your desk with his test in hand.

“Sorry about that, sweetie,” you smiled, extending a hand. “Thank you.”

Bradley eyed you curiously before turning and skipping back to his desk. You dragged a hand over your face, wanting to crawl into the furthest corner of the world and never be seen again. Beth’s words had been plaguing you for days since you called her. Over and over again, they annihilated your thoughts, a constant broken record that you couldn’t shut off. You still had your nightly calls with Joel, talking past midnight and falling asleep together, but you kept making excuses not to see him. 

“I’ve got lesson plans to make,” you lied.

“I’ll help,” Joel had offered.

“You’re a distraction.”

“I ain’t that bad,” he huffed.

The next night, you lied and said you were going out with Maria, which was an even worse lie since you were avoiding her at all costs. Telling Beth the news was one thing, but telling Maria was another matter. She was nosey and a bit too loud-mouthed to trust. The last thing you wanted was for the entire faculty to know your dirty secrets. Joel had to remain a secret—at least for now.

It’s not like you wanted to avoid Joel; you were just scared. You were not ready for this new territory, and if Beth was anywhere near correct in her assumptions, it only made you want to shy away more. The only problem was parent-teacher conferences this week, meaning you’d have to see Joel and Sarah…together.

The class bell rang, and your free period between classes began. You dropped your head on the desk and took a few deep breaths, trying to wrangle some semblance of calm back into your body. The final class of the day would be Sarah’s, and you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to see her. The blaring reminder that her dad had fucked you sore over the weekend still hung over your head, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for it. How was your fall break, Sarah? Oh yeah, mine was great. Your dad fucked me so hard I ended up having a complete breakdown. 

Fuck. 

You wanted the day to be over. 

The free period went by much faster than you wanted, and as you watched the next slew of kids take their seats, you made a conscious effort not to stare at Sarah as she walked in. She wore her usual smile, the impression of her dimples digging into her cheeks. Some wild thought popped into your head that you had no time to recover from: if you and Joel went any further, God help you, you’d be Sarah’s step-mom one day. Your stomach rolled with nausea as you tried to will those thoughts away. Joel wouldn’t stick around that long; you were a lost cause. There was no chance that would happen. Right? 

Clearing your throat, you rose from your desk and made your way over to the projector to set up the lesson for the day. Since the school year was nearing Halloween, you decided it would be fun to teach Edgar Allen Poe, completely forgetting you had chosen “The Raven”—which was about losing someone. This would have a bite to it that you weren’t ready for.

“Okay, everyone,” you announced. “Did we all finish the reading assignment this week?”

There were a few nods and murmurs of agreement, and you quickly shifted to the first few slides of your presentation. 

“Alright, so who can tell me the overall theme for Poe’s ‘The Raven’?”

Georgia, one of your top students, shot her hand up without a beat.

“Yes, Georgia?”

“It’s about his grief for losing Lenore,” she answered.

“Good,” you smiled. “Can anyone tell me what other theme the poem contains?”

“Madness!” Another student chimed in, causing an uproar of laughter amongst the students.

“Okay, okay, settle down. Very good, you guys.”

You switched to the next slide, staring blankly at the words typed out. Lenore is gone forever. Something struck you as you silently read it, realizing you weren’t too far off from Poe in his grief. Although Bennett wasn’t dead, he wasn’t coming back. That fact hadn’t hurt as deeply throughout the last few weeks, especially with Joel around, but it still threw salt in the open wounds still scattered over your heart. 

“In stanza two,” you cleared your throat. “In stanza two, Poe refers to Lenore as ‘nameless,’ which can imply that she has died, and he’s now consumed with grief. Where else did you guys find his grief prominent?”

Georgia quickly raised her hand again, and you motioned for her to speak. 

“In stanza four, he talks about his dreams, which I think he means he’s dreaming of her to return to him. But if she’s dead, there’s no way she’s going to come back,” Georgia said.

Fuck. You felt the sting of tears rim your eyes and briefly paused to gather your bearings. Bennett left. He left, and you had spent years dreaming he would return. 

“Good,” you choked out.

You glanced around the room, your eyes connecting with Sarah’s. It took all your strength not to break down and cry as she studied you with the same concerned furrow in her brows as her dad would do. 

Clicking to the next slide, you exhaled, focusing on the following theme to discuss. Madness. 

“Now, with the theme of madness, where do we see this begin? Obviously, the dreams can be interpreted as his descent into madness, but what else do we find?” You asked. 

To your detriment, Sarah was the one to raise her hand.

“Sarah,” you sighed, nodding.

“It’s the raven,” she said plainly. “The raven is what drives him mad.”

“What does he do to drive Poe mad?” You questioned.

“The raven only says one word,” she explained. “And that word drives him mad until the end of the poem.

“And why does it drive him mad?”

Sarah shifted in her seat, looking around at her classmates before responding.

“Because it’s the answer Poe doesn’t want to hear. Poe doesn’t want to be reminded that Lenore is dead, but that’s the only response the raven will give.”

You were swaying in place, trying to hold yourself together as the memories started ricocheting back into your mind. Now wasn’t the time to collapse, not in front of twenty students staring at you, confused and concerned. You only responded with a nod and flipped the projector off.

“Good job, you guys. Now, does anyone have any questions on this unit? Any questions about the stanza format or the themes?”

Sarah raised her hand again.

“Did his madness kill him?” She asked.

“Who?”

“Poe.”

“Oh, um, no. Well, it’s a mystery, really. Some people say he died of delirium, so, I guess, madness. But other people speculate he drank himself to death.”

The class grew morbidly quiet, which made it harder for you to continue. No one else spoke up after Sarah, so you resorted to handing out the quiz and sinking back into your desk chair.

One by one, the students came up to turn in their quiz, and you averted your gaze each time with a nonchalant ‘thank you.’ When the final bell finally sounded through the room, you hardly had the energy to wave goodbye. 

Sarah was the last to leave, and that same concerned look lingered on her face as she shuffled out. 

That night, you didn’t pick up the phone when Joel called. You stared as it rang repeatedly, watching the light fade from the screen when the ringing stopped. You buried your head under the covers and tried to sleep, but then the nightmares started.

You woke up to your alarm, hyperventilating and drenched in sweat. Squinting at the morning sun streaming through the blinds, you grabbed your phone to check the time. Your fingers froze as you read the screen.

Seven missed calls from Joel

Two voicemails from Joel

With shaky fingers, you pressed play on the first voicemail.

“Hey baby, it’s me. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’m hopin’ you’re just asleep, but if you’re up, please call me.”

Then you played the next.

“Baby, it’s me again. I miss you, and I’m worried ‘bout you. Please don’t shut me out, okay? I just wanna hear your voice and hear ‘bout your day. If you don’t wanna talk, that's okay. I understand. Just please lemme know you’re alright. I’ll drive my ass out to you if I need to just to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you get this. G’night, baby.”

You dug your knuckles into your eyes to try and force the tears back. Last night, you had the worst of the nightmares: the memory of something you tried to forget. You hadn’t touched that memory in so long. It was just the brutal realization you were truly at fault for everything with Bennett. No matter how badly you wanted to blame him, it was always your fault. 

Glancing back at your phone, you rechecked the time: 7:35. Fuck, you were running late, and you really didn’t want to call Joel back right now. At least not right now. You’d muster the energy and strength to do it later, but you needed to gather yourself and get ready for work right now. Tossing off the sweat-slick sheets, you rushed into the bathroom and quickly showered. You couldn’t bother to put makeup on, so you opted to go without it and found a simple dress to wear. It was still in the high eighties in Austin, and a dress was the easiest option for the day. 

Scrambling for your purse and keys, you ran to the garage to start your car and head to the school. 

It wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot that you realized you left your phone on the nightstand. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” Maria questioned, sipping her lukewarm coffee. 

She had nagged you into spending your free period in her classroom, demanding that you tell her everything that you had been withholding. You sat on the edge of her desk, your dress flowing over your knees as you stared out her class windows. 

“Nothing, Maria,” you lied. 

She said your name sternly, forcing your eyes to snap to hers. Her usual chipper demeanor was replaced with that ‘mother’ look, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. 

“Something is going on,” she pressed. “Could have something to do with Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. 

“You did it, huh?” She raised a brow. 

You exhaled heavily, nodding your head—no point in lying now. 

“We talked on the phone the entire break, and when I got home, he insisted on taking me on a date. Then one thing led to another… and yeah, we had sex.”

Maria squealed, clapping her hands and grinning wide. You stared at her blankly, unamused by her reaction to your words. 

“This isn’t a good thing, Maria,” you said pointedly. 

“Why wouldn’t it be? You’re finally putting yourself out there! Oh my god, was it good?” 

“It was,” you sighed. “It was good—really good. He’s so sweet and caring.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” she interjected. 

“But I can’t let it go any further,” you finished. 

Maria leaned forward and placed her hand on your knee. 

“Does he make you happy?” She asked softly. 

“So fucking happy, Maria. I hate it.”

“You deserve to be happy, sweetie. That’s all I’ve been saying for years, and now you have it! Don’t force it to fail before it even begins. I saw the way he looked at you at the father-daughter dance. You can’t fake that.”

“I know. I know. I just—ugh,” you slid off the desk with a groan. “He’s too good for me. I’m still trying to get over Bennett and everything that happened. He doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all my misery. That’s not fair to him.” 

You were pacing around the room, your eyes darting between the science posters hanging along the walls of Maria’s classroom. You heard her desk chair scrape against the floor as she approached you. She gripped you by the shoulders and leveled you with a heavy stare, but her eyes remained soft. 

“He’s still around, right? I don’t think he’s going anywhere, sweetie. If anything, I think he’s in it for the long haul.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you leaned into her, letting her wrap you up in a motherly embrace. She rubbed circles against your back, hushing you as you wept quietly. 

The rest of the day passed by in a numbing blur. You packed your things quietly and headed to your car, ready to drown yourself in a glass of wine. 

Joel’s truck was parked in front of your house as you turned the corner onto your street. His tall figure was leaning against the driver’s door; his eyes focused on your car as you pulled into the driveway. You inhaled sharply before putting your car in park, mentally preparing yourself for whatever anger he might unleash. 

You barely shut the car door before Joel had his arms around you, tugging you into a warm embrace. You couldn’t make sense of it; why wasn’t he mad? He should be angry at you. 

“Joel?” you whispered, your fingers twisting into his shirt. He smelt of cedarwood and smoke, the lingering scent of the workday still on his clothes. 

“I was so fuckin’ worried ‘bout you,” he muttered into your hair. “Been tryin’ to get ahold of you all day.”

“I left my phone at home this morning,” you explained. “I listened to your voicemails from last night. I’m sorry I didn’t call back. I was just running late this morning.”

“Why didn’t you pick up last night?’ He asked, pulling away. 

“I needed some space. I’m just trying to figure this all out. I want you—I want this. I just don’t know how to be fully vulnerable. I know that’s silly to say since I’ve cried every time I’ve seen you.” You laughed at the thought of it.

“You coulda just told me that, baby. I would’ve understood,” Joel sighed. 

“You’re not mad at me?” 

“Of course not,” he smiled softly. “Had me worryin’ like crazy, but I ain’t mad. I know this is all new, and you’re scared. Just don’t shut me out, ‘kay? I wanna talk to you and understand what’s goin’ on with you. I told you I wanna work on it with you.”

“I’m s—.”

Joel was pressing his lips against yours before you could say those two words. The kiss was all-consuming and tender, strong enough to erase every thought in your mind. Your mouths moved in unison, tongues intertwined and exploring. It was dizzying to be kissed this fervently; the first kiss couldn’t hold a torch to this moment. You tangled your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, slanting your lips to open yourself even more to him. Joel’s hands twisted into the fabric of your dress that hugged your hips and pulled you tighter against his body. You whimpered at the feeling of his cock straining in his jeans, and he hauled you upwards until you were wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Spinning you around, he pinned you to the metal of your car door, breaking away from your mouth to kiss down your neck. Was it possible to be branded by a dozen kisses? He left a trail of sweltering kisses over every exposed part of your upper body, and all you could do was pant and moan helplessly. To hell with the neighborhood and their lingering eyes; the world around you could collapse, and you’d still be clinging to his body. 

“I told you I didn’t wanna hear those apologies,” Joel muttered against the hollow of your neck. 

“What are you gonna do about it, Joel?” You moaned, his teeth grazing your collarbone. 

“All I want right now is to hear you screamin’ my name, so you better invite me inside before I fuck you right here.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered.

“Wrong name, baby.”

With one strong arm braced around your back and a firm hand on your ass, Joel carried you out of the driveway and through the open garage. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the bare patches in his beard. Joel stumbled into the living room and sat you on the edge of the couch. You clung to him, refusing to lay back, too afraid to disconnect from his body. There was something so addicting, so right about being in his arms—almost familiar. 

“Y’look so beautiful in this dress, baby,” Joel breathed. “Turn around.”

You unattached yourself from him, spinning until your thighs pushed against the leather of the couch. Joel’s hands roamed over your calves, dragging your dress up until it piled against your lower back. You gasped as his fingers tore apart your underwear, the scraps falling down your legs and piling at your feet. It was embarrassing how wet you were already, your slick coating your inner thighs. 

“Joel,” you whined as he swiped a finger through your wet folds.

“Use your words,” he hummed, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“I need you, Joel.” He curled his fingers against the spot that left you breathless, coaxing you to speak more. “Need it rough—please.” 

You needed to feel how bad he needed you; you needed to show him you wanted him, even if it meant doing it without saying it aloud.

“Y’want it rough, baby? I can do that. If it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you exhaled. 

Joel pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to your mouth and smearing your arousal over your parted lips. You hummed as you tasted yourself, pushing your ass back into him. You heard the clang of his belt and the soft sound of his jeans hitting the floor before he swiped his cock across your slick entrance.

“Don’t be gentle,” you moaned.

“Anythin’ you want, baby.”

That was all he said before splitting you open, the fullness of his cock inside you robbing you of all the breath in your lungs. Joel kept his hips flush with yours, his fingertips drifting down the fabric of your dress covering your spine. 

“Joel,” you whined. 

You shifted yourself onto the tips of your toes, nudging yourself back until the tip of his cock rubbed against the right spot inside you. You mewled at the sensation, wiggling your hips to find some sort of relief from the pleasure churning inside your stomach.

“Impatient, baby?” Joel teased.

He moved against you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. You had been in such a haze last time you hadn’t realized how big he actually was, but now you felt every glorious inch of him inside you. You let out another frustrated whimper, and Joel responded with an onslaught of forceful thrusts. Your body shoved further into the couch, your midsection rubbing against the edge every time Joel snapped his hips against yours. 

Joel’s hand snaked around your neck, drawing you back into his chest, the angle of his cock spearing deeper inside you. Your wails turned to sobs as you listened to Joel grunting harder behind you, his fingers squeezing rhythmically around your throat. 

“That’s it, baby,” Joel crooned. “That’s it. Doin’ so well for me.”

You gasped for air as the desire coiling within your core became agonizing and all-consuming. Your fingers wrapped around his hand holding you up, clawing at his skin as his thrusts became erratic and determined. You were teetering on the edge of euphoria, your body buzzing with pleasure. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” Joel whispered into your ear. 

You fought against your dress to find your clit, the instant connection of your fingers causing you to cry out. Joel’s mouth ravaged your neck, sucking marks into the skin as you drew tantalizing circles over the sensitive bud. It was right there— that explosive pleasure bubbling under the surface. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice strained under his grip. “Don’t—right there. Right there, Joel!”

Joel quickened the pace, your eyes blurring as your orgasm raced through your veins and set your nerves ablaze. Your sex clenched around his cock, forcing him to slow his thrusts as he groaned into your ear. 

“S’fuckin’ good, baby,” he punched out, releasing your neck.

“More,” you heaved. 

“Think y’can take it?” He asked, pinning you down onto the couch cushions.

“Just want you, Joel,” you said. Your words were muffled into the couch as you exhaled, “Want everything with you.” 

You didn’t know if Joel heard you, and you prayed he didn’t. Your brain was lost in some euphoric haze, dizzying you and your ability to control your emotions. Joel knew every part of your body, like the back of his hand. He knew exactly what you needed and what you wanted, and it was so confusing. 

But all your thoughts grew quiet as the lewd sounds of your arousal and his ragged breathing echoed around the house. Joel’s hand pressed into your hair as he pushed you further into the couch. Bent over this way, you were entirely at his mercy, putty in his hands, and helpless. 

“Swear y’were fuckin’ made for me, baby,” Joel grunted. “You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

“Yours,” you cried. “I’m—.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as Joel seized up, choking out your name as he spilled into you. His body slumped over yours, the weight of his chest heavy against your back. The hammering of his heart matched yours as you both recovered in silence, the house growing quiet aside from your labored breathing. 

“Too rough?” Joel muttered into your hair. 

You shifted your face to the side, rewarded by his lips pressing into your cheek. 

“Perfect,” you sighed. “It was perfect.”

“You weren’t lyin’ when you said you weren’t a fan of vanilla, huh?” Joel chuckled, pulling out of you. 

You slumped further into the couch, laughing softly. 

“I was talking about cake, Joel. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sure you were, baby. Stay right there, okay?”

You heard his footsteps disappear toward your bedroom, the distant sound of water turning on and off floating down the hallway. A second later, Joel was behind you again, the cool touch of a towel making you jerk away in shock. He gently rubbed the cloth over your inner thighs, taking extra caution of your sore entrance. You’d feel him everywhere tomorrow, and you didn’t hate that for some reason—you wanted the reminder of him. 

“C’mere,” Joel urged, helping you stand. 

He pulled you over to the couch, curling you into his arms and bracing you against his chest. Joel intertwined his fingers with yours, his breathing evening out as you shimmed further into his embrace. Maybe it was the sex, maybe it was just being around him, but all your doubts and worries seemed to fade away. It was just this moment; you and him with limbs entangled together. 

“Tell me somethin’ no one knows about you,” Joel whispered. 

“Only if you tell me something in return.”

“Of course, baby.”

You paused, considering all the possibilities of what you could share. You had forgotten pieces of yourself over the years, the layers of heartbreak and trauma suffocating the person you once were. You still weren’t sure if that girl you had once been was still inside you. 

“I hate pancakes,” you said.

Joel laughed, his body shaking behind you as you buried your head into the couch. 

“Pancakes? Really?” He teased. 

“I just don’t like them!” You defended. 

“Y’gonna tell me why?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled. “They’re just too sweet.”

“So y’don’t like sugar in your coffee, and y’think pancakes are too sweet,” Joel mused. “What do you like?”

“Don’t tease me, Joel.”

His fingers prodded your sides, forcing you to shriek at the contact. You hated to be tickled and hated it even more when he kept you pinned to your chest with nowhere to go. You rolled toward him, squirming against his touch. Joel leaned in to kiss you softly, muffling your protests as you settled into his arms. 

“Your turn,” you sighed. 

“Hmm, well, I like pancakes.”

“Be serious, Joel,” you frowned. 

“Okay, okay. I love watchin’ cartoons.”

You giggled, watching that grin stretch across his face. 

“Been watchin’ them with Sarah since she was a kid,” he chuckled. “I still do sometimes, even if she ain’t home.” 

“That’s cute,” you smiled.

You brought your fingers to his face, scratching at the stubble covering his chin and jaw. Joel’s eyes shut as your touch drifted over the patchy spots, your fingertips drawing circles in the places his beard disconnected. 

“Tell me somethin’ else,” he said.

“I think you’re really handsome.”

It was a quick response—almost too fast—but you couldn’t swallow back the words. You glanced up at him, peeking through your lashes to see his brown eyes soften. 

“Handsome, huh?”

“Well, I can’t call you cute,” you scrunched your nose. “It doesn’t fit you. I like handsome more.”

“I like it,” he smiled. “Call me handsome all y’want.”

You dragged him to your mouth, saying everything you couldn’t form into words. Joel moved with you, his head tilting and mouth molding to yours. He made everything feel so simple; maybe that’s what scared you. It was too easy with him—falling into this idyllic routine. Joel mumbled your name, pulling himself reluctantly from your lips. You chased one more kiss and settled back into his chest. 

“Did you know it’s good luck when it rains on your wedding day?” You thought out loud.

Joel tensed up, his arms flexing around you. 

“Superstition says it means your marriage will last,” you continued. “I’ve always thought it was funny, you know? I used to believe in that before my wedding, but after that, I figured everyone had lied to me.”

“Baby,” Joel whispered. 

“No, it’s okay. There’s a point to this, I promise.”

“Tell me,” he urged softly.

“I think the rain was good luck. Maybe not in the way people think, but I don’t think Bennett and I were meant to get married. My sister hated me for going through with it. We didn’t really talk once Bennett and I got engaged. Everyone warned me about him; they told me he wasn’t who I should be with. I was so stubborn to make things work. He—he was there for me during a really awful time in my life. I thought I owed it to him to stay.

“But then here you are, and it makes me re-think everything. The rain? It’s still good luck, just in a different way. I wasn’t meant to be with him because maybe… maybe I was meant to be with you.”

Joel was painfully quiet, his eyebrows furrowing together as he closed his eyes. Oh, fuck. You had rambled out everything you were scared to say, and now it was biting you in the ass. This was why you were too afraid to acknowledge your feelings: the rejection. Joel didn’t see it the same way; he didn’t think of you in the same way, and you just made a complete idiot of yourself. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to pry yourself out of his grip. You kept the tears at bay, trying not to let yourself succumb to the heartbreak shattering inside you. 

Joel’s hands wrangled you back to his chest, his eyes leveling with yours. You inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed away the rogue tears falling down your cheeks. 

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind y’were meant for me, baby. I’m thankin’ God every day for bringin’ you into my life,” Joel confessed. “I know this is all new, but I promise to keep provin’ myself because whatever this is between us, it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you echoed. 

“Don’t run away from me,” Joel pleaded. “Gimmie all the good and bad stuff. I swear I can handle it.”

“What if you get tired of me? What if I’m not enough?” You rambled. 

“I could never get tired of you, baby. If anythin’, I keep wantin’ more.”

You snuggled further into his embrace, inhaling his scent as you pressed your nose into his chest. Joel ran a hand through your hair, his fingers catching on a few knots left from earlier. 

“What’d you mean when you said he was there for you durin’ somethin’ awful?” Joel asked after a beat of silence. 

Flashes of the crash came back into your mind, or at least the ones you could recall. You squeezed your eyes shut as your nightmares began to see the light of day. It was a memory you never liked to revisit.

“Easy,” your mom whispered. “Easy, honey. Don’t move too much, okay? Take it slow.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh lights above you burning into your retinas as you tried to adjust to the room fading into the forefront. You were tucked into a hospital bed, IVs and tubes sticking out of both arms. Your head was pounding, and everything hurt. That’s all you could focus on. Everything hurt so fucking bad.

“Bennett?” You croaked, searching the room. 

Your mom, dad, Beth, and Stella were all grouped around the foot of the bed, their eyes glassy with tears. Bennett was nowhere to be found. Beth’s fear-stricken eyes shifted from your mom to your dad before she bolted from the room.

“I’m going to go get the doctor,” your mom announced, turning and leaving the room.

Stella shifted uncomfortably and promptly followed, leaving your dad alone at the foot of your bed.

“How’re you feeling, peanut?” He asked, rounding to the side of your bed.

“Pain,” you cried softly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Baby?” Joel said cautiously. 

“S–sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know if I really want to talk about it.”

Joel’s brows scrunched together, his eyes staring at you with concern. You turned away from him, lifting yourself from the couch. Pacing the living room, you stared blankly at your bookshelf beside your entertainment center, still collecting dust after two years. You heard Joel shift against the couch behind you and glanced back to see him staring at you intensely. Anxiety was thrumming in your chest the longer you stood in front of him, too many thoughts reeling inside your mind. You never talked about the accident; you didn’t want to be reminded of what had been the catalyst in your relationship's failure. Because that’s what it was. You owed everything to Bennett for sticking by your side through it all, and in the end, you weren’t enough. Nothing you did was enough to salvage what had been your life with him before it all.

“Hey,” Joel exhaled. “C’mere.”

“I—I need a minute,” you cried.

You bolted from the living room and went down the hall, gasping for air when you reached the edge of your bed. The room was spinning as you dropped your head in your hands, the nausea surging up inside you the longer you stayed stuck in the memory. You needed out of it; you needed out. You needed—.

Joel rushed into the room, falling to his knees in front of you as he said your name over and over to coax you out of the trance. Nothing was working. Your head was throbbing in pain, and you couldn’t work around it. 

“Breathe with me, baby,” Joel whispered. “Breathe.”

You heaved in a lung full of air, only to choke on it and gag back the nausea crawling up your throat. Joel rubbed his hands over your thighs, the sensation of his touch jarring you enough to make you cringe. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he crooned, a distant echo of your dad's words. “It’s okay.”

The shrilling sound of your phone ringing pulled you both from the moment, and you crawled over the bed to grab it. 

Beth

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I can’t—I can’t answer it.”

“Give it to me, I’ll do it,” Joel offered with an outstretched hand. 

You practically tossed it at him while you crumpled into the sheets with your hands clutching your head. 

“Hello?” He answered with a brief pause before he said, “This is Joel.”

Silence.

“Fuck, okay. Gimmie a second,” he replied.

“Baby, she needs to talk to you,” Joel said.

You stifled your cries before taking your phone from his hand, already hearing Beth’s frantic voice on the other end of the receiver. 

“Beth, what is it?” You asked, your body shaking. 

“It’s dad, sis. You’ve got to come home, okay?”

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x teacher #joel x f!reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miler tlou #tlou #pre outbreak!joel #the last of us fanfiction #fluff and angst #so much angst

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

So...hi

I may have decided on a whim to continue Your Scars Are Mine for no reason.

No reason at all. Nope not me.

Why's he gotta be so pretty how dare he

No need to read the previous fic, this one is still a oneshot.

Anyway here it is.

Ten Years

Hurt/Comfort and Smut

NSFW

Trigger Warnings: Trauma, Mentions of Self Harm, Depression

OPLA!Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Wordcount: 5.2k

♫♬ Medusa in Chains — The Fratellis ♬♫

Before this whole thing began I had some sense of pride

Just one more night with your lips, your company is hard to eclipse

Four days.

Nearly four damned days had passed since you had last ate. Last bathed. Last done so much as dragged yourself out of bed to do more than half-stumble to the bathroom, and Mihawk was growing as impatient as he was concerned. It had been a few weeks since he had brought you to Kuraigana Island, and you had spent a fair amount of time flitting around the castle learning its halls and corridors front to back, dusting corners that even he had forgotten existed.

Then, a few mornings ago, you had simply refused to get out of bed.

Refused to speak as to why.

The warlord had told himself it was fine. That it wasn't as if he wasn't accustomed to having the sprawling stone castle to himself, that he could let whatever was ailing you play out, give you your space to work through it on your own.

But it was clearly doing no good, not to him or you. He had already grown too accustomed to your presence there, and seeing you in your present state was driving him completely mad.

He lingered in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed and leaning his shoulder into the doorframe, his eyes scanning slowly over you as you lay there with the sheets pulled up to the nape of your neck and your back to him. He had known you for nearly five months, had deemed to call you his lover for two of them. You did have a tendency toward the silent treatment when you argued, as much as that drove him mad, but this was different. This hadn't come on the crest of any argument, and it clearly ran far deeper than that.

You weren't doing this to get under his skin. That was clear to see, and Mihawk was at a complete loss on how to approach it.

He gave a small growl of annoyance at the sound of his transponder going off in his pocket, digging the thing out and shoving it into his ear as he turned the corner into the hallway outside the bedroom you had all but made your tomb.

"Little busy," he said impatiently. "Make it quick."

The last thing he wanted to deal with now was the goddamned government.

"Oof. That bad, huh?" Mihawk's eyes darted toward the transponder, the pad of his index finger pressed against it to hold it in place as Vice Admiral Garp's gruff brogue went on in his ear. "I figured. How's the kid holding up?"

Mihawk furrowed his eyebrows, and then lifted one if them as he glanced back toward the doorway of the bedroom.

"What are you talking about?" he said slowly. Garp knew something, and the old Marine had an irritating tendency to withhold information.

"Sounds like ya know damn well what I'm talking about, Hawk-Eyes." His jaw set at a rigid angle, gritting his teeth, Mihawk considered for perhaps the thousandth time just pulling the transponder from his ear and tossing it out a window. "Your associate. I'd be willing to bet your old bounty that she's not doing the best right now."

"Is this a business call or are you truly this insistent on wasting my time?"

Mihawk cringed at the sound of Garp's laughter in his ear.

"Little of both," he said, amused. "Word came down to me that my grandson may have formed an alliance with Fire Fist Ace in Arabasta a couple days ago. Around...the thirteenth, I believe. Something I asked you to keep an ear out for personally. And it's not really like you to not know what's going on around the Grand Line."

"As I said, I'm busy," he said through his teeth. Mihawk had no intention of standing around being insulted—particularly not with you in your current state. "My apologies if I haven't been babysitting your grandson closely enough for your liking."

"I can handle my own family affairs," said Garp. The amusement dropped from his tone as he went on. "This is more of a personal call. Your associate. I'm checking in. I imagine this hasn't been a good week for the girl." Mihawk remained silent, his eyes shifting to the open bedroom doorway once again, waiting for Garp to continue. He had no intention of letting on to anyone in a place of authority just how much he had come to care for you—not when they could very easily use it against him, threaten you to gain further control over him. "The sixteenth will mark ten years since the day she witnessed her home destroyed."

And today was the fifteenth.

That put quite a few things into perspective.

Mihawk leaned back against the wall behind him, pinching at the bridge of his nose as a slow sigh left his lungs.

"She's barely moved in three days," he said finally, quietly to ensure his voice didn'treach your ears—if you were even capable of listening right now. "Or spoken."

"Aye, I figured." Garp let out a heavy sigh himself. "I don't like to admit the failures of Marines any more than any other of my comrades, but...what Admiral Vesper did ten years ago was an insult to what we're supposed to stand for. I'd have seen the man executed a thousand times over for it if I could have. It was a goddamned massacre. All but, anyway, since he left her alive. I can't imagine how the poor girl even sleeps at night, honestly."

You didn't sleep well. Mihawk had noticed that from the start. Your hours of unconsciousness were frequently plagued with nightmares that you claimed not to remember, but he was sure you had to remember some of them. He was sure of it from the distance that lingered in your eyes some mornings as you sipped a cup of coffee or tea, from the way you spaced out and barely heard a word anyone spoke to you.

"I would like the coordinates of the island," Mihawk said after several long seconds, still rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"There's nothing there. Her village was destroyed. It's just a rock in the water at this point."

"I don't care."

He rolled his eyes when Garp gave a snort of laughter—but the man did at least rattle off the coordinates without any hesitation, as if there were a map sitting right in front of him.

"N 22°6'5.3535" by W 159°33'55.7474". I'll give you a minute if you need to write it down."

Mihawk definitely hadn't expected the vice admiral to have the coordinates all but memorized. He sighed, ducking around the corner into the bedroom where you still lay motionless several feet away. He crossed to the desk, and leaned over it, lifting a pen and pressing it to a pad of paper.

"Again," he said shortly, and he quickly noted down the letters and numbers as Garp repeated them. And he added, just as shortly as he set the pen down, "Thank you."

Garp gave a short laugh. "White roses and blue orchids." Mihawk's brow furrowed as he crossed the room, glancing at you before slipping out the door again, ascertaining that you still hadn't moved an inch. "Those were her favorites."

"Sounds as if you were fairly familiar with this pirate."

"Oh, quite a few men were. She wasn't called The Siren for no reason." He sighed, and chuckled a little. "But yeah. I guess I was more familiar with Helena than most."

Mihawk barely had a moment to wrap his head around the connotations of that claim before Garp spoke up again.

"If you're at Kuraigana and you take that eyesore you call a boat, you'll have about a twelve hour trip due East," he went on. "Probably best get going if you plan to make it there tomorrow."

And with that and nothing else, the call ended.

Mihawk pulled the transponder from his ear, staring at it for a moment in mild alarm, before pocketing it again, glancing toward the bedroom door to his right.

Garp was familiar with your grandmother. He couldn't help but wonder whether you were aware of that.

Now wasn't precisely the best time to ask, however. He had to find some way to coax you out of bed, to get you dressed and—

And you had, at some point, rolled onto your other side, so when he entered the room again you were facing him. Your eyes locked onto his as you lay there on the four poster bed with your hand tucked between your cheek and a pillow, and Mihawk stopped abruptly in the doorway.

"We have a job, I take it?"

For a moment, Mihawk remained silent, standing at the threshhold and simply staring at you. This was the first you had spoken in days with the sole exception of the occasional single-word reply. His eyes passed quickly over you—and then he gave a brief nod.

"Yes," he said, crossing the room to the wardrobe at your side of the bed.

He wasn't sure how you would react to the truth of the matter, but he had a sneaking suspicion that you would resist, and he preferred not to even erect that bridge, much less cross it. Ten years had passed and you had gotten absolutely no closure—however much it would hurt, you needed this.

"You'll need to bathe and dress," he said, pulling clothes out for you and setting them across the foot of the bed. "We'll leave within the hour."

You nodded, your eyes shifting away from his as you sat up, letting the covers fall away from you and standing. You were wearing one of his shirts, unbuttoned with nothing but a pair of black panties underneath, and had it not been for your despondent state at the present he wouldn't have been able to resist tearing them off of you and pushing you right back into bed.

Instead, he watched you pick up the clothes he had set out, head into the adjoining bathroom, and close the door quietly behind you.

This wasn't like you. None of it was. Your proneness to dry remarks and comebacks, your snide little smirks that infuriated and enticed him in equal measure—there had been absolutely none of it for days now, and it was getting under his skin like nothing else had in years. He took a seat on the bed, kicking off his boots in mild frustration and reclining back against the headboard, staring at the closed door you had just disappeared through.

Folding his hands over his stomach and listening to the sound of running water at the other side.

Waiting.

Thinking.

It would be both unfair and unsafe, he decided as you emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, not to give you some hint, some clue of his intentions. You were already dressed—at least half dressed, your shirt hanging open over a lacy black bra, a towel hanging around your shoulders to catch the water still beading in your damp hair. You paused in buttoning your shorts, meeting his eyes as he pointed at the edge of the bed next to him.

"Sit," he said, his tone light but commanding—halfway for the sake of observing your reaction.

You would often snap that you weren't a dog, roll your eyes at him, intentionally try to aggitate him; but now you simply sighed a little and did as you were told, taking a seat at the edge of the mattress, your hands resting at either side and your head declined to stare down at your knees.

"Here."

You glanced at him briefly when he held out a hand, and you placed yours in it after a moment. He tugged you down to him, across his chest, curling his other hand in your hair, searching your eyes and your face for anything.

And finding nothing. Not sadness, not anger, just a blank numbness that gave the impression you weren't even there. Despite the weight of your body, despite your forehead resting lightly against his, you were as good as a ghost.

He moved a hand to your waist, and your breath hitched in alarm when he flipped you onto your back, moving both of his hands to yours at either side of your head, entwining his fingers with yours to keep you there—to keep you from bolting, as you were so prone to doing when anything about your past came up.

"Were you planning on telling me what's going on, little one..." said Mihawk, lowering himself to his elbows, his forehead to yours, giving you nowhere to look but his eyes. He moved one hand over, brushing a thumb lightly across your bottom lip, "or do you prefer me hearing it from our Marine friend?"

Your eyes widened just a little at that—and your breath hitched again when he moved his thumb to your cheek and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss. It had been days since he had gotten a single taste of you, and your lips were much too tempting to resist.

He felt your grip briefly tighten on his hand before pulling away, close enough that he felt the warmth of your slow, trembling sigh brush across his own lips. "Ten years tomorrow, isn’t it?" he asked quietly.

Your gaze shifted away in an instant, your eyes slipping shut. "It's my problem," you said quietly. "Not yours."

"You wasting away in bed for three days straight makes it very much my problem." You bit your lip for a moment. Swallowed. "We've had this discussion before. And not very long ago." A small shudder crept through you when he released your hand, trailing his fingertips down the length of your left arm, where your white sleeve hid the marks you had put there over the years yourself, marks of defeat. The freshest wound there still had yet to heal fully, and he could feel the bandages wrapped around your arm just above your elbow through the thin material of your shirt. "Hiding things does neither of us any good."

You gave a short nod, your eyes remaining shut, your breathing the slightest bit uneven as his fingertips brushed across your cheek and returned to your hand, slipping between your fingers. "S...sorry," you forced out in a whisper. "It's just...not really..."

"Don't apologize." You opened your eyes at this, meeting his gaze. "But next time something of this magnitude comes up..." A slow sigh left your lips as his brushed at the edge of your jaw, near your ear. "You'll tell me."

You gave another small nod.

"Good girl."

His eyes drifted down your body, your smaller form pinned beneath his, his fingers drifting across the bare strip of skin between the folds of your unbuttoned shirt, brushing over the soft lace at the center of your bra, barely grazing the edge of your breast. In any other circumstance he wouldn't have hesitated for a moment to tear it away from you right that second—but now wasn't the time. As much as he detested not being in control, that had to be on your terms for now.

So he left you with one last slow, deep kiss, his hand moving to wrap around your waist under your shirt and pull you against him for a moment, for as long as he could stand to, before parting from you and standing from the bed.

"Finish getting yourself ready," he said, pulling his own half-buttoned shirt over his head and off and laying it at the edge ofnthe bed. "We'll be traveling for a little over twelve hours, with one stop on the way. The sooner we leave, the better."

You didn't say a word as he crossed the room, dropping the shirt into a hamper by the wardrobe, but he heard you shift on the bed behind him. Heard the matress creek as you rose and crossed the room slowly, your bare feet a whisper against the cold stone floor, stopping just behind him.

He paused in taking down his long overcoat as your arms wrapped around him, your cheek pressed against the back of his shoulder.

"I am sorry," you repeated quietly. "I...I didn't know it would be this..." Your breath shook a little as you took a step closer, as he looked over his shoulder and saw only the crown of your hair from the way your head was turned. "It's been almost ten years, I shouldn't be...."

Mihawk sighed, letting go of his coat as he felt you trembling against him. This was still something he was entirely unaccustomed to—he had seen you in this vulnerable a state only once before, only a few short weeks ago, when he had caught you pulling the blade of one of your daggers across your arm. When you admitted you had been doing so for the better part of ten years—a tally mark, a physical reminder for every mistake you made.

After a moment, he took your wrists in his hand, pulling your arms away.

He turned to face you, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, resting a hand near the crown of your hair to cradle your head against his shoulder, leaning back against the wardrobe.

"Have you considered that that's what happens when you spend a decade blaming yourself for something that was beyond your control?" he said lightly.

Your breath hitched and stuttered, your shoulders shaking as you struggled against the torrent of emotion you had been fighting off for more than three days. Fighting within your own head, leaving you so exhausted that you could do little more than lay in bed and stare at the wall.

"I—if I had stayed hidden like she told me to, she—she'd have—"

"No." It was a hard truth, but it was one you needed to hear. "In all likelihood, you both would have been killed amid the destruction." A small whimper escaped you as he moved his hand down, cupping your jaw lightly to lift your head. Your eyes snapped shut immediately. "Don't do that," he sighed, shaking his head. He lowered his own, resting his forehead against yours. "Look at me."

You clearly hesitated, swallowing, before allowing your eyes to slowly open, meeting his. He brushed his thumb lightly across your cheek, his eyes shifting for a moment to your lips as they trembled a little.

"I can replace most of the things I have in my possession." His sharp yellow eyes moved back up to meet your gaze, keeping his voice quiet, as gentle as the caress of his thumb across your skin. "You, my little bird, are not one of them." Mihawk moved his other hand to your shoulder, slowly pulling your shirt down to expose your left arm, his fingers grazing over the bandage wrapped around your delicate skin, across the scars. "I won't stand to watch you hurt yourself, be it with your blades or by any other means."

He saw as well as heard your breath hitch in your chest, your brows furrowing as your gaze softened.

And then your hands slipped from his shoulders, meeting at the nape of his neck as you tilted your head up to press your lips firmly to his.

You were impossible to resist, your breath shaking amid the fierce kiss. He pulled his arm tighter around you, tugging your shirt down your other shoulder, tossing it away onto the floor. His hands wrapped around your arms as he pushed you back toward the bed, pressed you back into the mattress as he bent over you.

His lips drifted away from yours, curling his fingers in your hair and tugging at the roots to turn your head and give him better access to your soft skin.

"I thought—" You gasped, arching your back as he pushed his hand up your waist, under the soft fabric of your bra. "You said—we need to leave soon—"

"It can wait," he growed into the crook of your neck. The soft moan that left your lips as his thumb brushed across your nipple was like music to his ears. "You've made me wait nearly four days." Perhaps it wasn't fair to phrase it in such a way—but it was the truth of the matter. He turned your head, his eyes burning into yours as he murmured against your lips. "Do you have any idea how much I've craved you?"

It seemed with that you had no further protest, no further questions—you simply gripped a handful of hair at the nape of his neck and crushed your lips to his, arching your back and moaning breathily into the passionate kiss.

He curled his arm under your back, deftly unhooking your bra, and had it ripped away from your body in seconds, shifting you further back onto the bed and trailing his lips down the column of your throat. He had no intention of punishing you, of making you wait—not this time. No, his only focus now was purely your pleasure; making you forget, if only for a brief spell, everything that had been tormenting you.

He lifted you off of the bed to pull one of your nipples into his mouth, his eyes shifted up to watch your head fall back against the comforter, your soft moans filling the sprawling bedchamber as his tongue swirled around the sensitive protrusion. Shifting to your other, a slow sigh leaving him as you arched your hips to grind against his knee between your thighs.

If you wanted more, then, oh, you were going to get it.

He trailed his fingertips down your stomach, quickly unfastened the buttons at the high waist of your shorts, and pushed his hand into them, under the elastic waist of your panties, spreading apart your folds.

Once more he pressed his lips into the crook of your neck, then again just below your ear.

"Yes," Mihawk breathed against your delicate skin as a soft cry left your lips, reveling at the shiver that crept through you, the way your clit twitched and throbbed under his touch. "Break for me, my darling."

You turned your head and pressed your lips to his, drawing in a sharp breath as your hips rolled slowly under his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your breath left you in a soft whimper as your tongues swirled together between your lips amid the deep kiss, his dragging across the roof of your mouth before drawing back, your eyes glazed over in lust as your gazes met.

"More." Your soft, breathless whisper against his lips was almost enough to drive him into a frenzy—your fingertips trailing down the hard lines of his abdominal muscles, stopping at the buckle of his belt. "Please."

And that was enough.

He hated losing control, but goddammit, you made it utterly impossible for him to retain it.

In an instant he slipped his belt loose, shoving his pants down his hips as you kicked your shorts away. His gaze drifted down your body slowly for a moment, admiring every inch of you as if you were the finest work of art lying beneath him, just waiting to be vandalized and ruined.

He shifted you a bit further back on the bed, grasping one of your thighs and pressing it down against your chest.

The way you arched your hips when he thrust into you—the way your eyes rolled back and a quivering moan passed through your lips as the warmth of your tight, slick channel wrapped around him—the way you clung to his neck as he thrust intonyou again and again, your eyes glued to his and your nails digging into bis skin—to say he had been craving this, craving *you* would have been a grievous understatement. It was more than that now, an intrinsic *need* that he couldn't shake, one that he had felt so deeply with no one but you. Without even being consciously aware you had become an addiction—your body, your touch, your moans and whimpers and sighs and gasps, you.

You were wound so tightly from the brief teasing that barely a minute passed before your hips arched high against his, a deep, breathy moan leaving your lips as your thighs clenched around his hips and shook, as your walls clenched tight around his cock. He pulled himself up onto his knees, pulling you up with him, holding you against his chest as he pressed a hard kiss to your lips, groaning quietly into your mouth.

One of his hands found your hip, grasping your soft flesh hard enough to bruise as he tore his mouth from yours, eyes brimming with lust as he growled one quiet word against your lips.

"Again." He pressed his lips to yours again briefly, gripping the nape of your neck. Pressed his lips to your neck, your chest, lowering his hand to push one of your breasts up, kneading at the soft flesh as he guided your hips to roll onto him again and again, before you had even recovered from your intense orgasm. "I."

And again and again, almost as if you were made for the sole purpose of coming undone under his touch. Every one of your wordless moans and breathless whimpers fueled him, drove him wild, his lips trailing across every inch of your skin he could reach—across your chest, the soft swell of your breasts, down your smooth neck and across your shoulders.

Until he couldn't the any more, until the tension building in the pit if his stomach was too much to bear—until he gripped a fistful of your hair and pulled you down hard by your hips, crushed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss and thrust into you hard, shoving you down onto your back and pinning your hands over your head as he completely lost himself within you, his breath shuddering into a low groan that was drowned out by your breathless moans.

Your hips rolled together slowly on the crest of your shared euphoria, your breath leaving you in soft whimpers as his grip on your hands loosened, allowing you to lower one to brush your fingers back through his dark hair. A deep sigh heaved from his chest as his lips parted from yours, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him to lay across his chest.

His fingers combed down through your hair as you lay your forehead in the crook of his neck, both of your catching your breath. Mihawk lowered his head enough to brush his lips to your temple, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. "You're going to be the death of me, little one."

You swallowed, laying your cheek against his shoulder, your eyes closed as your soft fingertips caressed the back of his neck, the light touch sending a slight shiver down his spine—as did your breathless, whispered reply.

"I love you."

It wasn't something either if you said often. It had remained more or less of an unspoken understanding between the two of you since he first said it himself a few weeks earlier—and maybe that was why it seemed to have so much of an impact when the words were spoken aloud.

He turned his head and brushed his lips to yours, pulling his thumb across your temple to brush your hair behind your ear.

"I...love you."

The words still felt strange rolling off his tongue—strange, unfamiliar, but not wrong by any means. He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours, closing his eyes. It was the truth, a truth that was difficult to admit after years of solitude, but one that couldn't be left unspoken.

If Mihawk was to expect truth from you, he couldn't withhold it himself.

For sometime he just held you there against him, his arm curled around your back, his thumb brushing slow circles against your waist...and then he spoke.

"We're not going on an assignment." Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his in question. "Twelve hours east of here," he said quietly, slowly, "is the island where you grew up—no," he interjected, when your eyes widened and you began to pull away. He pulled his arm tighter around your back, his other hand at the nape of your neck, curling in your hair to keep you from pulling away. "We're going. You need to." The pain that dawned in your eyes was almost enough to make him relent—but he wouldn't. He couldn't. He shook his head. "You know you need to."

You swallowed, your gaze falling away from his. "I...I don't know if I can..."

"You can." He brushed his lips against yours, fingers combing through your hair, and you lifted your gaze back to his. "You..." He brushed his thumb across your cheek, his eyes boring into yours, "...are the strongest woman I have ever met—don't do that," he added in a lightly chiding tone when you rolled your eyes. He curled his hand around your chin. "You'd have to be strong to have such a chokehold on me, little one."

You rolled your eyes back over to his at that...and you gave a small, quiet chuckle, nuzzling your cheek against hid shoulder. "Touché." Your eyes flickered away for a moment, but returned to his quickly. "I just..." You swallowed, and shook your head. "There's nothing there. Just...a rock in the water."

Your claim echoed Garp's eerily—but the claim echoed just as empty as his had. The mere thought of that rock made your eyes fill with emotion, made your voice break. That rock was the final resting place of one of the most infamous pirates that had ever sailed the Grand Line—the woman that had raised you. Your trainer, your caregiver, your role model.

Your grandmother, the Siren.

"There's a lot more there than just a rock. I think we both know that." You swallowed again...and, after several long seconds, you nodded. Your eyes slipped shut and your breath hitched, and he combed bis fingers slowly through your hair. "We'll rest for a bit, and then we'll leave."

"Y...yes." You gave a short nod, and a slow sigh, your eyes opening to meet his again, full of renewed resolve. "Okay."

His thumb brushed across your cheek, his eyes glued to yours. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but pain was often a necessary catalyst in healing. He sighed slowly, his forehead touching yours.

"I love you."

Your eyes glued to his, you echoed his murmured words without a second thought.

"I love you."

#opla #dracule mihawk #mihawk one piece #one piece fanfiction #mihawk opla #fanfic #one piece #fluff #opla fanfiction #smut #mihawk #mihawk x reader

[crvptidgf]

Bad Blood • pt. II

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

➸ summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, you find it difficult to let go of the past. Your trauma lies deeper than you think. When when you meet somebody who understands your pain, your journey of self-discovery and healing begins to set sail. For once, everything in your life seems to click.

➸ warnings/notes: reader is of romanian descent, afab! reader, mentions of trauma, descriptions of death and traumatic events, profanity, friends to lovers trope, hurt/comfort, eventual smut (18+), trauma bonding, eventual mutual pining, mentions of the golden trio being dicks for the sake of the story

word count: 1.9k

————————

THE DAY AFTER the choosing ceremony was a little anticlimactic.

It was our first day of classes, and everybody had gotten sorted into their designated houses last night. We of course already knew where we would be put - the ceremony was more of an introduction into first year than anything. It was customary to put on the sorting hat - kind of like a rite of passage, or an initiation.

We had done it in secondary school and we had done it again while moving onto our next phase in life. The next phase - which I had no idea what held in store for me.

At the beginning of summer we had chosen our preferred subjects, classes which we would be studying in detail as opposed to the general knowledge that we had learned the years prior.

My first of the day was potions; obviously.

Since the majority - or more like all - of my friends were in Gryffindor, I left the Slytherin common room alone. Walking past them in the Great Hall, I bid them a good morning before finding a seat at my appointed table.

We were never allowed to stray from our house tables at breakfast - that was only reserved for lunch. A rule which was quite silly, I admit, but it was what we had to live by.

"It's a pity that you can't sit with your friends," came Enzo's voice, his body sliding next to mine on the bench. I shrugged casually before digging into the plates before me.

"It's alright - I survived the last 3 years of school, how different can college be?"

His eyes held a certain sadness in them before he cleared his throat. I was glad to be talking to him again.

"Well you can always sit with me."

I thanked him as I shoved a piece of bacon in my mouth, muffling my gratitude. As much as I hated to admit it, I was really appreciative of him. It felt great to have someone to sit with.

"Oh yeah, such a shame that you can't sit with those gits," said Theo. I almost didn't even notice him and Mattheo arriving. They sat in front of me, ignoring Enzo's glare at Theo's words.

I had no problem dealing with assholes who thought they were better than everyone. After all, Harry and I had our fair share of arguments with Draco Malfoy. He had calmed down immensely, but before the war he was a handful.

Theo needed less of an ego. Well, what's one more prideful Slytherin to kick down a notch?

"Leave off, Nott," said Enzo.

I simply ignored him as I dug into my breakfast. That day I made the note that Hogwarts University breakfasts were a God send. I was almost completely full after not even half of the plate.

It was nice to talk to other Slytherins. It was nice to not be judged simply by the name of my house - and it was nice to not have to sit alone for once.

Although Theo was a bit judgmental of my friends, he was nice to talk to. It didn't last long, though. He began to complain about the Golden Trio - saying that they were too pretentious and up their own ass.

"Those are my friends you're talking about," I said. I tried to not let him get to me, but with each word that exited his foul mouth, my blood boiled one degree higher.

Theo just rolled his eyes as he continued eating.

Mattheo's gaze met mine over the table.

"What class do you have first?" he asked. I was glad for the change in topic, so I shook my hands out under the table to get rid of my tension. I sighed as I responded.

"Potions. Why?"

"Me too. I'll walk with you," he said as he grabbed his bag off the floor and stood up. We still had a few minutes left of breakfast, but since I was already finished eating, I agreed. And anyway, I didn't want to be around Nott any longer than I had to be.

Leaving the hall, I breathed a sigh of relief, not even realizing that I was holding it in.

"Sorry about him," said Mattheo. "He's kind of a dick sometimes."

I scoffed.

"Yeah that's one way of putting it."

Mattheo stopped walking as he stood to face me. His hands were in the pockets of his blazer, letting his bag hand loosely off his left shoulder.

"He can be like that sometimes, but he's really nice once you get to know him."

I made a noise of disbelief as I crossed my arms over my chest. How good of a friend could a house supremacist be? Did he learn nothing from the years of war that raged on in the wizarding world? Did he not understand that the only way we even won was by working together and getting rid of the notion of blood superiority altogether?

Merlin, had he not heard the story of what happened to Enzo's parents?

"Don't think he'll be happy to know I'm a half-blood, I assume."

Mattheo's eyes squeezed shut as he bowed his head down. He huffed as he ran a hand down his face.

"God, he's not a blood supremacist. He just has too much pride in himself."

I nodded.

"That much I figured," I muttered as I began to walk again. Mattheo seemed nice, I just didn't want to hear him justify his friend's actions. I didn't care if he was nice. All I cared about was that he was talking down on my friends. People who took me in when I had nobody.

Mattheo sped up a bit, jogging to catch up to me. His shoulder brushed mine as we trekked along the hallways, looking into classrooms to find the correct one.

"And for the record - I like your friends. Never really spoken to them, but Harry does seem nice," he said, breaking the silence.

"He is," I stated simply before stopping in front of the potions room.

It was down in the dungeons, the dark stone walls letting little heat enter in that particular section of the castle. It didn't help that it was underwater, either. My hands rubbed up and down my arms, my robe providing little warmth against the gusts of subtle wind.

Mattheo leaned against the wall beside the door, studying me.

My arms were still tightened across my chest, and my eyes avoided contact with his. Something about being alone with him felt different. Last night I had no issue looking directly at him, but in the silence of the dungeons, I felt more intimidated.

"I get it. You're protective of your friends, but they're not exactly saints either."

My eyes hesitantly lifted up, meeting his brown irises. What was that supposed to mean?

"How would you know?"

He sighed, looking down at his feet. "Let's just get inside. Class is about to start."

I was about to object, but as I saw more and more students marching across the hallways, I decided he was right. As if on cue, the bell rang to signify the start of lectures. I guess I'd have to pry him for answers at a later time.

I sighed as I sat down at a random desk, only to be surprised when Mattheo bumped against me. He adjusted himself on the stool as he dropped his bag down.

"You don't mind, right?"

Truthfully, I was a bit happy he sat next to me. It would be nice to have a friend as my partner. A lot of the class was full of Slytherins - and as I stated before, I didn't have many Slytherin friends.

"As long as you don't make me fail the class."

His face broke out into a smile as he sucked his teeth. He looked forward to the front of the class.

"I'm amazing at potions."

I felt doubt rise in my chest. I gave him a skeptical 'mhm', telling him that I'll believe it when I see it. He clearly took it as a challenge. The emotion behind his eyes changed as he stared me down, smirking.

My nerves grew as he continued to look at me even when Professor Snape entered the classroom, only breaking the eye contact when he began the roll call.

My heart thrummed against my ribcage. In the small amount of space that we had at our desk, our knees were brushing against each other. I would move away, but every few seconds I'd forget and my knee would bump against his again.

All I got in response was a bump back. We were practically playing footsie under the table, but with our knees.

Snape began to do theory and we opened our books to the first chapter. It was revision of the most common potion ingredients, including the basics - Wolfsbane, African Sea Salt, Bat Wings, and Asphodel. This was what I was good at. Amazing even. What I didn't expect was for Mattheo to be just as good.

"What can act as an antidote for most poisons, with the exception of Basilisk venom," came Snape's monotonous voice.

My hand sprung up in the air, but Mattheo beat me to it.

"Yes, Mr.Riddle?"

"Bezoar."

'Suck up,' I thought. It was slightly hypocritical of me to think that, but my pride got the best of me. Especially when people were just as good at something as I was.

"Correct. 10 points to Slytherin."

I huffed in annoyance as my hand went back down, continuing to take down notes. I felt a nudge next to me only to see a piece of paper slide towards me.

'What's the problem? Mad that I'm better than you?'

Rolling my eyes, I shoved the page back to him. I muttered under my breath at him.

"As if."

I could hear him chuckle from beside me as he crumpled the parchment up. His quill flickered around as he wrote notes down, a small smile still etched onto his face.

"What is a common ingredient used in a Wiggenweld Potion?"

I had heard the question, but upon seeing Mattheo's hand raise up yet again, my eyes drifted to him. My eyes narrowed and I sent him a nasty look as I waited for Snape to call on him.

However, Snape called my name instead upon seeing me glare at Mattheo. My faze flickered away from him to look at the Professor. Ignoring the smug look on my potion partner's face, I responded.

"Billywing Sting Slime."

"...Correct. But next time, I'd appreciate you paying attention."

Mattheo snickered from beside me and I kicked his leg under the table, shutting him up immediately.

This was going to be a long year.

After finishing the double Potions lesson, Mattheo and I left Snape's classroom. He would not shut up about the fact that his potions knowledge was as good as mine. He bragged and bragged until I finally had enough. Pulling out my potions book, I hit his shoulder with it.

"Mattheo will you shut up!" I exclaimed. While my voice was angry, I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face.

His hand came to pinch at my cheeks.

"So cute when you're mad," he said. It's as if he knew it would annoy me more. My cheeks tinted pink as I looked away quickly.

"Why did I even let you sit next to me?" I asked rhetorically, huffing as I sped my pace up.

Mattheo's feet quickened to catch up to me. His arm came to rest around my shoulders, his other hand coming up to mess with my hair. Through my ruffled strands I could make out Hermione and Ron, walking hand in hand.

They stopped in front of me, watching the scene unfold.

Shit. This could not end well.

#college!au #mutual pining #hurt/comfort #eventual smut #friends to lovers #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle scenarios #harry potter fanfic #enzo berkshire #theo nott #harry potter imagine #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #ginny weasley #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #matheo riddle

[randybutternubber]

Heyyyyyyy do you have any funny head canons on the children :-9 if they squabble and stuff in your opinion. Give me the sillies !!!!! (I do too but I wanna hear urs)

YOU HAVE OPENED THE GATES OF HELL PREPARE FOR MY BORDERLINE SEVEN PAGE ESSAY ON THESE RANDOM FUCKING CHILDREN

I decided to do the ones that get less attention in general, especially since I have the most thoughts on them

HCs under cut because I may have gone overboard with the length

Ghost kid

Best friends with a batmin ball that had a very poorly drawn face on it from the age of six to eight.

Sebbo (spoon girl) buried the batmin ball using a spoon as a shovel after it got neutered by the barber (he thought it was a bug and shat his pants)

Not a native of the nowhere and was taken to the nowhere on Halloween, hence the ghost costume

Lost their arm pretty quickly after being taken to the Nowhere. he’s quite a friendly child and is very compassionate towards animals, but unfortunately, this has its downsides as not all animals in the Nowhere want help.

Friends with Sebbo

Has been squatting in houses since day 1 of living in the Nowhere and has no plans to stop

Would go CRAZY for squishmallows

Doesn’t have well formed empathy/sympathy for humans but is super compassionate towards animals

Zero concept of gender and doesn’t care what you call them, he just want to pet your dog

Nonverbal but has very expressive body language

Spoon girl

Her name is sebbo (based off of game files)

She sneezes like a middle aged divorced golf dad and due to her nose bleed these sneezes are NOT victimless

LEGENDARY rage tantrums

Literally only wants to watch gen 1 my little pony, Formula One, or a very specific documentary about some random Swedish sheep wool factory

Swedish

If you compare her to pippy longstockings you will end up needing to go to urgent care for a rabies shot

Calls ghost kid Ande (sounds like Andeh) which means spirit in Swedish. (His file name is actually spöke for anyone wondering, which also means ghost/spirit in Swedish. The only reason I’m not giving him the Sebbo naming treatment is that spöke absolutely does not sound like it’s spelled (sounds like Spurkeh) and Ande actually sounds like a name. I’m a quarter swedish and have a very Swedish family on my white side so I got the most incomprehensible Swedish lessons in the car ever, so please don’t roast me in the reblogs if I got this wrong, I remember like five words and this is one of them, same thing with Korean😭

Living embodiment of “ANDE WE’RE 10 NOW, WE SAY CRAP, NOT POOP”

Broke one of her legs at some point in the Nowhere and ended up in the hospital (HC based off of concept art where she was in a wheelchair and using crutches)

Has severe trauma revolving around doctors and medical stuff

Has never seen another ginger in her entire life but will fight to be the alpha

Warrior cats kid

Expert at digging and climbing out of holes, THE CHILDREN YEARN FOR THE MINES!!!

Rusty

Has a cleft lip

This isn’t a HC but something that not a lot of people realize; he has a lisp

Only reason I’m not drawing him as ginger because of his name is because I also designed Noone as ginger and he lost in a 1v1 to a rabid cabbage patch kid. He’s been through enough

He’s around 14

Very lithe

Despite being a trapeze and tightrope performer, he is TERRIFIED of heights, making his experience at the circus even worse

The dummy has been malding over Rusty for a ridiculously long period of timeand bro had no fucking idea and nobody even knows the reason why 💀

Also a warrior cats kid but kept in on the downlow. Yes he did name himself Rusty after firestar but if you tell anyone he will cry

Noone

A nice kid but will deadass ask some of the most insensitive questions and has NO idea. Also verbally cooked a middle aged man and spent like a whole episode sassing him so she can definitely be mean if she wants to

Also has really severe medical trauma along with trauma from being paraded around on TV because she was the first person to be cured of whatever the shit water sickness is

Her real name was Ruth, but once she started forgetting her parents (they basically ditched her anyways 😭) she started just using Noone as her real name

Master of inappropriately prolonged periods of intense eye contact

Really dislikes/is afraid of dolls/dummies because of what happened to Rusty/in JuJubee’s toyshop

Very untrusting of people post Nowhere abduction because of how Otto treated her and because of the ferryman. Plus basically every kid she met in TSON was met with a terrible fate (Goo kid is probably alive but she doesn’t know that)

Autism (all these children got some sort of neurodivergence though, I mean just look at them)

WORST BACKSEAT DRIVER EVER (ASKED TO LEAVE THE ROWBOAT)

Has a few scars on her face from her right before she had a seizure when getting clockwork oranged. She tried to take the mri suction thingies off her head but she ended up scratching up her face in her panic

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #little nightmares comics #little nightmares 3 #Rusty TSON #noone the sounds of nightmares #tson noone #noone tson #ghost kid little nightmares #the spoon girl little nightmares #sebbo little nightmares #I also just don’t want to name ghost kid after a part of a bike #ghost little nightmares

[alittlextrathatway]

What are some of your best and worst Brettsey moments?

What are some moments that inspire you to write or make you write because things need to be changed?

What are some storylines you wish the show had exploded with Matt and Sylvie as individuals and Brettsey?

Or times when the writers could have gone deeper?

Is there anything you want to write but feel apprehensive about or feel like you can't get it right?

Now that the Caseys have left Chicago I can answer this one. 🥺 Been saving it.

It’s so hard to narrow down BEST moments. I love the “You’re a little extra that way” conversation, Sylvie’s confession of feelings from 9x16, their love scene from that same episode, the first kiss in 9x02, and the eye contact at Molly’s from 9x02 as well. There’s more but those are the first ones that come to mind. Of course now I have to consider the BEAUTY that was their wedding ep which gave us SO MUCH. Their vows were perfect. Making out in the turn out room, also perfect. Sylvie escaping/running for her life and Matt tackling the guy and holding Sylvie for dear life after, again perfect.

As for worst, I’d say anything out of character. Matt’s 10x22 “I don’t know” always makes me mad because there’s no way someone who loves Sylvie as much as he does wouldn’t reassure her in that moment. The way the break up was orchestrated in 11x01 with Sylvie comparing her relationship to Violet’s or Stellaride’s or even Kyle’s, Matt and she not talking for two weeks — all of it felt forced and weird. Sylvie doesn’t normally compare herself to others like that and Matt wrote Sylvie a LETTER and put it in the mail in S10 when they kept missing each other. I’d say those.

I think a lot of what inspires me to write is less things that need to be changed and more things that need to be explained. Like the break up in 11x01 and Matt’s “I don’t know” in 10x22. Both those things made me want to dig in and take something that feels OOC to me and elaborate on it. That happened to me in S9 a lot. I wanted to really explore their perspectives, thoughts, traumas, and emotions in a way TV just doesn’t have a lot of time to do.

The biggest one for me is the trauma that resulted from Arnow. Matt’s guilt over Sylvie being hurt and Otis. Sylvie’s grief over losing Otis and exploring that grief as part of the reason she didn’t realize things with Kyle wouldn’t work sooner than she did. I feel like there was some excellent material there that could have been mined for them. The other one, that I was convinced the show was saving for the dating Brettsey era that we never really got, was meeting Brett’s birth father. After everything she went through with Julie, how would that go? Would he be as lovely as Julie was? How would Matt help her through it?

Times when the writers could have gone deeper for me is always going to be exploring trauma. I wanted to know more about Matt’s relationship with his dad. We saw Nancy and we heard about his dad from her but what were Matt’s memories like? How did he remember him? Also why didn’t Christie share Matt’s opinion on their mom or see the abuse? Was their dad partial to Christie? And for Sylvie, I wanted to know more about Harrison and Hope and how that dynamic shaped a young Sylvie. Harrison and Hope were clearly the gaslighting types and if those people were her childhood best friend and high school sweetheart then there must be more emotional abuse that she didn’t reconcile until after they were gone. I also would have liked to have actually met her parents or her brother.

As far as things I want to write but can’t, I have had an idea for a regency Brettsey AU FOR YEARS. I am not great with historical fiction/romance though so I’ve never seriously attempted to write it. But man do I want to. I think it would be full of so much yearning and tenderness.

Hopefully I answered all the questions you had! I LOVED THESE QUESTIONS. My favorite part of writing fanfic of these two is trying to get inside these people’s heads. They’re complicated and loving and generous but also have experienced great tragedies and faced abuse from people they loved. The fact that they find solace and safety in each other is breathtaking to me and so well deserved.

#chicago fire #brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey #matt casey x sylvie brett #ask box #ask angellwings #angellwings answers

[lorelune]

(scaramouche/wanderer is referred to by the name zerah, modern au, hurt/comfort, reference to trauma, codependency, spirals/panic attacks, zerah threatens to spank the reader (once), self deprecation, abandonment issues)

you and zerah exchange comfort like the way a cat chases a sunbeam from east to west. slowly, sleepily, and with warmth that waxes high and wanes low. you both cherish moonlight.

the first time zerah crawl into your bed, it's late. early morning, perhaps, though the city light has hidden the stars. only neon spills through the slits in the blinds. you toss and turn, half-awake, a bit too cold with the winter chill.

a knock on your bedroom door startles you, pushes you to rise and regard zerah in your doorway.

"can I sleep with you?" he asks, abruptly, not looking at you but instead examining your floorboards with rapt curiosity.

the questions sends heat to your cheeks, "... just sleep?"

"yeah."

you like to think you know his moods well, and you're too tired to parse this one. zerah is a mildly avoidant, somewhat foul-tempered folk with a personality befitting a recently captured feral kitten, rather than someone of his title, stature, and lineage. you find it cute, really. his lack of eye contact, the shifting from foot to foot— his nervousness is almost charming.

you scoot to one side of the bed and pat the other. "you can."

zerah visibly deflates, slipping under the sheets with you. he fusses with the duvet and you turn to face him. watch the shadows that slope with his nose and cheekbones. you link your pinky with his, hidden under layers of bed linen. something secret, just for you and him.

you trust zerah in a way you don't anyone else. it's hard to admit, sticky and honeyed in your mouth in a way that makes your teeth feel glued together. so thick on your tongue, that you couldn't possible form a proper verbal statement about it. to him. you try show him in little ways.

(linked fingers. the way you linger closer to him than anyone else. meals in the fridge. allowing him in your bed at all. the occasional kiss you'll press to his forehead. leaning against his shoulder during sleepy movie nights.)

you face each other and zerah frowns, "come closer."

"why?"

"i need to hold you. come. on." he knows better than grab you and pull you close. you're easy to spook, in that way.

you shimmy over yourself, hovering an inch or two away. the heat of him radiates into your skin, better than a sunbeam. zerah wraps an arm around your waist, becomes you a bit closer with it. your head tucks just below his chin, lips against his sternum through his worn sleepshirt.

he rubs little circles on your back, let's you relax against him (it's just me. it's only me. no need to be wound up.) it takes you some time, to loosen up as he wants you too. to roll forward to press your weight into his own, and he meets you.

"are you okay?" you ask zerah.

he grumbles, pressing his face into your hair. digs his nails into the small of your back. you refrain from asking him further.

(he's not fine. clearly. you don't mention how he shakes against you. he's fragile, really. precious thing.)

it takes bravery, fighting through a screaming thing in your chest to press closer. your palms lays against his back, under his shirt, skin-to-skin so he knows you won't waver. you rub into the muscles.

"we can sleep in tomorrow." you tell him, tilt your face against from his neck and racing pulse so your breath can mingle with his. "go get pastries from that cafe i like. you'd like their matcha."

"would i?" zerah asks, an edge to his voice. you wish he was sleepier.

"yeah, and if you don't, i'll drink it. you can have mine instead."

it's the assurance. the thing in zerah that throbs and aches and fears that you'll slip away, turn your back and leave him to shatter like a porcelain doll. he used to shove you away so violently, you couldn't have imagined his truer nature was so needy. grabby. you'd say possessive if you weren't intimidated by the word.

he squeezes you, hard enough that it hurts but you revel in it. the tips of his toes trace the top of your foot beneath the duvet. you chew your lip.

"fine."

...

the first time you seek zerah out past sunset, it's in desperation.

religions worship society, they say. that's why the old desert religions worship thirst, hold starvation and suffering as the pinnacle of faith. if all you have is scraps and the dredges of a drying well— you will make it your god.

you suppose, that's what happened to you. lesser than religion, but a exhalation all the same. when it happened is harder to place. you can't recall when you started to white-knuckle your hardships so fiercely on your own. reaching out became a last resort. something to do if you could sense yourself on the ledge of 'doing something really fucking stupid' (as zerah would say.)

you clung to your own suffering because it made things make sense. however painful. however truly awful and probably wrong it was. in your worst moments, you dug your fingers into your own wounds and pulled until you saw blood.

(there's something wrong with you. you're cursed. cursed. something's wrong with you. something is not right with you. that's why it keeps happening. it's the only answer, isn't it? that something is intrinsically amiss with you. it leads to the same conclusion, over and over, unescapable like a song you know the melody and harmony too, but forget its a canon. the song cannot exist without both parts layered.)

you muffle a scream into your palm. drag your nails over your scalp. your nail beds are bloody and picked raw. you shove the meat of your thumb into your mouth and bite hard enough to leave indentations.

(why try? you know how it ends. you'll be left bloody with only your own hands to pick up the pieces.)

tears dribble from water line and paint your cheeks sticky.

you should get zerah. you don't want to, you don't, but you probably should. the tv hums from the living room, and you know he's posted up or dozing off by this point in the evening. he'd help. he'd ground you better than tearing at your own flesh.

(but, what if you bother him? what if he hates you? what if you trouble him so much he leaves? he'll leave you. he'll do something awful and leave you. everyone will. you should go. hide. bite any hand—)

you're already up, stumbling, tripping into the living room.

"zerah."

he turns to you with a pinched brow and a scowl deep enough to show the dimple that carves his cheeks. a documentary plays, bathing the room in fluorescent light that burns your eyes. the sound of it turns into white noise as his expression hits you.

(bad. you bothered him. he's going to leave. he hates you—)

he says your name sharply, pulling you from your thoughts, "what the fuck is up with you? you there?"

you open your mouth and all that comes out is a gasping wince. no words bounce around between your eyes. you can't feel right. numbness echoes from your fingertips, and the world looks blurry. glassy.

you vaguely hear zerah curse before he rises drags you to the couch, tugging you down into the cushions and up to him.

"fuck, what happened?" he asks. you don't have an answer for him so you just shake your head.

(you're bothering him—)

the thought makes an apology burst from your lips, then another, and a few more. you start blubbering out half-baked 'sorry's for things you don't need to apologize for. taking up space, time, air.

zerah grabs you by the waist. hauls you closer and into his lap. his hand claps over your mouth and your eyes go wide.

"stop talking. you have nothing to apologize for." zerah placates. his expression hardens. "i'm not letting you go until you calm the fuck down and talk to me. get comfortable."

it's demanding. rude. maybe in a normal circumstance it would've scared you off. instead you pitch forward, bury your face against the side of his neck and clutch at the back of his shirt.

"'m sorry," you tell him again and he nearly growls, pulling you back by your hair.

"if you apologize one more time, i will put you over my knee until i see bruises. and stop. i don't know what the fuck is up with you but i know it's nothing you need to be sorry for." says zerah. it's an edge you need, he opts for threats of pain and you grasp at it.

"... 'kay." you slur. you feel woozy. nauseous.

when you stop talking, he lets out of a sigh of relief. you both relax, him into the cushions and you into his chest. your lips brush his throat, make it warm and moist with your breath.

zerah's hands run up and down your back, squeezing your hips and thighs, up to your shoulder. he tugs on the hair at the base of your skull when he feels you get too slack and close to sleep. he wants you there, with him, as present as your state will allow. you swear you feel his lips brush your temple and forehead a few times.

it's an overwhelmingly safe feeling.

safety as a concept isn't one you dance with often. you never feel safe, no matter how much deep breathing and coping you do, you never feel truly safe.

but this— this—

it's close. it's as close as it gets and that sets off alarms bells in your skull that are loud and violent. you struggle against zerah suddenly, but he holds you chest. he spits a curse or two at you, demanding you hold still while he squeezes you to his chest until the air is forced out of your lungs.

"i d-don't wanna be bad and fuck this up." your words crack. shatter with your lack of breath. you suck in air when zerah lets up. you holds you tighter, but less restricting. you ball your fist in the front of his shirt.

"you're not bad. you're not fucking this up." zerah tells you, blunt and a bit abrasive. "it's fucked that you think that to begin with. how the fuck could you think you're bad? what does that even mean to you?"

"it- because—" you bite your own tongue. the flood of panic driven reasons stay locked up by your sheer will.

zerah pokes at your side. "tell me why."

"no."

"tell me."

you hesitate. zerah coaxes your face up to his and leans so your foreheads touch.

"not right n-now." you tell him. meet his eyes even though its like pulling teeth. "another time, when i'm not so unwell. please? you feel good. please let me be close to you."

zerah considers, sharp-eyed, then relents.

(you're not aware you're tugging at his most tender chords. more lucidly, you could've identified it, perhaps. but then you're too foggy. you don't put together that begging for zerah is the easiest way to make him melt. he wants nothing more than to be wanted, and you're nothing if not earnest in your state.)

he tugs you back into his neck and you adjust yourself in his lap to sit comfortably. even just saying the root of your spiral helps release some of the tension. you're exhausted by the time you lap your cheek against his chest, and he clicks around for something to new watch.

he presses a firm kiss to your forehead.

it's zerah, so you accept. it's zerah, so you let him pull and poke and prod you because you trust he would leave you broken. despite all of your instincts and traumatic conditioning, you believe zerah won't obliterate you. his bed will be just a bed, not grave or a mattress to be thrown away.

"can i sleep in your bed tonight? with you?" you ask.

zerah freezes, then squeezes you so hard, it hurts. you like that it does.

"yeah, you can."

#lore writes #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #mind that i used the name i gave him which is zerah!! #ive got a few wips for these au asldfkj its the mutual need for each other in that like #grabby sticky way <3

[alternatefandom]

Right, so I (ariciabetelguese, on my main) was having a discussion with @addictofanimation on Alhaitham's actions towards Kaveh, but I don't wish to clog moonilit's notes further. So I invite you to continue our talk here, shall we?

First, allow me straighten out a misperception: I never claimed that Alhaitham doesn't care about Kaveh. I've stated that he does care, in an inept way ("he's clearly trying his best from his limited perspective, so kudos for that, I guess?"). But I still think what Alhaitham did was borderline cruel, and this is where I'm coming from.

In my youth, I was a lot like Alhaitham. Half the fandom cleanly pegged him an INTJ, and I am, too. He values rationality and knowledge, and so do I. He's practical and pragmatic; so am I. His insight can cut people to the quick, causing him to conflict with people; so had mine. Nobody liked to go up against me, and truth be told, I was perfectly content that way.

Alhaitham said he is not a leader. I agree. Here's where we differ: Alhaitham is not interested in exploring that, while I was.

So out of curiosity, I led people, despite hating every second of it. Here is what I found: 'tough love' as you called it only works if you can make sure the person was picked up afterwards. Pain is a great teacher, but only if you're treated after. Otherwise, there's a big possibility that the other person will actually be set back in their journey of healing, and if you get yourself cut off, there's really not much you can do to fix that.

And until the Palace of Alcazarzaray was built, Alhaitham was never there to pick up Kaveh, nor was he there to make sure that someone else did. I'm not even sure if he tried to apologize; was there a lore bit I missed somewhere? After all, to this day, he still takes digs at Kaveh's very ideals, the things he prided himself on, although people still disagree on whether or not Kaveh takes these digs seriously. Regardless, I don't think much of Alhaitham's methods, and seeing as Kaveh remained a stubborn idealist who literally gave up everything for Dori's palace, we can see that his methods didn't work out all that well, either, so... yeah.

When you are your own worst enemy, it takes a friend/family being real with you to snap you out of it. The best way to tackle illogic actions/thoughts is with logic and reality. Alhaitham didn't let Kaveh believe a lie (that it was somehow his fault) and used logic against it.

And yet.

Alhaitham had seen through the reality that he had never been able to face, causing him to feel reality's bite for the first time, a feeling that made Kaveh steadfastly declare that he regretted making friends with this all-too-intelligent person.

Kaveh already knows. He didn't even waste a second denying Alhaitham's words because deep down, he already knew. He was simply not ready to face it; he didn't know how to do so. To reiterate: as a whole, it's not a logical trauma, so it's not so easily solved with facts and logic. If it was, a brilliant engineer like Kaveh would've solved it easily.

What Alhaitham did was like telling a depressed person that they have no reason to be sad because they have too much to be grateful for in life. Detangling an illogical trauma is not that simple. Does that mean Kaveh was too sensitive? I guess, in the same vein of people who's just been wounded are too sensitive, geeze, why did you shout when I poured alcohol over your wound? After all, alcohol is good at cleaning wounds, no? What I did was a good thing!

Once again. I'm not saying that Alhaitham doesn't care about Kaveh, or that he wasn't trying to help. I'm saying he's incredibly inept at caring, and he ended up hurting more than helping during their fight. But then again, he was still young and inexperienced at the time, so I won't blame him too much for it. In the end, I agree that his friendship with Kaveh could be somewhat beneficial; both of them could learn from the other's example. After all, they're each other's reflection :)

#ari's rambles #alright getting a bit personal here #not part of the discussion #just a personal reflection #i'm harsher on alhaitham because he's too much like me #and because a lot of people idealize his flawed actions and perspectives #without realizing that those flaws *are* there #Kaveh's flaws may be way more obvious story-wise #but they're still mirrors. two extremes in opposing ways. #go too far in one direction and you will fall

[pattycakes5516]

Amongst Friends: Chapter Six

Smut ⚠️

Gojo's POV

Satoru Gojo believed he had seen all the expressions you could possibly make during your long friendship. He believed he could read you like a book. Though he was not really a fan of reading. In this moment, gripping your legs as he thrusted into you the face you made was a new favorite.

He wanted this to last, slowing his pace he was rewarded with a pout and whine. "Satoru..." You mutter through gasps and his heart raced even more. "Fuck me harder." You practically beg, your checks wet with tears from being overstimulated.

His thoughts easily dissipated and all he could do was feel. Feel your body quiver against his. The moment he roughly slammed you into the wall how you pussy clenched around his cock. "You like to be treated so harshly?" He manages to groan and you nod so pathetically. "Then say please..." His voice lowers and is laced with a bit of cruelty.

His breath stills when you wrap your arms around his neck and look up doe eyed. "Please... Please use me..." The whine sent him over the edge. He wanted you to not be able to speak, to only babble nonsense. With a grunt he holds your hips tightly and loses all control he was trying to maintain. His vision becomes faded and his cock grows even stiffer as you cry in pleasure.

"Your mine..." Satoru growls and then he acts on impulse, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. He moans loudly when your nails dig into his back, the pain mixing deliciously with the satisfaction of being connected. "Fucking tell me..." He craved to hear that someone belonged to him. His trauma of being lonely bare now that he had no guard on his inhibitions.

"Mmm Sato..." He relishes the fact that despite you best efforts you could not form the words to answer. Satoru needed to hear you say it. He was now possessed by the chaos of it all. Taking hold of you he lifts you away from the wall and sets you down on your feet. He watches as your knees buckle and you take hold of him to try and keep from falling.

Fuck that desperate look on your face it was hard to hold back from pushing back into you. "Tell me... Tell me I mean something to you." You frown but your eyes meet his looking up concerned. "If you want me to continue fucking you speak."

"Satoru, you mean the world to me..." You say with no hint of a lie. He felt his cheeks flush even more. A euphoric sense of happiness fills him. "Why would you doubt that?" You ask him and he takes a breath.

"Bend over the desk." Satoru commands gruffly. He wanted to give you and Suguru everything he owned. He knew neither of you would accept it. If this temporary moment of lust could help you to forget your troubles then who was he to deny you. He bites his lip as you do your best to bend over the desk.

His large hands caressing your waist wanting to remember every detail of your skin. "Satoru... Please..." Satoru growls at your impatience and he takes hold of the back of your neck. Yanking you up, he hears you hiss in pain but your eyes are  low lidded and you moan against his lips when he kisses you passionately.

His muscles tense when he runs his cock against your wet cunt. "Enough pleading. It's annoying me." Satoru says through gritted teeth. He did not mean his harsh words but he was too afraid to say what he truly felt out loud.  It was too overwhelming and he knew it was not healthy. When you started grinding back against him he thrusted into you without warning. Both of you shiver and he pushes your head against the cold glass of the desk.

His mind blanks when your pussy tightens around him. Both of you scream out and he feels his rhythm being thrown off. He held onto you as his whole body tenses. A soft whimper escapes his lips as he cums deep inside of you. "Fuck..." His breath came out in short quick gasps. "Shit..." Curses sprang from his mouth, he attempts to keep you upright but his own strength gives out and you both fall to the ground.

Laying beside you on the floor covered in sweat and your sweet juices his entire life was forever altered. "Satoru get up." Another deep voice interrupts his thoughts and he looks to see Suguru standing with his arms crossed. Those dark eyes were always intense but he saw something else there. Was that other emotion worry? Satoru assumed he was making the same face.

Satoru sits up and sees you still trying to catch your breath. "Are you done already Y/N?" He asks condescendingly. He knows the only reason he said that was because he did not want the night to end.

"Me?! Please, I am fine!" You say and give them both a thumbs up, your arms shook. "I could go all night!" He watches your eyes widen at your own proclamation. Suguru chuckles and it sounds sinister.

"Suguru should we test her theory?" Satoru turns with a maniacal grin. Suguru shrugs to act as if he could take it or leave it. "I mean you can go. I will indulge." Satoru is met with a glare he had never received from Suguru. Truly full of aggression and jealousy.

"Fuck that." Suguru walks toward him and yanks him off the ground. Satoru is shoved against the wall. Suguru's forearm on his throat. "You should thank me for sharing." Fuck why is my heart racing again.... Satoru maintains eye contact and bits his lower lip.

"You really are bad at sharing. How childish..." Satoru practically spits. Suguru's eyes widen and he backs away. Satoru watches as he lifts you off the ground and sets you back onto the bed. Satoru sighs, his mind a chaotic mess of emotions. These are his best friends...

Geto's POV

"Are you sure you can handle this?" Suguru softly whispers into your ear. You nod with a lopsided grin, your eyes still unfocused and lost in the adrenaline of what was happening. "You're so cute...."

You laugh softly at his words and his heart practically leapt. He digs his nails into the palm of his hand to keep whatever feelings these were at bay. He was not good at emotions so he relied on a skill he did have. "I want you to prove it..." Suguru says his breath is heavy. His body felt like it was on fire and nothing could put it out.

You tilt your head in confusion still lost in yourself. "How?" You mutter your hand reaches up to grab his face. That feeling again... instead of answering he sits back and pulls you with him.

"Your stamina is unreal..." you giggle as you sit on his upper thigh, your hands stroking his cock already ready for another round. "You want me to ride you?" Suguru contains a deep groan as your thumb runs along his tip.

"Such a smart girl..." he says a bit condescendingly. He watches you roll your eyes. Everything you did was adorable. He grips your chin tightly and the moan that escapes makes him twitch. "Prove to me you're not done with me."

You nod shakily and move up hovering above him. Suguru bites his lower lip as you rub his shaft along your dripping lips, she is still so damn wet. "Hah...." Suguru moans when you slam your body down taking him all the way in with one motion. His hands grip your waist roughly as you begin to grind against him.

"Feels good..." you babble to yourself with your head thrown back. The way you controlled the tempo should have pissed him off, but the way your chest heaved and your body shook it was driving him feral.

"I'm going to just slide in..." Suguru hears Satoru speak and Suguru growls in annoyance. He watches the lanky man run his long fingers over your stomach and up to your breast kneeling behind you. He wished Satoru would have never interrupted. Even he had to admit seeing you get taken from behind on that desk was erotic.

"Such a mean face Suguru..." Satoru teases him with a grin, Suguru's blood boils a bit. Then you move your hips faster, he looks up at you. The look on your face was pure bliss as Satoru pinches your nipples from behind. "Let her enjoy herself huh?" Satoru chuckles, as he humps her ass cheeks like a dog in heat.

"I'm going to.... Ahhh fuck!!!" Your voice cracks and your pussy clenches around his cock making his mind blank. Before he knew what was happening he spreads his legs and fucks up into her, her spongy walls slick. The extra rubbing from Satoru's motions felt arousing. Though it made him a bit aggravated.

Your pussy was gushing around him. His hand wraps around your throat like an instinct. Deeper and more aggressive thrusts as he felt his body clench. Your legs shook and your body could barely stay upright. "Lean against him." Suguru growls without stopping. He watches as you use Satoru for support, Satoru looks pleased. His face went wild and cheeks flushed.

Suguru moans loudly, unable to hold it in as he feels himself release deep inside her once again. Suddenly there was a massive pressure on his body. Both you and Satoru had fallen forward. "Satoru get the fuck off me!"

Satoru laughs and sits up. "Relax big guy..." all three of you were panting covered in sweat. But the night was still young. And Suguru wanted so much more....

#spicy fic #smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x y/n #rough smut #fanfiction #gojo satoru #best friend #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #suguru x satoru #getou x gojo

[howhow326]

Harlequin AU: villain Maribug

This idea just popped into my head: what if Miraculous was a villain origin story? What if all the times where Marinette got treated like dog doo doo by her friends, society, and the narrative actually mattered?? What if all the times Marinette got needlessly traumatized were actually a prelude to a more dramatic mental break, a la Scarlet Witch??? What if Marinette went ape shit???? Here's my idea:

Marinette's descent into villainy starts the same way every other day of her life starts: Chloe and Sabrina bully her; Lila bullies her and none of her friends stand up for her; Chat Noir borderline sexually harasses her OR he acts like all the times he proclaimed his undying love to her never happened so he can avoid going on a date with her; the usual.

As Marinette goes into her room, she gets ready to cry herself to sleep like she does every night. And then, an idea pops into her head...

"Tiki, red spots on." "Marinette, no! You can't use the miraculous for evil! You know it always ends in disaster!" "Disaster for ME!!! I'm the one that always sufferers the most for mine and every else mistakes! No more... NO MORE!!! TIKI, RED SPOTS ON!!!"

Marinette transforms, but not into Ladybug. Her trauma and her 'selfish' desire to do what's good for her mixes into a new persona: Harlequin. Her outfit is a color flipped version of Ladybug's enhanced outfit from season 4, a black body suit with red spots.

Harlequin jumps out of her house and announces herself, "Bonsoir, citizens of Paris. You used to know me as the weak Ladybug, the failure superhero." Gasps can be heard from the late night citizens, wondering why their darling would call herself that. "But from now on my name is Harlequin, the strongest superhero in Earth! And I'll prove my strength by finding Hawkmoth and arresting him! CREATION CHARM!!!"

Harlequin digs deep with her power over creation, forcing her power to work for her the same way Hawkmoth forces his power to make akumas. She creates a magic compass that points in the direction of the Butterfly miraculous, and as soon as she arrives at the Agreste mansion, she knows exactly who has been making her life hell.

Gabriel is asleep when Harlequin crashes through his window and assults him. " Oh, you BETTER wake up!" Harlequin snatches his miraculous away and beats him into submission.

When Adrien walks in, he feels like he's in a nightmare. "Ladybug, what are you doing!" The boy screams as she continues to beat a corpse. "Happy Valentine's day, Adrien! Your abusive father, Hawkmoth, won't be bothering us anytime soon." As she walks out of the room to retrieve her kwamis, she turns back to face Adrien. "And by the way, it's Harlequin now."

Gabriel Agreste, AKA Hawkmoth, is dead. Suicide by cop, of course. It's not like anyone cares. Nathile is sent to a UN jail for life after her connection to Gabriel is found out. Adrien inherents his father's company and is to be allowed to live in the guardianship of the Gorilla until he becomes 18. Harlequin recreates the miraculous and brings them back home. But it's not a happy ending. It's just the beginning.

The next day, Lila is up to her old tricks. Afterschool, Harlequin drags her into the street in font of a local news station. "Bonjour citizens of Paris, Harlequin speaking! This girl, Lila Rossi, has been bullying an innocent girl in her class room for the last year. Lila has claimed an innocent girl cheated on a test, she claimed an innocent girl pushed her down the stairs, all sorts of lies really! She even claimed to be my best friend, although there's one hole in that story... Tiki, red spots off!" As Marinette reveals her identity to everyone in Paris, Lila's heart sinks. "The whole time I have been saving the people of Paris, the whole time I've been helping my friends, this wench has been bullying me! NO MORE! Tiki, red spots on!" Harlequin swings away into the distance...

The next day, Lila Rossi disappears. The people of Paris don't care, she bullyed their savior after all. Meanwhile, the akuma class' reputation is destroyed, each one becoming a social outcast.

The day after, Harlequin finds out that the Mayor of Paris has been breaking one two many laws. She decides that he, his wife, and Chloe are all going to go to a "nice family prison".

That's what she told the public. Harlequin used the bunny miraculous to send them back in time into the French Revolution. Chloe will never bully Marinette again.

The day Harlequin becomes the new Empress of France is met with cheers. She saved the world from Hawkmoth. She erased all crime in the country. She seperated France from the UN, so that they may be their own superpower again. Longue vie la Harlequin!

"Marinette, you need to stop! Don't you see that this is crazy?" Alya pleeds to her best friend. "Tell me Alya, where were you when I was being bullied by Lila? NEVER TELL ME WHAT I NEED!!!" Alya is sent away to the camps, where everyone who dare disagrees with Harlequin is sent.

Adrien is at a crossroads. If he chooses to love Harlequin, then his life will be full of joy and madness. Harlequin forgives him for all the wrong he did to her, and accepts him with open arms. Togather, they become the rulers of France... but their relationship is one of imbalance. Just as the Ladybug miraculous is so much more powerful that the Cat, Marinette is so much more powerful than Adrien. Everyday, Adrien thinks Marinette looks more and more like his father. He never says it out loud tho... He dosen't want to be punished again.

If Adrien rejects Harlequin, Kill Bill by Sza plays. Then Harlequin actually kills him.

As Marinette lays in her bed, she still cries herself to sleep. She has everything she could ever want... and she still has nothing...

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #ml au #ml au idea #ml harlequin au #harlequin au #ml class salt #class salt #miraculous ladybug salt #tw facism #tw: facism #tw abuse #tw: abuse #ml villain au #adrien salt #villain marinette #villain ladybug

[nebulablakemurphy]

Through Love And By Love (Pt. 18)

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse (dub-con), discussions of trauma and mental illness; reader discretion advised.

Part 17

Rosanna is no longer in her bed, or even in her house. The surface beneath her is hard and unbearably cold, but she doesn’t dare move.

“I’m going to finish preparing the room. Bring her once she’s up.” A voice echos off the walls.

“She’s bleeding everywhere.” Another voice, this one she knows.

“Come on, Goyle, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little dirty blood.” The door clicks shut and Rosanna is dragged upright.

Forcing her eyes open, Rosanna finds herself face to face with Gregory Goyle, Draco’s childhood friend. They’d grown up together, he spent countless hours in her house, he held her children.

He-

Rosanna rears back, slamming her forehead against his hard enough to make him stumble away.

“Damn you,” he whispers. “More trouble than you’re worth, McVay. I’ll never understand what Draco sees in you…besides himself.”

She claws at him this time, like she means to gouge his eyes out.

“Come on, it’s just a joke. I’m here to help you.”

“Help me how?” She whispers.

“Got a plan, don’t bugger it.” He hauls her to her feet, fingertips digging into the flesh of her upper arm.

Goyle leads her through the door, to the adjoining room. Mostly empty, save for an array of lit candles, a circle, a rope, and a knife.

“Welcome! So kind of you to join us.” Theodore? Theodore Nott? “I suppose introductions are in order, it has been a while.”

“I know who you are.” Rosanna jerks her arm free of Goyle.

“Wonderful, that saves time.” Theodore grins, “you may be wondering why you’re here…unless you already know that as well?” He cocks his head to the side. “Must be why you and Granger get on so well, two peas in a pod. Although they couldn’t make you the minister, with a death eater’s cock shoved up inside you, could they? No, there has to be consequences for that. Though clearly they’re not opposed to using you when it benefits them.”

Rosanna glares. Don’t let him get in your head.

“It was almost too easy to distract you, with the files, and Delphi, then Rabastan. You just couldn’t keep your head on straight.” Nott muses, quite pleased with himself.

“How’d you get the files?” Rosanna wonders.

“I surely don’t have access to such sensitive information within the ministry. We don’t all get golden girl privileges. Some of us had to atone for our sins, some of our fathers went to Azkaban for life. Some of us got tossed away like we were nothing. I don’t think that’s fair, so I decided to do something about it, the imperius curse came in handy. I know you’re familiar.” Theodore begins pacing in the circle, drawn on the floor in what Rosanna assumes to be blood.

“Just kill me then and be done with it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that there is a reason great wizards throw themselves at you?” Everyone from Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. “That you are, in some way, exceptional. A conduit for magic. Had you not chosen to spend your life with someone who does not value it, you would know that. Draco keeps it locked inside you, wasting away, but I can fix it. I can teach you how to use that power, I can make you the greatest witch whoever lived. In return, you will serve me. Reduce the world to ash and rebuild, as it should be.”

“No thanks,” Rosanna shrugs. If she can just stall long enough for Goyle’s plan to take action, or even to figure out what the circle is for…

“I wasn’t asking.” Theodore purses his lips. “There is one matter that must be attended before we proceed in making you mine.”

Rosanna narrows her eyes, daring him to go on.

“I bare no relation to the Malfoy family. Therefore what is bound, must be unbound. Let’s bring him out. The man of the hour, here to save you.” Theo drags Draco into the room, feet bloodied, his pajamas torn.

“Leave her alone.” Draco seethes, hands behind his back, magic knitting them together.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Nott taunts, pushing Draco to the ground, just outside the circle. “Got a bit of a mouth on her, but that can be fixed.”

The floor quakes beneath them, rumbling as though it might break away.

“Was that you?” Theodore laughs, his eyes flickering to Rosanna, a vision in her silk golden nightgown, dripping in her own blood. “You are a pistol, aren’t you?”

“Let her go.” Draco fires this time, but the magic is unhinged, no way to direct it.

“You know this is even better than I imagined! Your magic is bound to Draco, who doesn’t have a clue how to use it. Bravo, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, you’ve outdone yourselves. Now if you’ll just keep doing exactly what you are doing, this circle has all the enchantments we need to untangle your magic.”

Rosanna swipes a hand over her face, smearing the blood beneath her nose. Without a word, she looks to Goyle. What’s the plan?

“What’s the matter, dove?” Nott calls her attention. “Not in the mood? That’s alright, I’ll inspire you. Crucio!”

Draco writhes, howling in pain.

“Stop.” Rosanna takes a step forward, only to realize that she can’t move outside the circle.

“I’m just getting started.” Nott grins.

“Stop!”

“No.” Theodore growls, hitting Draco with the cruciatus curse a second time.

She feels the wall, between the magic she has access to and what lies beyond. She doesn’t run at it head first, that doesn’t work, because the wall is Draco’s. Not her own.

But she knows his mind…

“I was never truly happy until I met you.”

She knows his heart…

“You have always been and will always be the deepest, most desperate desire of my heart.”

And she knows his soul…

"There is no me without you, keeping you alive is as self preserving as it gets."

Using her magic to save him isn’t dangerous, it’s self preservation, and there is nothing Draco wants more than to keep her safe.

The windows shatter, the door comes away from its hinges. She’s vaguely aware of the fact that Goyle is yelling. Tossing his wand to the floor near Draco.

Rosanna can’t make out what he’s saying over the ringing in her ears. The magic courses through her now, consuming her and she sees red. There’s not a spell in the world that will be punishment enough for what Nott has done.

He used the imperius curse to leak Draco’s file from the ministry.

Crucio. No, that isn’t enough.

He tried to recruit Delphi to do his dirty work.

Reducto. No.

He used Rabastan and his sick obsession to distract them.

Avada Kedavra.

He came into their home.

Avada Kedavra.

He hurt Draco.

Avada Kedavra.

They need him alive, at least for a while, to make sure this ends with him.

And so Rosanna thinks of the spell, one that will kill him agonizingly slow, if no one intervenes.

“Sectum Sempra.”

Theodore’s skin flays open, much faster than Draco’s had all those years before, when Harry struck him the lavatory. Down to the muscle, in no time.

Someone is screaming.

Telling her to stop.

But she can’t stop.

She doesn’t want to stop.

Goyle isn’t beside her anymore, he’s moved away. Blown back against the wall. Did she do that?

“Rosanna, stop!” Hermione? Hermione is there and telling her to stop, pleading with tears in her eyes.

“Why do you care about him? He tried to-”

“I don’t! I don’t care about him!” Hermione shouts back, “I care about you!”

Rosanna draws back. Taking in the scene before her. Draco is there, on the floor, twitching with the after effects of the cruciatus curse. How long was Nott torturing him? How long has she been flaying Theodore open?

Harry is over Nott now, assessing the damage. It’s bad. Even with the counter spell, he isn’t sure he’ll live. Not that it matters, but they can’t try a dead man.

Help Draco, save Draco. Rosanna’s head is pounding furiously, as she collapses at his side.“Draco?”

Draco curls himself around her, lips quirked with the hint of a smile. “Do you know the worst part about all of this?”

“Hmm?”

“Your magic listens to me as well as you do. Rarely, if ever.” He clarifies, “perhaps never at all.”

Rosanna chokes out laugh, “I listen to you. This is self preservation, just like you said.”

“This is not what I meant.” There’s blood, too much blood, staining her golden nightgown crimson. Her eyes have no whites to them, all broken blood vessels and blown pupils, threatening to swallow her brown irises. “This was foolish, highly irresponsible-”

Rosanna’s lips are on his then, silencing any further ranting. “I will always take care of you, Draco. No matter how foolish or irresponsible that makes me or how mad you get, I will never let anyone hurt you. My only regret is that I couldn’t do it sooner. I wish I could go back and stop anyone from ever hurting you.”

Draco’s eyes search her face, “we need to get you to a healer.”

Rosanna doesn’t fight him on that. “My brain is on fire.” She feels it now.

————————————————————————

Six days later, under the florescent lights of St. Mungos hospital, Rosanna wakes. She turns and vomits onto the floor, rousing the man in the chair beside her.

Draco.

Draco.

Draco.

“I’ll get you some water.” He says, casting a quick cleansing spell over Rosanna and the floor.

There’s nothing to do but wait. Eventually he returns, cup in hand.

“Thank you.”

Draco gives a curt nod.

“You’re pissed at me.” Rosanna accepts the offering, chugging it down.

“I…” Draco chokes out. “I am beyond angry. I am beside myself with worry for you.”

“Draco, I’m so-”

“Don’t,” he warns, “don’t you dare apologize to me. You’re not sorry, you told me you’d do it again!”

“Come here,” Rosanna insists, grabbing his arms and tugging him onto the cot with her. His shoulders are shaking, the entire length of him rigid. As though he’ll break if he softens. “I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry to worry you, I’m sorry that I upset you. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.”

The dam breaks and Draco sobs, unabashedly against the crook of her neck. “Please, Rosanna, I am begging you, please don’t do this to me again.”

“I love you.” She continues feebly, “I love you so much and when I saw you…when I saw him hurting you, I lost control. But I’ll learn to reign it in. I’ll learn, I promise. Give me time and I’ll-”

Draco says nothing.

“It’s like you said, to my bones I am yours. I mean that. Do what you want with me. Take my magic, hide me away, keep me to yourself, if that is what you need. I’ll never complain. I have caused you so much heartache, let me give you peace.”

“The only thing I want is a long life with you, quit trying to rob me of it.” Draco breathes, allowing her fingers to card his hair.

“I owe you more than that.” The words to hang between them for a moment before Rosanna amends her statement. “I want to give you more than that. I want to give you everything.” I want to be your solace. I want to give back a fraction of what you’ve given me. “I want to fix this.”

Draco draws back slightly, his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in. Keeping her safe. “Sweetheart, this isn’t broken. It’s ours. You are mine and I am yours. It can never be broken.”

Rosanna nods, tears slipping from her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Ro. I’m tired of making you cry.” His thumbs skate over her cheeks, drawing the moisture away.

————————————————————————

Their friends and family trickle in and out of the hospital, until they are released a few days later.

Even Goyle comes to visit, after they’ve returned home, to some sense of normalcy. “You buggered it,” is all he has to say to his friend’s wife. “I’d been working on Nott for weeks, earning his trust, I even tipped off Draco and Potter. I had it under control. Then you fucked the whole plan right up the arse, put me through a wall, for no bloody reason.”

“Any plan that includes my husband being tortured is a shit plan.” Rosanna cocks her head to the side.

“Would’ve spared you the brain damage.” Goyle says, bitterly. He’s never been particularly fond of Rosanna, but he doesn’t wish her dead.

“She doesn’t have brain damage.” Draco snarls, “I had them check a dozen times, her scans are normal.” He’s struck a nerve.

Rosanna puts a hand over his, squeezing lightly. “I had a brain bleed and some swelling, the only thing affected is my short term memory. But the healer is hopeful that even that is temporary.”

Draco’s fingers twitch beneath hers. “Talk about something else.”

So they do.

Part 19

#through love and by love #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x oc #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter #Hermione granger

[blackbirdswhispers]

It is time for a mostly done with Act 2 Astarion ramble. Spoilers, discussion of trauma, and general too much thinkery ahead

So I ended up redoing a chunk of Act 2 specifically so I could turn down the drow and get the alternate dialogue for Astarion’s romance scene. I’ve seen both cutscenes ahead of time. Games with this many choices and so many things that can be missed give me mad anxiety, I just plan my route ahead of time to remove the stress of missing specific moments I want to see.

I’ve seen it said that some people strongly prefer one course of action over the other, and of course there is a lot to dig into in the first real steps Astarion takes to be more genuine with Tav. Personally, the drow related dialogue for me hits well because it isn’t just him rambling at Tav again.

He’s nervous in both scenes, but in the non-drow conversation he’s particularly unsettled. He’s working through what he has to say but it comes off to me as he’s been overthinking for so long he just had to spit it out.

Full disclosure I think both sets of dialogue are peak writing, truth be told. I have a fondness for each of them for different reasons. But it’s the clarity with which Astarion thanks Tav for standing up for him that really gets me. There’s a little bit of awe in it, which I think is what makes Astarion so afraid still.

How do you really admire someone but not become beholden to them? He, who has had no one to admire in two centuries, fell in with a group of people who are all beholden to gods and devils and ideals. And they’ve, most of them, been betrayed already or are in the process of being wounded by those very bonds.

I haven’t played with Minthara but, obviously she’s been trapped by the Absolute. I think Halsin is the only one Astarion might see as truly free from the shackles that hold everyone else.

I also think it’s why he shows so much dislike when Tav is quick to do the good thing selflessly. The lack of self preservation! What if you get tangled up in some horrible trap! What if you piss off the wrong bad guy!

And we all know the Bad Guys are much, much worse than the Good Guys can ever counter. Who in 200 years was Good enough to help him? Who in 200 years even touched an evil so great as Cazador?

But here comes Tav, doing good (depending on the playthrough, but accurate enough for mine) and surmounting a curse laid on a land for a century. Even at this point where we haven’t made it all the way to the end of Act 2, we’re really doing it.

And for my Tav (Zane), he’s been helping the companions break free of their bonds through it all. Encouraged Wyll to try and get out of his pact. Scolded Gale for thinking of following Mystra’s plan. Stood by Lae’zel as her goddess outcast her. Implored Shadowheart to really think about following through with Shar’s murderous request. Sought out the metal to help Karlach to boot, with her ‘master’ yet to be handled.

Their futures already on a knife’s edge with mindflayer tadpoles buried in their brains, yet Zane’s out here quietly demanding they talk on personal growth as well as worldly peril. And isn’t that just life for you?

Sooo yeah, why *wouldn’t* Astarion be terrified to find himself catching feelings for someone like that? At first it would have seemed the safest option, bait the bleeding heart to bleed for you. For you alone if you could manage to captivate them well enough.

And bleed they do. Bleed right into your mouth each and every evening just to keep you Happy.

But they keep bleeding for everyone else too. They aren’t afraid to ask for help. They cheerfully stroll up to Shadowheart every morning, shamelessly asking to be restored after you’ve taken a chunk out of them, again. Everyone knows it’s happening! It should feel like you’re the one keeping them! But does it?

They keep taking requests for everyone they meet. They drag you out and about for far far too long each day, making you party to their endless favors.

One night they come to you, bruises all over them, their eyes shadowed because they were literally beat to death in a fight, spared by Shadowheart because you were on the other side of the room handling some other Absolute minion. They come to you in such a state, and offer again to bleed for you. What a freak, how can you not feel for them?

And then you get to this drow, and they’re another person asking for a favor. Another person wanting something. Sure this time it’s specifically from you but, it’s not even a hard task, from the outside. You’re a vampire, biting other creatures is literally what you do. And she wants it for a boon to the party.

Surely they’re going to try to convince you. It’s not even a task you have to fetch anything for! You’re standing right there with them! And when they express their surprise to you, of course you get defensive and brace yourself for the worst!

Part of you starts to crack a little as the Good lays it’s oppressive hands on you. Of course this is how it’s going to go. When has it ever gone differently. There are ideals to uphold. Tasks to help with.

Then you look them in their eyes, and they’re looking right back, careful and a little sad, watching as you prepare to put up a fight or give in to despair. And they’re speaking and….genuinely mean it when they tell you it’s your decision. To do what *you* want.

They subvert all your concepts of Good. They don’t call you selfish, they don’t even push back at all. They just support your decision. They don’t make you do the one thing vampires do best. They don’t hold it over your head. They just, let you make your decision and carry on with the rest of their life.

Oh gods you were going to obey them if they ordered you to do it. You would have, but why? Your natural order is to be under someone’s thumb, but the whole intention was for you to have them under yours. You slipped into your place without a second thought, even while panicking about getting stuck back there again.

For me, the romance conversation happened the same night. My next long rest Astarion was immediately pulling Zane over to thank him. To thank him!

Not the through gritted teeth thanks for helping him fulfill his deal for Raphael. Astarion genuinely desired to express gratitude. He still gives some background as to why he’s making such a show of it, but it feels less hurried and anxious. Or at least it did to me.

Anyway this is another hot mess post by 2am me so it’s time to sleep. I will not be reading over this before I post so sorry for the absolute stream of consciousness, or near unconsciousness as it were.

Good night

#bg3 #spoilers #astarion #a big long ramble #that may or may not make sense #act 2 #I just want to love this pixel man #I didn’t even get to a point I wanted to make but I’m too tired to carry on

[stabbysideblog]

There was so much wrong with the STAGED finale I'm surprised it managed to happen and no one rubbed 3 braincells together and realized it was a load of bullshit enough to fertilize the entire smp. like first off

THE MONEY

Punz has had many many chances to work for tommy / l'manburg's side but all they've shown themselves capable of scrounging up is some pocket change, lint, and a couple of thoughts and prayers. Look at it like this, he could take that one good payout from them that singular time and boom Dream is handled he's no longer needed congratulations you live too gucci and will be BROKE within the month. ORRRRR he can keep working for Dream who as far as they know have an entire SERVER of people that need to be squeezed of their valuables so that's going to be ummmm Quite A Few more payouts that will over time be worth more. But no they just assume he what? Got a conscious all of a sudden? HOW many times has this dude helped a literal country get blown up???? Talking about a country

THE SERVER

Why???? Was everyone just chill with watching these two march to their death? You're telling me it took Punz to be like "No wait aha maybe we shouldn't just let two people walk off into their death ahaaaaa" Everyone was just going to let them go say goodbye for the last time cause they all know they don't have any more canon lives and no one knows about the revive book. Just fine watching them go down the suicide walk. Or the alternative is that they already planned to bust in nether-side and decided to make them feel like the entire server was okay with their suicide mission. Put some trauma on top of the trauma cause we want us saving you to be dramatic. Even saying that it brings up another problem

THE PLAN

Did they honestly expect Dream to only be prepared for 2 people? He made an entire display of Tommy's house but yea his 'come alone' was totally supposed to keep everyone else away cause they aren't their own people with free will who could just follow them. 'Come alone' is the oldest trick in the book. It's weirder if you don't say it! It's just a formality. How many times do people actually cOmE ALoNe. They were so confident in this that some of them didn't even have proper armor

Only 6 people have full netherite armor, one of which has been working for Dream for damn near forever. (But recently grew a heart <- lies) Why not loan some armor to the dude who is naked except for his gucci flip-flops? The only people without armor who gets an excuse is Callahan who as far as we know is a minor god. Dream made it as obvious as possible to the entire server that he was about to do some heinous shit, but they don't expect him to be prepared for them to react to the heinous shit???? B-but wait there's more!!!

THE VAULT

So, we all agree that Punz has to know about the vault and have been to the vault, since he led everyone into it right? So why the fuck

Would he sign off on this. The shulker is Punz's most prized possession and you're telling me he was like "You're going to steal everyone's items except mine right that's a lol meme, right?" Based off the video on Dream's channel we know he's not the type to take risks for no reason that don't have a high chance of shaking out fine. In what world would he or anyone else want to get wrapped up in messing with Technoblade? But sure, let's pretend they all think Punz was deluded into thinking Dream made that slot for shits and giggles. What about the Skeppy cage? It's a joke it's a meme sure! But there is a giant prison that Dream commissioned to be built of which we only know 1 person he claims to want to put in it (Tommy. It has multiple cells.). In what universe would it make more sense to trap Skeppy in a small box he can just dig out of while Dream is in his villain tower cackling when lightning strikes. Let's assume the Vault is just the backdrop easy to ignore the details, there needs to be something else they should have noticed. Oh maybe like

KILLING TUBBO?

It makes NO SENSE. Listen to these explanations he gives

What the fuck is any of that supposed to mean. To be fair it does its job. It makes them terrified of this weapon-holding armored madman speaking nonsense but with a very clear threat. Something that can easily be conveyed when the portal is used by the server "He's gonna kill Tubbo!" but still. It makes no sense. Tubbo being a used-up pawn doesn't work, what about snowchester, what about Ranboo? It was so close to declaring independence that Tubbo was making NUKES and as soon as Dream is out of the picture they go ahead and do it. He claims that Tommy brings attachments as if he is some kind of friendship artifact that makes people care about things. The truth is Tommy didn't make BBH care about skeppy, Tommy isn't the reason Punz got his shulker, and the fish were found far before Tommy's time. Even looking at his vault this theory falls apart. It's hot air he's using to intimidate people that is based on a paper-thin facade. The worst is him spouting about Tommy being a hero a line he clearly picked off from Techno calling Tommy a hero. Why would he want to do that, what would he gain from killing Tubbo aside from an even bigger target on his back. Also, once he kills Tubbo in the vault like he claims to want to, what then? What could he possibly use against Tommy to get him to walk into the prison? He's made it clear he will not kill Tommy and he needs everyone's attachments so is he going to ask pretty-please? It's dumb. It's a dumb plan and a dumb threat that literally cannot benefit him. Still on the surface it's not as dumb as

THE PRISON

This is not part of it being staged on Sam's part but from anyone else's POV it should be so very sus. So you're telling me that THE PREMIRE VILLAN of the server is going to be busted (nice) by the guy who's been his bestie in crime because they were paid off? Okay sure that's not totally impossible to believe. But you're going to tell me he's going to go into his own prison that he paid for and will be guarded by the guy he has worked hand-in-hand with for the past months and we HAVEN'T paid off that guy? And he's going to take him to jail alone with his ex-bestie and the muffin man and no one else can watch? Could we get an imposter check on anyone there? In retrospect we know it turns out fine but that is the most impossibly suspicious thing that has happened all day and that's saying a lot!

IN CONCLUSION

The server is dumb and full of cowards and it's kind of embarrassing that given the entire plan is faked Dream couldn't come up with better lies. He was good at being scary and that was the most important thing so good job idiot enjoy the yearlong torture box.

#dreblr #dsmpblr #dsmp #dream smp #disc finale #i was thinking about it #and so i decided to post about it #im a simple guy

[starvels]

SteveTony Reclist: Road-Trips

@stevetonygames 2023 team future. challenge: camouflage. a reclist in the style of the inspiring @carsonian ! (thanks for your fun reclisting haha)

---

A Long Road To Share [FANART] by SirSapling

Summary:

After 50 years in the ice and a couple exhausting years leading the Ultimates, Steve realises he isn't quite sure he knows anything about the new modern America he's supposed to represent. Luckily, Tony has an idea how to show him.

Notes:

such a sweet hopeful look at ults in the future! the landscape is warm and so is my heart. this comic encapsulates the road trip vibes in its scenery, colors and soft focus on steve and tony discussing believing in each other.

---

After the Devil is Gone by Ironlawyer

Summary:

When Steve leaves to travel the country on his bike, Tony comes with him. But Steve is not ready to face those particular demons yet.

Notes:

CW for noncon offscreen. a super sharp desolate view of steve's 616 roadtrip, this fic aches to its core! the things it doesn't have to say ring so loudly and painfully across the text.

--

Are we satellites? by starvels

Summary

In between sunrises on the road, Steve is speaking, eating, stepping into diners to save people like coming back to his childhood home. And Tony, Tony is watching him. Tony is relearning being awake. - A cross country roadtrip where Steve and Tony find the typical American town, a fuckton of trees and finally, finally, find the right questions to ask each other.

Notes: a self rec! this is an ode to winding american roads, the trauma and aches of being a superhero, the longing that comes with being in love with your best friend, and both steve and tony being the little spoon.

---

BACK IN BLACK!! Eyes on the road Tony… [FANART] by @shaggybeetle

Summary:

MCU roadtrip featuring sing alongs to blaring music, delicious snacks and a phone ready to topple off the dashboard

Notes:

what a style! what a scene! steve and tony jamming out is so fun and they both look so at peace and ready to dig into vacation. great atmospheric details like trees through the windows!

---

Flight of Icarus by Missy_dee811

Summary:

“Tony,” said Kamala, hurried. “I loaded up some music to give you a little boost,” she said. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry,” she added. “It’s not mine.” He smiled. I knew I liked you. She wished him luck. He thanked her, though he didn’t believe in luck. He had one try, one try to get it right. She was counting on him, they all were. It felt good to be needed. It felt good to be useful. All these years, he had wanted nothing more. He couldn’t fail now. Not again. [Written for Lights On Park Ave - Round 13.]

Notes:

a marvel avenger's video game rec! a wistful retrospective of tony dealing with the loss of steve, flipping through memories like a photo album, topped with a reunion cherry!

---

the honeymoon suite by CapnShellhead

Summary:

Wade Wilson is getting married and he's assembling a team to get him to Vegas for his bachelor party. Requiring a team with a special set of skills, he asks Wolverine, Spider-Man, Special Agent Preston and Captain America to come along. Steve decides this would be a wonderful opportunity to fix a rift between him and an old friend.

Notes:

a thoroughly enjoyable 30k 616-verse fic based in an oft-overlooked moment in canon featuring delights such as: bed sharing! team fight scenes! wistful conversations! snark! accidentally thinking of your crush while jerking off!

---

On the Road We Find the Journey Home by navaan

Summary

In the Aftermath of Secret Empire, Steve goes on his Road Trip to find out who Captain America can be after Hyda!Cap put fear into the hearts' of the people who used to cheer for him. His thoughts trail back to Tony.

Notes:

follows 616 canon for steve's post-hydra road trip gives this fic the opportunity to have steve connect genuinely to things in a way that reminds us all why we love cap. the end pay-off is good and the writing is so very even keel and wonderfully paced.

---

somewhere along the oregon coast by Marvellous

Summary:

Tony stared at the door of the coffee shop they’d pulled up to, watching multiple people come and go. He crossed his arms and laughed to himself, “How much do you want to bet he’s having a very in depth conversation right now?” A deep but agreeable woof sounded from the backseat of the car.

Notes:

small and sweet like a little dessert! a tale of a pup and a love so warm it melts your heart to look at it. sometimes, it is that easy.

---

ride (with) me [FANART] by wingheads

Summary:

kobik brought steve back. tony woke up from a coma. a road trip seems like a good place to start some reacquaintance. square filled: e1 motorcycle lol i really wanted that stevetony roadtrip in 2018 bc it had been a long time ?? since steve and tony were together where steve isn't old (i love old man steve btw) or evil and tony isn't in a coma or an ai. etc. etc. inspired by steve's road trip.

Notes:

a vibrant scene of steve and tony on their way to reconcile some loving feelings, complete with a gorgeously detailed motorcycle. the vibes here are so picturesque and the pose is so sweet.

---

You Go Up Instead of Down [FANART] by MissionCritical

Summary:

This is set in the universe of the 1966 Marvel Superheroes cartoons (Earth-600026). Only two years ago, Iron Man and the original Avengers discovered Steve, frozen and floating in the Arctic Ocean, and rescued him. It's been rough for Steve, adjusting to this new world, but he has a lot of support -- from two people in particular. Tony Stark is brilliant, handsome, and a generous benefactor to the team. He's even given Steve a place to live in his own actual mansion! Steve doesn't really understand why, but it's clear Mr. Stark is good man, devoted to helping the Avengers. And then there's Iron Man, who has quickly become Steve's best friend, Iron Man is brave, and determined, and just a terrific teammate. He's given Steve the thrilling experience of flying into battle by riding on his back! And in that gleaming suit of armor, Iron Man always has Steve's back. Steve is Iron Man's biggest fan.

Note:

a delightful lil glimpse into a fun, small universe, this edit is such a delight to experience! we all need a little more flying steve in our lives, don't we?

---

go forth: stevetony beans, greens, potatoes, you name it! and give these treats the resounding kudos/comment/retweet/reblog chomps they deserve!

#:)))))) #fic rec #my talk #stevetonygames #stevetony games 2023 #stevetony #fic blogging #my recs

[a-kookie-with-my-tae]

TEASER

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Music Producer!Reader

Genre: Angst (bc I hate myself apparently), Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: Reader is emotionally constipated, Koo just wants love, yelling, crying, why do I do this to myself, omg the tension between these two I can't even

A/N: This teaser seems super angsty but I promise the full fic is really fluffy, too! The reader just is really battling some trauma and inner demons and all the confliction that comes with it. I know this is pretty long for a tease, but I got a bit carried away writing, haha. I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

"Why do you always do that?" My hand freezes on the handle of the door, pausing my escape as his words resonate sounding as if he was speaking directly into my ear even though he was positioned on the other side of the room. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I state firmly, albeit shaky. I turn my head slightly to the side toward him, my eyes planted firmly forward. 

He scoffs. "Am I just crazy then?"

His voice cracks as it rises in pitch and volume, maddened at my anesthetized tone. I hear the sound of shuffling footsteps as he paces the length of the small studio we occupy. I almost smile at the habit, Jungkook always tends to pace when he's in his head.

"I mean, I can't be imagining things, right?" I hear him pause in place, assuming he's now facing me. "You have to feel it, too."

He says it almost as a question rather than a statement. I hang my head, eyes focusing on the light gray carpet as they start to well up. I take a deep, shaky breath as I try to gain my composure. I can never hold anything back with him, that's always been the problem. I thought I was as cold as ice, hard as stone. But near him I'm nothing but glass. He always seems to shatter my facade, pull out the emotions I locked away long ago. 

The urge to turn around and face him is near impossible to subdue, but I somehow managed to push the feelings down. I can't allow myself to feel for him. He's unreachable, even if he wasn't the most sought after man in the world. I can never compare to who he is. If I tried, I'd only fail. He's a shining light, a beam of beauty and I would only swallow him up in my darkness. I haven't allowed myself to love anyone in a long time. Loving him would only break me. 

My breathing stutters as I feel movement in the room. I don't even have to turn around to know that he is standing directly behind me. 

"You have too..." This time his voice is almost a whisper, his soft breath brushing the back of my neck. My hand falls from the door as they ball up in a fist, fingernails digging into the skin of my palms to hold back from reaching for him. The tears in my eyes start to fall as I fight the urge, my heart shattering in the process but I steel myself still.

I feel his hands hover over my arms, my body sensitive to his slightest movement. They shake as he tries to decide whether or not to touch me, knowing it's wanted but feeling it unwelcome in the current circumstances. I can feel the confliction in his mind. 

Just ignore him. He can never be yours, no matter what he says. Stick to your guns, Y/N. He's just another boy...

They sound like a lie, but the words still bring me reason, a new resolution, reminding me why I'm attempting to escape. The room feels heavy with tension as he waits for me to speak, our breathing the only sound.

But the silence is deafening.

My eyes dart back and forth as I try to put words together. A confession and a lie dueling for dominance in my head as my mouth stutters for a singular thought. 

I suck in a deep breath as his hand touches my fist, unraveling my fingers. 

"Turn around." Jungkook says softly, fingers intertwining with mine.

I turn my head to the side, still not able to make eye contact with him. I know as soon as I see his sparkly doe eyes filled with everything I'm terrified of... whatever resolution I have will shatter.

"Jungkook..." My voice cracks as my tears fall heavier. I clear my throat before straightening my spine and facing back toward the door, my eyes zeroing in on the handle. "Jungkook, let me go."

"Why?" His voice echoes through the studio as he raises his voice in exasperation. "Why can't you look at me?"

He grasps my hand harder as I try to pull away, tugging me toward him as my back hits the firmness of his torso. Even in my current state of mind, his touch still sends tingles throughout my whole body, melting me into him as my body betrays me. It brings me warmth in a way I've never known, and along with it the pain of knowing I can never allow myself to bask in it. 

"Because I'm not doing anything." The words don't even sound true to me, but I still try to fool myself into believing that I'm not lying through my teeth.

"You're lying!" He shouts. He pulls away from me, turning around. My body shrinks into itself at the loss of him, cold and numb. He laughs darkly.

I turn around, confused as to what could be bringing the laughter. I regret the decision immediately.

He's more disheveled than I've ever seen him before. I don't even have to see his face to know the agony that's in his eyes. His hands are buried in his hair, tugging it at the roots as if pulling it in all directions will somehow ease his frustration. 

He turns back around and his eyes lock with mine. My heart shatters at the state of him, cheeks red and tears streaming down his face. Whether they're from heartbreak or anger, I don't know. But, my resolution is slowly breaking away at the sight. Confusion, confliction, frustration, and pain all swim in those beautiful doe eyes and I hurt even more than I thought was possible seeing it. 

"You feel something, too! I know I'm not crazy. There's something here, I know it. But every time I get close, you run away..." His eyes bore into my very soul as he pauses, looking like a mad-man. The fact that I'm the cause if it makes me conflicted. On one hand I want to run and tug him into my embrace and tell him that it will all be okay. But on the other... I know it will only make it worse if I give in to that urge.

Slowly, he steps back toward me, reaching for my hands. This time I let him.

"Why do you always run away?" He whispers as he stares at our intertwined hands, a small crease forming as his brows furrow.

I look down at our hands, his fingers almost playing with my own. His are warm in mine. They feel as if they belong, sending warmth up my arms and to my chest. 

I take a deep breath before speaking. 

"You scare me, Jungkook." I admit, the whisper almost deafening.

There's a pause as he muddles over my words.

"Why?"

His hand reaches for my cheek when I don't respond, his fingers wrapping around my jaw and behind my ear. He gently turns my face up until I lock eyes with him, all the feelings that have been rushing through his mind can be seen clear as day in them.

"Why do I scare you?"

He pushes further, the crease in his forehead deepening. He steps even closer until our lips are mere inches apart, causing me to have to look upward to meet my eyes with his.

"What are you so scared of?" His voice raises as his lips curl.

"Because you're someone I can see myself falling in love with!"

My eyes stare at his chest, rising and falling with each jagged breath he takes. 

The silence seems to last forever before he's finally breaking it with a whisper.

"And what if I want you to?"

.

.

.

And I fall.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts #bts fanfiction #fanfic

[coffee-in-veins]

Hey, I'm that new player anon from the other blog who asked about Tardif enjoying baking. Thanks for your detailed answer.

I'd like to ask, why do you feel the DD2 interpretations of the characters feel squeaky clean? I have heard from others that DD2's backstories comes off as trying to make them similar to Dismas' (feeling remorseful for their past and trying to find redemption), is that true? Characters like Sarmenti don't feel like they're particularly different, but I can see where they're coming from with Paracelsus or something

Hello hello! o/ welcome to the fandom and thank you for the ask :}

Sorry for the late reply, i was promptly reminded why i shouldn't type big answers in a browser and had to re-do this answer a few times ^^'

i'm happy that my bits of historical anecdotes were of any interest to you, if you have anything else you'd like to know, ask away, i'll do my best to answer. i researched DD's possible cuisine for my writing, so i'm more than happy to share and have an unhealthy amount of interest in Crimson Curse

Now, regarding your ask…

Oh, the characterization... well, i am working on a huge and detailed answer for another ask regarding Dismas in particular, and it's taking me a while because i have feelings and i need to dig out DD2 barks for factual comparison, but in general, for me this is because of three things:

removal of the character's agency;

removal of moral ambiguity;

re-writing of established facts that contradict 'heroism';

You see, before DD2's shrines, all the fandom had to work with were hero's comics, their barks (lines they say during specific afflictions and/or actions) and descriptions on some of their personal trinkets (namely, Crimson Curse sets). All of those were vague and open to interpretation, but painted quite a dark picture for any given hero. The only more or less 'cinnamon rolls' (aka victims of circumstance but arguably good-aligned) were Baldwin (leper), Misendei (arbalest), William (Houndmaster) and Bigby (Abomination), who were wronged but tried to keep their goodness intact. And even those supposed cinnabuns had some quite questionable lines when stressed enough, revealing that sure, they did their best, but even they weren't spotless.

However, everyone else was either a selfish ass, or a coward, or mass murderer, or someone else equally shitty and their 'key backstory moment' was painting them in a dubious light.

Fresh examples that pop up in my head and have mirrors in DD2 are Paracelsus (Plague Doctor), who was rather obsessed with her work on the human body, and her barks show how she is absolutely determined to keep her notes and research private but in a rather "this is my achievement, only mine!" way. She's arrogant and shoves her way around others whenever she's stressed, feeling them all beneath her.

For example:

(sigh) My time is too valuable for these trivialities!

You halfwits are interrupting my concentration!

Uneducated brutes! The ignorance! The idiocy!

Hmmm... deformed at birth or merely hideous?

So many useful organs... all wasted on you.

Why bother? You are all little more than meat.

Medicine marks a new age, ignorant barbarians!

Sure, her comic shows her hard working, not denying that, but also having the bloodied handkerchief of her professor with her (from the 4th panel onward, it's always with her); which can be interpreted in a multitude of ways, not excluding her poisoning him just to be able to work on his body and further the study. We can't see her shunned and debated as it was shown in DD2, and she isn't portrayed as a singular woman character in the university setting. We can't see her professor dying of natural causes – we just see him dead and her coming to witness that, already with books and clutter at hand. It can be seen as if it was her own scheme. For all we know - yes, she is the mad scientist (tm.) and it wasn't her trauma or making a zombie which pushed her out of university and into Hamlet, but her arrogance, very Victor Frankenstein style.

However, in DD2 a lot, and I mean a LOT was made to make her softer, mellower, less over the top and more sympathetic: how the professor disregards her theories; how she's the sole woman in the class; how she is mocked, debated and considered 'scandalous' (based on Shrine quotes); how she lost her will to pursue medicine; how she was a poor little meow meow after shrine 5 who cannot focus and get the screams out of her head (which contradicts heavily all of her characterization in DD1...); you get the idea. Even her negative barks aren’t as vicious:

You bicker as a child does!

You! Reckless! You threaten us all!

I've had better company in the morgue!

If I bleed out, who will staunch your wounds?

By my calculations, you misjudged that.

Sure, it can be because DD2 is still in the making, but… they have a different attitude, don’t you think?

A lot of work went into making this character as beaten up and sympathetic as possible instead of an over the top, cocky, somewhat mad scientist with absolutely unhinged love and fascination for bodies and bodily fluids (she’s asking her teammates for their piss during camping for god’s sake, that woman has no understanding of social norms, or no use for them) - but in doing so, Para lost what... well, made her Para, in my opinion. Para in DD1 goes through bodies, piss and blood to further her goal of medical enlightenment; Para in DD2 is a tormented soul who went in over her head and got broken, and now atones for... well, making a zombie out of an already dead man and genuinely i fail to see how is that use any worse than a regular autopsy. It's not like her professor felt it, or was trapped in that body or was turned into a zombie by a bite or something. He was already dead. So... dunno, maybe it's just me, but the sudden complete breakdown was... odd. Para I knew would’ve been motivated to push even further, to make that mistake count. Para from DD2 broke and gave up – which, in turn, makes no sense, since the timeline is DD2 backstory -> DD1 -> DD2, so she had to go to Hamlet and continue her experiments there and… alright, the timeline is another beast altogether, and I am not poking it here.

Another example is Audrey, the Grave Robber. In DD1 she was flamboyant and cocky, teasing and taunting enemies and allies alike, concerned about her clothes even in the heat of battle and undeniably selfish, in there for a thrill and money. She still referred to herself as a Lady, and was quite cheeky with everyone. We saw her backstory comic, and all it showed was the poverty of a high class lady, a presumably dead husband (?) and how she turned to grave robbing due to him being buried with his jewellery. Her barks referred to tea, ambergris and other high-end luxuries, so it was an easy timeline to map: a noblewoman (the title of Lady was only reserved for a wife of the currently ruling Lord, and I’d better stop here before I start poking heraldry and title inheritance) who got into debt for some reason (maybe even her own spending) and was facing eviction and social humiliation, and who decided to change her fate. That was it. No domestic abuse (although, I cannot argue that it wouldn’t be setting- and time-appropriate), nothing about her husband sexually assaulting her, nothing. Only her love for baubles and luxuries. For all we knew, she had spent the family fortune on those. I don’t think there’s any indication in DD1 which points to her killing her husband, really. Hell, we weren’t even sure it was her husband, some people headcannoned the guy from the portrait as her father.

But in DD2 she is shown as exclusively a victim – at home, she’s a victim of abuse, then she’s a victim of circumstance, she’s a cornered woman, desperate to get out and get better. It’s not her fault she poisoned her husband – he abused her! It’s not her fault she became a grave digger – she was forced into it! She isn’t a bad person. She was forced into those circumstances! She’s a good person, a hero! She was just in a very bad spot, really, please sympathise with her.

You mentioned Sarmenti, and I want to poke that one a bit, too. He, too, is very different to what was portrayed in DD1 and DD2. In DD1 his backstory was one of revenge for the humiliation he was faced with during his work in the court of the tyrant. However, it was never shown how or why would he come there. Again, for all we know, he worked there, and his barks about serving at children’s birthday parties supported that. We knew he was a jester and he worked as a jester. He was humiliated and took revenge by killing the court. How he summoned spears of dubious origin was never explained or addressed. With all the constant laughing he had in his barks, it sounded almost like he had PBA (pseudobulbar affect). If he actually had it, becoming a jester was really one of the few available options for him.

But in DD2 he is shown to be specifically a musician who became famous enough to become a curio, was tricked into coming to court, caught and kept there, humiliated in ways even Narrator refuses to specify and supposedly driven absolutely insane by the combination of that and some eldritch music magic he got. He wasn't even employed there. He was tricked, lied to, then abused. Again, an absolutely normal, arguably good person, driven up a wall due to horrendous inhumane circumstances to do evil— sounds familiar by the third time, isn’t it?

And this is why I call them squeaky clean. Heroes in DD1 were the agents of their downfall. They were arrogant, they made decisions which ended up in disasters, they were led by their greed, obsession or vices. But they had agency. Sure, they weren’t good people – but they were active forces in their lives, and what they did or didn’t do was just that – their action, their decision, their agency. It was never exclusively circumstances offering only one solution which happened to be a bad one. It’s not that they chose bad action because it was easy or they didn’t care or something else caused by heroes – they were put in circumstances where this was the only course of action they could do, and thus, they cannot be considered morally bankrupt for doing the only available thing. All of the backstories are now there to evoke sympathy and say “wouldn’t you do the same if you were put in the same awful circumstances?”. And this, to me, cheapens and flattens the heroes by a huge margin. Frankly, I’m even a little bit surprised the ‘redemption’ bit is intact, considering how much they distanced the heroes from the actual horrible things they did. Arguably, Alhazred is the only one who still does his backstory completely selfishly, but they don’t really show him as remorseful, too, and because of that it’s not as jarring.

But then again, heroes in DD1 didn't always seek redemption in Hamlet. For some, it was just... money, fame or a job. The high moral horse was a factor only to a selected few (looking at you, Dismas). It wasn't ubiquitous. And frankly, it made the motley lot more believable. People are different. People react to bad things differently. Hell, people cannot even agree on what "bad" is. Damian's favourite pastime for all intents and purposes can be Bigby's nightmare. Having different heroes having different reasons in their backstories helped them stand out against each other more, in my opinion. The way all of the backstories became only focused on redemption, and only pushing hard for sympathy after DD1's diversity is frankly a bit odd for me.

Again, RH are the canon makers and if this is what they wish to do with their property, more power to them. But to me as a writer it is disappointing.

I hope this explains it ^^ but feel free to ask more if you want to

#my shoebox of letters #darkest dungeon #darkest dungeon 2 #character study #dd paracelsus #audrey #sarmenti #dd plague doctor #dd grave robber #dd jester #writers pain #the bloodied journal page || my writing #Grievings of the mountain || discussing DD2