#mostly out of fear of missing a cw tag

[crowdsourcedloner]

okay so nailah has a whole ~thing~ about people using her name and how she’s perceived so here’s the long explanation/story about it (covers pre-arr up through the end of base arr)

(it gets heavy - this is your warning. also ~1k words. sorry.)

As a kid, her mother Tasya would rarely use Nailah’s name, choosing instead to just call her “girl” or “child” the majority of the time. In the very rare times she’d praise her daughter, Tasya would say it quietly, and only ever in private. Nailah internalized the idea that a name is a vulnerable thing - something delicate, reserved only for people one deeply trusted. She projected this rule on others as well, picking up the habit of calling people by their job or title on the few occasions she was allowed to speak.

Once Nailah’s started having visions, she lost the privilege of having a name. Tasya immediately switched to referring to her with insults, ranging from “thing” to “half-mad beast” to “disappointment” and the like. Nailah’s potential was mourned far more than her presence was tolerated. The rejection and denial carved a weeping hole in her heart, and she spent an incredible amount of effort trying to be good enough again for Tasya. It never was.

After her mother finally abandoned her, she wandered nameless through the wilds. She thought of herself as a wild, half-mad beast, fit only to scavenge the very fringes of society. Yet when she’d encounter a stranger in the woods and they’d ask her name she never knew how to respond. Should she admit to her brokenness? Tell them she was a monster? Someone better left forgotten? She settled on simply being called “wanderer” - it was the truth, if anything. A mask to hide how she saw herself. She quickly realized it could be used to set people’s expectations of her on her own terms.

Once the wanderer discovered she could manufacture a social mask, she took up the mantle of the mercenary. She kept to remote villages, appearing and disappearing as suddenly as the wind, often only noticed by news of some local threat being quelled. Few people recognized her, and fewer still heard her speak. She hid as much of herself as she could, staying hidden under a thick cloak of silence and only answered to her moniker. She thought nobody could reject her if she rejected herself first, but her relentless visions haunted her. She felt, through other’s hearts, the warmth of lovers greeting one another, the affection in well worn childhood nicknames, the joys of long lost friends reuniting. The aching loneliness she was so used to grew more overwhelming with every vision. Was this truly what she wanted? To be forgotten and alone? Who was she really, hiding under her mask? 

She wandered town after town, road after road, using her title as a statement of being. She was just a Mercenary. Little more than a weapon to be pointed at a problem. People were kept at an arms length distance with professional ease, and she could still be useful to those she came across. There was comfort for her in how simple it all seemed, though simplicity was a poor answer to her loneliness. Every solitary morning she drowned in silence, every new horizon was greyed by her sorrow. She stopped trying to answer the cloying doubts that clung to her, their despair staining her thoughts more than she could bear. Who was she, under everything? She gave herself one last chance - go to the closest city and try to find an answer - or fade away, lost and forgotten.

Ul’dah held much more than just an answer for her, though she didn’t know it at the time. The adventurer’s guild asked for a name - she told them Nailah. She couldn’t remember where she heard it. Familiar as it was, she refused to let anyone call her such. She was Mercenary. Adventurer. The name was a formality, nothing more. It wasn’t a mask she wanted to use. Much to her displeasure, the guild used her name frequently enough for it to become common knowledge among their clients.

When the Scions took notice of her abilities, she asked the same comfortable distance of them she was so used to. In response the Scions gave her their names - Thancred, Yda, Minfilia - and she couldn’t understand. Why tell a simple mercenary the names of Scions? Did she not deserve scorn for her visions? The visions have a name? Their responses were acceptance and support and Nailah could not understand. She called them by titles instead - Scholar, Scion, Antecedent - though her echo didn’t let her miss the disappointment they felt. She tightened her masks and hid behind a new one, one given by those who accepted the mercenary - the Warrior of Light. 

Tales of the Warrior triumphing over Titan and Garuda spread through Eorzea like wildfire. Her new allies respected the distance she desired, though they had the odd habit of confiding their worries to her. The Warrior supposed she made a good listener, quiet as she was. Would they listen to her? Should she risk that vulnerability? She didn’t know what answer she hoped for anymore. She didn’t know what she would say. She kept her silence.

Her mask started to chafe. Strangers made assumptions about who she was, remarking they expected her to be bigger or a man. Few expected her to be as quiet as she was. Fewer still, a mage. She felt choked by their expectations - who she was wasn’t what they seemed to want. The desire to abandon her masks and nascent bonds writhed inside her whenever she heard new voices. What more did she need to do? Was the Warrior not enough for them? Scions noticed her frustration, offering short words of encouragement. She did her best to listen.

Once the Ultima Weapon was destroyed, she took a look at herself. The Scions - Papalymo, Yda, Urianger -  stood by her every step they could. Did they not deserve to see who their Warrior was? One quiet morning, once everything was moved to Mor Dhona, The Warrior met Minfilia in her solar for possibly the most terrifying request of her life - she asked her first new friend to call her by name.

Nailah. 

As long as they were in the solar. Alone. Where nobody else could hear. 

It was a start, at least.

#its nailahposting hours #cw abuse #cw depression #just to be safe #for everything surrounding her mother is not healthy #nailah's got some rough mental health stuff goin on but i dont know how much i want to go into it >.> #mostly out of fear of missing a cw tag #sorry this is so long ;-; #cecil gets carried away talking about blorbos ;-; #idk im just fascinated by the concept of identity #if you can't tell i have a lot of fic ideas surrounding nailah's struggle with identity - every paragraph is a potentially different fic #i might expand on this even more (re: hw through ew identity thoughts) but she's through the worst of her issues by the end of arr #...i'm gonna tag this as a writing thing bc it gets kinda fic-y #cecil writes

[quin-ns]

Complicated (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 2.1K

Summary: joel lets the fear of losing you get twisted and ends up pushing you away. he realizes his mistake when you get hurt

Tags: cw: violence (not from joel), angst, fighting, possessive!joel, implied stalking, joel’s bad behavior is mostly ambiguous so take that however it suits you, reader is a badass, injury, hurt/comfort, very complicated relationship, but also humor and fluff (this really isn’t as dark as it sounds I promise), making up

A/N: wanted to try something with more angst for a change. also wanna start exploring joel being a lil darker than I usually write him since he showed that side in the last few eps. not full dark yet tho. I actually weirdly wrote it with a lot of internal humor with the reader.

cross-posted to ao3 • tlou masterlist • main masterlist

“Joel—stay away from me,” you warned, jaw clenched and gaze hardened. 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to come up with a response. Something that could calm you down and make you just see that he was trying to protect you.

Joel lifted his hands and held them in front of himself, as if he was approaching a scared animal. Or maybe a dangerous one. He silently pleaded with you, the look on his face trying to emphasize his point. I’m not a threat. 

Maybe not at first, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Please, we can talk about this.”

God, did he have to make this harder? “I’m asking you as someone who you care about; please just give me some space.”

Joel’s frown deepened. He was starting to realize he couldn’t get out of this one. “For how long?”

You let out a tired sigh. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Just… leave me alone.” You turned your back on him then, retreating to your apartment in the QZ. 

For the first time in a long while, Joel made no attempt to follow you. 

For a week, you hadn’t seen Joel. Like, at all.

That almost made you more nervous than catching a glance of him once in a while just out an about. 

Being without Joel was an unfamiliar feeling, and a part of you screamed that it just wasn’t right. You weren’t dependent upon him, it wasn't that. You had just become so accustomed to his presence that looking over to your side and finding you were all alone was jarring.

That feeling was extra high as you packed your bag, on your way to meet up with a contact and make a trade.

You looked over your shoulder constantly, kept your hood up, and stayed out of eyeline from the cameras as best you could as you made your way to the meeting spot.

For something like this, you missed Joel. Well, not missed him. You didn’t miss him. It was the smart thing to do, he was getting too overbearing. 

Although, you’d believe that a little more if you weren’t aware of the fact that you were trying to convince yourself.

You shook your head, physically trying to rid those thoughts from your mind. It was just a simple trade. Sure, when you were with Joel you felt safer. You could fight, but Joel could kill. Sure, there was safety in numbers. Being a woman alone at night wasn’t ideal and this was a rough business. And sure, you didn’t recognize the two men approaching you and…

Wait.

Where was your contact? The only way they could’ve found you is because of him (you never learned his name).

“Who the hell are you?” you questioned, hand drifting to the gun on your hip.

“Liam sent us,” one of them said.

You hummed, more so to yourself. So that was his name. “Alright, well, that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the other one said. “Do you have it?”

You relented, but maintained a reasonable level of suspicion. You reached for your bag and swung it off of your back. You pulled out a bag of pills that you and Joel had smuggled in.

Maybe after the deal, you’d split the money with him. Or at least give him a third. Yeah, that was better. You were taking all the risk right here right now.

“You know the price?” you asked, scanning their faces in the dark. It was hard though, you couldn’t really make out any of their features. It put you on edge even more so.

“Yeah,” the same guy said. He slung a backpack off of his back and let it fall to the ground. He crouched down and unzipped it.

As he reached into the bag, a bad energy edged over you. Your instincts were right. The guy pulled out a gun and with no hesitation, he fired recklessly in your direction. Not a single bullet connected thankfully, but this was not a good situation to be in.

“Really?” you asked out loud, annoyed. You weren’t expecting either of them to answer.

The other guy suddenly charged at you, tackling you to the ground. You managed to pull your gun in the struggle, but he knocked it out of your hand. Bastard was strong. 

Thankfully he didn’t have a gun, but the pocket knife he pulled out didn’t look much fun. 

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as you fought against him. His buddy had run off after realizing that his shots had missed. Probably wouldn’t have had the guts to kill you anyway if missing spooked him enough.

The guy you were wrestling against, though, did have the guts. And that wasn’t good news for you as he got the upper hand.

You hardly registered the pain as the stranger's knife plunged into your abdomen. He released the handle as you fell backward, thinking that the blade had done the job. In a quick motion, running on adrenaline, you yanked the knife from your own body and slashed at the assailant as he leaned over you. The blade connected with his neck. 

Maybe he didn’t deserve the death penalty for the attack, but it was you or him. He made that clear. And you weren’t about to succumb to death from some overzealous thug. No way in hell.

Blood hit your skin in heavy drops that slowly became a gush. You heard the thud of his body before you registered his weight on half of your body. You scrambled out from under him, scraping against rocks and dirt as you dragged yourself across the ground and away from your assailant.

You laid on your back and stared up at the sky. There was some light saturation from the QZ, but you were grateful it wasn’t enough to totally erase the stars. You reached down, blindly, trying to cover your wound and put pressure on it.

You let your eyes slide shut for a moment as pain started to erupt from the wound. You heard footsteps and a male voice that sounded muffled by the time it hit your ringing ears.

Larger hands gently nudged yours out of the way as he took over applying pressure to the wound with one hand. 

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know who it was, but you did anyway. 

You wished you could’ve been surprised to find Joel kneeling at your side, but you knew him all too well. 

“If you’re gonna stalk me…” you took a heaving breath in. “…you could at least save me quicker,” you wheezed out. 

“I know, sweetheart.” He actually sounded guilty, like it was somehow his fault. Despite everything that had gone wrong, it was a brief reminder that Joel did care for you. Even if it had crossed the line from protectiveness into something darker. Obsession was the word you had used before, when you found out the lengths he was going to in order to keep an eye on you.

“I’m getting tired of you treating me like property,” you told Joel, trying to open his eyes to what he was doing. “It’s like an obsession and that’s not normal. You have to know that.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” Joel argued.

You scoffed. “You don’t get to just say that as if it’s a justification for everything.”

Joel would disagree. And that was the problem.

Joel ran his hand up the side of your face, calloused fingers grazing skin until he was able to brush strands of hair out of your face. “I should’ve been here to watch out for you. Should’ve never let you out of my sight.” 

You scoffed out a laugh, the slightest bit of blood trickling from the corner of your mouth. “That’s not the lesson I want you to learn from this.”

“Lesson? Jesus, Y/N,” Joel said, sounding somewhere between offended and dismissive. “I’m gonna lift you now, okay? Take you and get you patched up.”

Joel tucked his arms under you then, hoisting you up. You groaned and Joel carried you bridal style towards the infirmary—you couldn’t be sure where he was going, actually, but it was a good guess. You didn’t want to think about what would happen when the Fedra doctors found out what happened…

The rapidly decreasing adrenaline sent you into a dizzied state. It was like the world around you was spinning incredibly fast and then just stopped. Your ears were ringing and maybe the injury wouldn’t kill you, but fuck did it hurt.

The pain was overwhelming, and your last coherent thought was one expressing gratefulness to your own body for sending you into unconsciousness to avoid dealing with the pain.

That, and registering the scared look on Joel’s face as he watched your eyes slide shut. You hardly ever saw him scared.

You felt yourself coming back to consciousness in what seemed like seconds, but it had more than likely been hours. 

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet, but you frowned a little, trying to go back to sleep. You were laying down in a bed with fresh, clean clothes. And you could tell you’d been stitched and bandaged up.

Joel reached for your hand, his larger one encasing yours. Those sad brown eyes of his watched as your eyes finally fluttered open. You met his gaze immediately and everything came flooding back.

You realized quickly based on a scan of your surroundings that you were in the hospital, not a jail cell. Not even cuffed.

“What lie did you tell them?” you asked hoarsely, throat dry. 

“Half truth, half lie,” Joel revealed under his breath. “Said that you were jumped by a couple of guys, didn’t say why. If they ask you were trying to take a shortcut home and got lost in the dark.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. Exhausted—mentally, mostly. “How screwed am I?” It couldn’t be long before the body was found. Even if it was self defense, the man was still dead.

“Not at all,” Joel told you. Your eyes snapped open. “But since there were no cameras near where you were and the two guys ran off, Fedra may not be able to find and punish them.”

You furrowed your brows as you looked at him. “That’s not right,” you pointed out. 

The lie had rolled so smoothly off his tongue, but you caught it. You weren’t that out of it.

“I know, but there’s nothing we can do. They’ll get caught eventually,” Joel responded. His tone was even, but the way he looked at you… it was a warning. Not in a threatening way, more like he was pleading with you.

Keep your mouth shut. Let me help you.

Of course.

“Well, I always have you to protect me, don’t I?” Your emphasis on the word was bitter. You hated that it was true. He never thought you could look out for yourself and it was like stupid stabby guy intended to prove that true. 

What you really wanted to do was ask Joel what he had done with the body. Had he dropped you off, left, and then come back? You couldn’t ask him with nurses passing by. 

“You handled yourself pretty well, actually,” Joel said it like a confession, pulling you from your thoughts. And oh look, the world kept turning. Maybe it was still a crazy, messy, terribly fucked up world—but it didn’t end simply because Joel admitted you weren’t some helpless damsel.

It could’ve been because he rescued you, or it could’ve been the morphine, but a wave of affection washed over you. Your expression softened You became more presently aware of Joel’s hand overlapping yours. You turned your hand, palm now facing his. Joel’s eyes flicked down briefly as your fingers curled over his hand.

Joel let out a content sigh, like he’d been holding his breath. He held your hand a little tighter after you gave his a light squeeze.

“I was worried about you,” Joel said as if it was some big secret.

You nearly laughed. “Yeah, no shit.”

Joel cracked a smile, which had become rare for him recently. He even let out a small chuckle at his own expense.

“I don’t want to lose you.” The amount of sincerity in his voice left no doubt. 

He had tried so hard to keep you that he caused you to leave. You were sympathetic, you knew he wasn’t a bad guy. He’d done some things that wouldn’t be considered good. There was a difference. In a world like this, there had to be.

“Then don’t,” you replied. You could’ve said more, but Joel understood. He had one last chance and he couldn’t screw it up.

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl

if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message!

#quin-ns writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[steddieas-shegoes]

even with the hole

for @steddiemicrofic prompt 'hole' (yes, again) rated t | wc: 404 | cw: implied and brief mention of child abuse, implied parental death (in the past) | tags: getting together, first kiss, angst with a happy ending

📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷

The cigarette burned a hole through the picture, the last remaining image Eddie had of his mom.

His dad was crying, mostly out of anger, fear. His glossed-over eyes kept glancing at Eddie sobbing a few feet away, begging for him to stop.

It felt cruel that the last time he saw his dad was also the last time he saw his mom.

The picture in his wallet when Eddie nearly died had a hole where a woman should be. Steve could tell that much.

He wasn't trying to be nosy, he just needed to try to get his driver's license out so they could confirm his information for the ER nurse. The picture fell out when he pulled cards and slips of paper out of the front pocket of his wallet.

He quickly slipped it into his own pocket so they wouldn't see it or take it, and handed over the things they needed.

But the more he looked at the picture, the more confused he got.

In the picture, Eddie was no older than four or five, sitting in a woman's lap while she showed him a chord on a guitar. Some of the top of Eddie's head had been burned off along with the woman's entire face.

Steve may not know much about Eddie, but it was pretty obvious this person was important to him.

He hoped he got the chance to ask about it.

He waited. Eddie woke up to a lot of questions, about what happened, how he was, where did it hurt. Steve didn't wanna add to it.

Days later, Steve managed to stick around after visiting hours were over.

Eddie was tired, but insisted on the company.

Steve pulled the picture from his pocket and watched Eddie's face go through a series of complicated emotions.

"I didn't want this to go missing. Seems important," he said.

"Yeah," Eddie nodded, gulped.

"She taught you guitar?"

"She tried. I was still too young. Wayne taught me."

Steve placed his hand on top of Eddie's. "You remember our first grade play?" Steve handed him another picture. "She was there."

Eddie looked down and saw his mom.

"How?"

"Nancy knows how to find anything," Steve shrugged.

Eddie let the tears fall. "Kinda wanna kiss you."

"Wouldn't say no."

"Pretty unsexy to kiss while I'm crying, don't ya think?"

Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to Eddie's. "Not to me, Eds."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjanuary #getting together #angst with a happy ending #cw: parental death #cw: implied child abuse #first kiss

[hitlikehammers]

nowhere without you

rating: t ♥️ cw: post-final battle, hurt/comfort ♥️ tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, BIG emotions, even BIGGER love, as in: soul-deep love, softness; happy endings always ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

(also probably the humble love-soaked endlessly-devoted beginnings of the rockstar!husbands in je ne regrette rien)

The weirdest part is how, in the aftermath, Eddie doesn’t speak. Like, at all.

Scratch that: it’s the weirdest and the most concerning part. Eddie makes noise, mostly pained kinda moans that make Steve’s chest clench, ache more the admittedly-decently-deep wounds slowly—but reliably, like, consistently—stitching themselves together, and Steve begs him to get looked at again, because something has to be wrong to cause those kinds of sounds but Eddie doesn’t even shake his head, doesn’t really move at all save that sometimes he trembles, and it’s…

It fucking breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s almost gotten used to stroking Eddie’s hair in silence—so wrong; worthy Eddie that’s just so wrong—and working any tangles out so, much as it’s getting a limp and greasy with days of neglect, at least it’s smooth; but he’s almost resigned to this for the long haul because he’ll weather anything he has to for Eddie and they’ll work through this, whatever this is, they’ll worth through it together and—

“How did you stand you it?”

The sound is more a scratch than anything, glass on sandpaper, and it’s down to Eddie lying where he hasn’t left for the last four, going on five days—as in, not once while Steve’s been awake has he existed without Eddie’s weight situated just so against his chest, sinuous and deliberate in where he presses against, careful as a rule of Steve’s worst injuries and delicate about how he rests against Steve’s body, but not…hesitant.

More, kinda…kinda desperate.

So it’s down to him being pressed so close and sure and unwavering that Steve feels him speak more than anything, matches the motion of his lips against Steve’s gown to words rather than the wind, or something outside his door to the halls of the hospital beyond; it’s down to the tension in the whole of him, the all-too-present shaking that Steve matches the scrape of the question to a hurt that’s…that maybe Steve doesn’t wholly understand just yet, but that really and truly does cut him deeper and closer and more critical at the core of him than the Upside Down ever could have clawed in: Eddie lives in him, nothing else can really…ever hope to be deeper.

“How are you,” Eddie rolls gravel across more words, and Steve’s missed his voice so fucking much, he didn’t realize how much until it’s here again for him to hear and hold but, Jesus fuck, it’s like…it’s like it’s drowning; like Eddie is drowning and then his breath is hitching, and oh, god, that voice is cracking around the edge of a sob, watery and wavering as he damn-near close to begs:

“How did you survive it?”

Steve feels it clench in his ribs, because he thinks he…he thinks he’s putting it together. The strain, the agony in that voice, that voice he loves so fucking much, from this man he loves with everything, but then—the way Eddie presses into him. The force, and the position, and the pattern. The way he’s been quiet, unfailing, but never…never seems distant, seems the opposite: seems focused; intent. The way Dustin had come in and caught him upon the things he’d missed in one of the almost-nonexistent windows where Eddie sleeps, hand lines alongside his sternum and head curled in the most uncomfortable pretzel Steve can imagine, forehead all scrunched and eyes squeezed shut so goddamn hard, looking like any sleep he manages is nothing close to rest by any measure: but Dustin had came in and told him Eddie was the first to him; Eddie ran faster than he’d seen a person run; Eddie’d looked devastated, broken when they’d caught up, and they’d been so afraid, feared the worst, and—

Steve’s starting to fit the pieces together. Maybe.

“No,” Eddie whines, pitchy and fervent and almost ear-splitting, like a wail of sheer gut-wrenching pain that Steve can’t find the reason for in the here and now because it’s just them in a hospital room, they’re okay, and his hand presses heavy, gentle around his wounds still, always gentle and so, so careful and Steve doesn’t know what’s caused the reaction, but then—

Then he can feel his fucking heartbeat for how hard Eddie’s pressing. It’s weird, how it makes him feel…strangely alive, the sensation of it kept and held like that, specifically in Eddie’s hand. And he’s not paying attention to the monitors really, tuned them out as quick as he could but when he listens, okay. Okay, maybe faster than normal, but Steve’s fucking worried, okay, he’s—

“Fuck, no,” Eddie moans and twists his head, no, not just his head, his ear and leans harder into Steve���s chest, his breathing shallow and Steve hates it but he doesn’t know what to do, how to help, what to fix because he’ll fix it if he knows, he’ll climb out of this bed and crawl on the goddamn floors of he has to, but he doesn’t know where to go, what to find, what demon’s left to slay—

“I’m just, I’m grateful you did,” survive, Steve survived…

He survived, like, now?

“But grateful’s such a weak word, it doesn’t,” and Steve takes a breath, and reaches, rests his hand on Eddie’s wrist just to see: his heartbeat’s somuch faster, it’s like a flutter of a flutter felt strong enough to break through skin, it catches in Steve’s heart just to touch—

“You’re so much stronger than I could ever, like,” Eddie’s going on, still breathless and fuck, Steve can see why; “fucking hope to be.”

Shit, but that’s…he wasn’t stronger, fuck, Steve wasn’t stronger than Eddie, Eddie nearly got eaten alive, Steve nearly couldn’t staunch enough of the bleeding, he almost lost—

Eddie keens, horrible and hurting and Steve stills: the monitor. The thundering of his own pulse at the memory.

How did you survive it?

Losing. Almost losing. That’s…that’s what it is.

That’s why Eddie’s pressed against his chest, his his head and his hand have been a fucking frame, goddamn, like, parentheses surrounding Steve’s beating heart, proof of life, Jesus—

“But I need to be,” Eddie’s voice is quiet, but steadier, and his chin dips like a nod to himself; “I need to learn how,” he’s firm with it; “for you.”

Oh, god. Oh…oh Eddie.

“I can’t ever lose you, Steve,” Eddie presses trembling lips to Steve’s chest and then presses close again, so close and oh: he wasn’t just intent where he’s been silent so long.

He was listening.

“Never ever,” he breathes against Steve, hot and damp; almost kinda breathless again, or still: “never ever.”

“Eds,” Steve begins, not even entirely sure where he plans to go, just knows he needs to do something, say something, but Eddie’s turning Steve’s hand in his, where he’d circled Eddie’s wrist; he’s turning it and mirroring the hold, gripping Steve’s wrist in kind.

“I couldn’t find it,” he gasps, and the sound makes the sob clear before Steve feels the wetness soak through to his skin; “I couldn’t feel it at all, you were, it,” he presses his fingers in hard, squeezes so goddamn tight, and Steve can’t…he doesn’t want to imagine what Eddie had to do, what Eddie found and felt, he doesn’t but he can, because he remembers the mirror image so stark, it took him so long because he couldn’t find a pulse either, he’d had to press on Eddie’s heart at the source and even then—

“I couldn’t feel you.”

Oh. Fuck. He—

“Oh, baby,” Steve’s elevated enough at an angle that he can at least kiss Eddie’s hair, barely brush his scalp but it’s enough, for the breath that punches from Eddie against his chest it’s at least something; “that’s…”

“I won’t survive that again, Steve,” Eddie sucks in, unsteady and drenched with tears, with sorrow, but also…also more than anything else, they’re filled up with so much love.

A love big enough to hurt that hard.

“And I can’t…” Eddie gasps, breath catching; “I can’t handle not feeling it,” and his fingers tighten; his hand on Steve’s chest and his cheek across from it press down that extra little bit so Steve knows his own heartbeat in those moments full and deep.

“Have to feel it always,” Eddie whispers like he’s telling himself, and Steve, and Steve’s heart through flesh and bone, some cosmic secret no one else can know: too sacred. Too precious.

“You can feel it any time,” Steve lets his hand fall from Eddie’s to cover the hand Eddie’s got splayed ln his chest, counting time; holds him there almost protectively: “all the time,” and he slips his fingers between Eddie’s and shifts his palm close to the beating, so he can still feel what he needs as he murmurs with his heart literally in Eddie’s hands, with his entire goddamn soul:

“All of me. It’s yours.”

Unshakable fucking fact. He doesn’t even have to will it, or hope for it; his heartbeat knocks that heavier against their hands for those words like it knows.

It knows.

“Don’t leave me,” Eddie bursts out, begging; almost something primal, and Steve can feel the tremoring of his lips where they drag against him; “please. I’ll do anything, I swear it, just don’t—“

“Be you,” Steve braves the whimper that comes from untangling his hand from Eddie so that he can reach for Eddies cheek and cradle him in closer, and oh, fuck, thank god: something in him sighs out and loosens, ever so slightly—finally.

“Everything you are,” Steve presses on, runs his thumb back and forth through Eddie’s drooping curls; “let me love you, past living and dying,” and Eddie’s breath catches, for that, but Steve holds him tighter for it, drowns him as best he’s able in the proof he needs so bad; “don’t leave me,” and Eddie huffs a little for that, like it’s beyond believing, impossible, and Steve smiles to himself for it, tries to lean enough to press the grin to Eddie’s head, hopes he manages as he murmurs there close:

“That’s it, Eddie,” and he lets his fingers spread wider, cradle Eddie all the more: “that’s all I need.”

“That and more baby,” Eddie answers him between the double-beat of his pulse, immediate; “you’re the music and the rhythm,” he nuzzles a little against him, and Steve smiles a little wider for it; “you’re the reason my heart beats,” and Steve finds that heartbeat for himself at Eddie’s jaw, now; a little calmer. Not much. But: something.

It’s a start.

”I don’t have a reason without you,” Eddie exhales, vehement; “I don’t want a reason, without you.”

And Steve should maybe push on it, or be scared by it: but neither seem right, not for this.

Not for them.

Steve just holds Eddie’s pulse under the pressure of his touch, and holds Eddie’s cheek closer still into his chest as he breathes:

“You’re my whole heart, Eds,” and he lets a second pass, and then another, for that heart of Eddie’s to pump evidence unshakable against him, to play the song and rhythm straight into his waiting ear:

“Was never going anywhere without you.”

♥️ ao3 link here

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #established steddie #soul-deep love #soft #like: excessive softness #BIG emotions #happy ending #post-final battle with the Upside Down #hurt Steve Harrington #proof-of-life #Eddie’s feeling very fragile and desperate #Steve may be in a hospital bed but hell if that stops him from trying to fix what’s hurting his boy #if that means letting Eddie rest against his chest for all of eternity then that’s what he’s gonna damn well do #steddielovemonth #love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him #stranger things

[tommysversion]

Beastly: Raider Era Joel Miller x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: you live in a small commune protected by a strong force of raiders. Every season, your people pay tribute for their protection. After lapsing in payment, your abusive father offers you as a human sacrifice. What you don't expect is for the leader of the gang, Joel, to not be as much of a beastly man as first thought.

A Raider Era Joel fic, loosely inspired by Beauty & The Beast.

CWs: references to abuse (physical), implied fear of SA, canon typical violence, implied age gap, sexual references, coarse language, smut for later chapters. (List will update with chapters)

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @serenaxpedro @miller--trash @joelsgirl @gab-thelamb-onthemoon @mydailyhyperfixations @dreamingofdaddydin @luvrking @msecho19 @koshkaj-blog @hufflepuffriver @yunonaneko ( & anyone I've missed)

Index: Part 1 /

It’s not a terribly long ride back to the raider commune, another small town that barely counts as a town that’s been repurposed. 

Trenches surround it. A few men and women with rifles on makeshift guard towers. Honestly it’s not much different to home. Your heart jumps when you remember this is your home now. For as long as Joel decides to keep you alive. 

You still can’t get a read on him. The entire four hour ride was spent mostly in silence, but when he did speak, it was to ask your name. Ask a few questions. You wonder if he’s trying to remind himself that you’re a human being, rather than just an animal, a sacrifice. 

“Quiet as a mouse, aren’t you?” He’d said finally, then laughed softly and muttered something about that suiting you more than your actual name. 

Joel doesn’t like using your name. The idea makes you more human to him, and he already feels stupid for accepting a goddamn human sacrifice to pay the debt your home owed. Mouse it is. It gives him the sense of ownership, of control, that he needs in all manner of things. 

He’d been almost polite in helping you down off the horse before turning you over to a man who vaguely resembled him. 

“My brother, Tommy.” He’d said by way of introduction, then sloped off to oversee the unloading of the truck, leaving you standing next to the younger man with no idea what the hell to do next. 

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with you, either, so you just stand there awkwardly together until Joel seems to notice you again, comes over. 

“Christ, Tommy, let her freeze to death? You take over the unloading, I’ll take her.” 

You follow him automatically, towards one of the houses, wondering vaguely if he means to take your fathers advice and beat you into submission. Or worse. 

Somehow, you don’t think so. He’s been cold, sure, the entire ride back, but you don’t get the feeling that he’s planning on doing anything sinister to you, which is strange. Raiders have a reputation, after all, but he doesn’t give off the violent rapist vibe that some have. 

He unlocks the door, leads you up the stairs to a small bedroom. It has a bathroom attached. Pleasant. Nondescript, though it has the air of not being lived in. 

“Make yourself at home,” Joel is aware of how monumentally stupid the sentence is, but he says it anyway. 

“Am I confined to this room?” You ask, still not daring to look at him, in case it makes him snap or something. You’re used to that sort of thing. 

“No, the entire house - minus my room, or Tommy’s, of course - is free game. I wouldn’t leave the house without one of us, for your own safety. You’re welcome to explore the house. One of us will come and get you when it’s dinner time.” 

Then he turns around and walks out, leaving you standing there feeling confused. You’d been bracing yourself for violence of some sort, and now it hasn’t come? You’re not sure what to make of it. 

You can hear his heavy boots on the stairs, the front door slam behind him, the bolt locking into place behind him. You’re not stupid enough to consider trying to make a run for it; a four hour ride is even longer on foot, and in this weather? It’s a death sentence. Besides. The retribution for trying to escape would probably not be pleasant, and while you’re not exactly eager to go back to your father, you don’t want the other people from your settlement to be punished because of you. 

So fine. You’re stuck here. 

You may as well explore your new cage. 

The bedroom isn’t too bad, actually. Double bed, the mattress not uncomfortable. Thick blanket, even if the pattern isn’t what you’d choose for yourself, the main thing is you won’t freeze to death. 

You hope there might be a change of clothes somewhere, something in the drawers of the dresser that might fit, but the drawers are empty. You hope Joel won’t make you wear the same clothes you have on down to rags, but you’re not counting on it. 

The carpet is old, but not uncomfortable under your feet. 

Then there’s the bathroom. Small, compact, but still functional. You know there’s still plenty of house to explore, but you’re also aware you’re going to be locked in here for an indefinite amount of time. Exploring can wait. You’re exhausted, and the bed is comfortable. A nap won’t hurt, surely. 

If he was going to hurt you, he’d have done so by now. It’s not very comforting, but it’s all you have, and it’s enough to lull you into an uneasy sleep. 

—

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel, what the fuck?” 

Tommy is never usually this vocal with his older brother, and it surprises them both. Still, it’s a fair question. 

“The man’s a misogynistic piece of shit, I couldn’t just leave her there. Chances are if I’d refused, I’d go back next season and he’d have beaten her to death. Made it her fault.” 

“Oh, so we’re saving people now?” Tommy raises an eyebrow. It’s a cheap dig; he knows why Joel does what he does, why he is the way he is. 

Maybe it’s not fair to be a sarcastic bastard, but then again, he hadn’t expected Joel to come back with a human sacrifice, for fuck’s sake. 

Joel sighs. Pops open a beer. The kind one of their men makes in a keg in his garage. It’s still fucking good, because beer is beer, even after the end of the world. 

“Look, she’s harmless. I’m not gonna lay a hand on her, and neither is anyone else in this little community.” Joel says it firmly, with enough authority that Tommy believes him. 

Pretty much anything goes in their group. Violence is to be expected. But any sort of violence against women, especially sexual, is punished by death. 

“Maybe she can make something of herself here.” He continues, before he stands and checks on the food that’s cooking on the stovetop. “In the meantime, do me a favour? Try not to scare the shit out of her.”

Tommy snorts in spite of himself. 

“You’re the scary one, big brother.” 

There’s no bite to it, but there doesn’t need to be. Joel understands. Knows there’s a part of his younger brother that’s afraid of him. Maybe that’s another sacrifice he’s had to make. 

“Yeah. Well. I’m gonna go tell our new house guest that food’s done.” 

It’s his way of avoiding the conversation. Better to just leave, walk away, than open that can of worms. 

Instead he heads upstairs, towards what’s probably a completely different can of worms but still unpleasant. When he gets to the door that’s now yours, he hesitates. Should he knock? In reality, you’re his prisoner, disguised as a guest. No matter how polite he is to you, Joel is aware that you’ll probably always hate and resent him. 

Still, he isn’t sure what you’re doing in there, and there’s a part of him that’s still somewhat of a gentleman, so he knocks first. No answer. Well, he tried. 

He opens the bedroom door, finds you half asleep; the sight of him jolts you awake, and you startle, sit bolt upright. He can practically smell how afraid you are, almost hates himself for it. He has no intention of hurting you. No more than he already has by taking you from your home. 

“Dinner’s ready. Come and eat.” It’s not a request. He retreats again, stomps back down the stairs, pissed and unsure why. Maybe it’s the way you look at him. Maybe it’s the understanding of why you’re so fearful to begin with. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s feeling anything at all, after so long. 

—

You have two options. One, you follow the direction given and go downstairs to eat. That’s probably the smarter choice. You’re hungry, and you can smell hot food. You doubt he’ll poison you. 

The second option is you stay right here, make an attempt at defiance. That doesn’t appeal to you; you know that Joel has a temper. Has the ability to be incredibly violent at the drop of a pin. Tommy is a wild card, but you don’t like the idea of making enemies of the men you’re stuck in this house with. 

Still, you’re reluctant to drag yourself downstairs, having wanted more time to wallow in your own misery and misfortune. Unfortunately, the lure of a hot meal wins out, and you find yourself in a small dining room, seated at a plain wooden table with a few knife scrapes in the top, a bowl of stew in front of you. 

You’re almost surprised. You might have thought raiders, especially ones like him, would eat better. Steak or something. But this is simple. Carrots and potatoes and onions in gravy, with rough cut bread on the side. 

Tommy clocks your thoughts almost immediately. 

“What, you thought we ate like kings or something?” 

“I-“ you aren’t sure how to answer him; he’s a raider, sure, but there’s something about the way he avoids his older brother’s gaze that makes you warm to him a little faster. 

Maybe it’d be good to have… not a friend, but an ally? In this place. 

“It’s not poisoned. We have to eat too, you know.” Joel comments, without looking at you. 

You don’t argue, just poke at your food with your spoon until Tommy speaks again. 

“We’re just people. Even Joel, though he likes to pretend otherwise.” 

You decide to go right ahead and like Tommy, even if it’s against your better judgment. The casual way he says it is almost reassuring. Like you can breathe, your suspicions that Joel isn’t going to turn into a monster and lay hands on you reassured by the casual way Tommy banters with him. 

It’s like a small weight lifts off your chest, enough for you to stop poking at your food and actually eat it. 

Joel drinks, barely speaks the entire meal. When you’re done, Tommy collects the dishes, throws a sideways glance at Joel, who’s refilled his beer once again. 

“Go back to your cage, little mouse. I’m tired of you jumping whenever I move.” There’s a bite to his voice that wasn’t there before, fuelled by drink and whatever demons plague him. 

The way he says it unsettles you, your hands shaking slightly as you pass your empty bowl to Tommy. 

Joel is back to not looking at you, but as you leave the room, Tommy makes eye contact with you, and mouths for you to lock your door. 

—

Joel drinks. Heavily. He’s used to only having to deal with Tommy, who’s used to it by now. It doesn’t even occur to him that his intoxication, the way he’s sharper, colder in this state might scare you. 

Doesn’t even consider it until he hears you take the stairs two at a time, the sharp thud of your bedroom door closing. 

“That went well.” Tommy crosses his arms over his chest, surveying him. 

Joel doesn’t answer. He supposes he could go upstairs, unlock your bedroom door and try to apologise, but somehow he thinks breaching your privacy would make it worse. And besides. Why the hell does he care so much about scaring you? About apologies?

You’re nothing but a goddamn tribute. A human sacrifice handed over to him by a shitty excuse for a father. A mistake he shouldn’t have made, but now he has to live with the consequences. The consequences being your presence. 

—

You take Tommy’s advice and lock your door. Not because you think Joel will come upstairs and decide to hurt you, but because it makes you feel a little better. 

You can hear them arguing downstairs, at the very least, raised voices, but nobody comes up the stairs. Nobody breaks down your door. Eventually you can breathe a little easier, don’t have to consider locking yourself in the bathroom. 

Eventually you hear Joel’s heavy boots coming up the stairs, hold your breath again, but he goes right past your door, slams his own behind him. Shortly after, a softer tread that must be Tommy’s comes upstairs too, and another door closes behind him. 

Nobody’s going to hurt you. Not tonight, anyway. Nobody’s making you warm their bed, or using you as a punch bag. You’re alone, sure, but you’ve always been alone. 

At least this time you have a comfortable bed and a locked door. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to keep you from panicking, for now at least. 

— 

When you wake, winter sunlight is streaming through your window, creeping through the shutters without a singular care. 

Your clothes are a little mussed, but not dirty, so you suppose you’ll have to make do until one of the men notice and decide to find you a change. You hope to god they decide to. 

There’s no sign of either of them in the house; a few dishes in the sink, and a note on the table the only evidence that other people live here at all. 

Make yourself comfortable. Don’t try to leave the house. I will arrange new clothes for you today - J. 

“That’s friendly.” You mutter to yourself, then busy yourself for ten minutes washing the dishes. Joel might technically own you, but you still feel a bit guilty that he’s taking time out of his day to find you new clothes. The least you can do is wash some dishes. 

Hell, it won’t hurt to see what food is in the house, either, but you aren’t sure where to look, so you open pretty much every cabinet in the kitchen, taking inventory. 

There’s not much, which doesn’t surprise you. You assume whoever lived here originally left the place pristine or something, but it’s since been cleared out. The Miller brothers have done a decent job tidying the place, but it still doesn’t have that sense of being a permanent home. 

Maybe they planned on moving on at some point, but never got round to it?

You aren’t sure. Easier not to think about it, instead moving onto the next room. You can come back to the kitchen later, reheat the stew from last night. Maybe if you do little things like that, they’ll be kinder to you. 

It’s not that they’ve been cruel, or even really unkind. Joel is harsh, blunt, and seems cold and closed off, but he hasn’t been outright mean to you. Tommy’s been wary but friendly enough.

Perhaps it’s stupid, but you want them to be friendly to you. If you’re stuck with them for the foreseeable future, until you die or something… well, it’s not a crime to want to be friendly, right?

The next room holds a few more things of interest; a television, a stack of movies. Obviously there’s no live television anymore, but the Miller brothers have managed to salvage a handful of movies that you suppose they liked from before. 

Most of them are action movies, the occasional western that you presume is Tommy’s preference. Somehow it comforts you that there aren’t any slasher movies among the pile. Not that you’re naive enough to think that they aren’t killers. They’re raiders. You’ve seen Joel kill a man before. That they’re violent goes without saying, but somehow you think their brand of violence is purely to survive, not out of some psychopathic desire to inflict pain. 

At least. You hope so. 

Deciding not to dwell on that, you keep moving through the house, exploring room by room. The windows have all been reinforced, the place relatively secure. It’s surprising how easily you feel safe in this house, in spite of being a prisoner. Perhaps it’s because the house is big, compared to your old home. Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to jump whenever you turn a corner. 

You ignore the two bedrooms along the hallway with yours upstairs, as instructed. That’s not to say it isn’t tempting to peek; of course it is, but you’re a little afraid that they’d know somehow, and that it would make Joel angry. 

He hasn’t really given you many rules; don’t leave the house, don’t go in his room or Tommy’s room. Even if you are a prisoner, a possession, it feels rude to break those rules, so you stifle your curiosity and only open the other door. 

Bathroom. Boring. 

Heading back downstairs, you’re considering exploring the rest of the rooms off the downstairs hallway, but decide to save them for tomorrow. If you’re housebound, you may as well save yourself some excitement, or as close to it as you can get, for another day. 

—

Joel doesn’t really have anywhere to be. The group operates pretty well without him overseeing everything. If there’s a dispute, it either ends in a fight or they come to him. 

The spoils from yesterday are already being divided up, a few people out patrolling for more supplies, smaller weaker camps they can take out. 

Unpleasant, yes, but it’s survival of the fittest. 

His errand today has nothing to do with survival. Joel is well aware he’s brought you to the commune with nothing but the clothes on your back, and in spite of being, objectively, a terrible person, he feels bad for you. 

In retrospect, he should have let you at least pack a bag. But somehow, with the way your father offered you up like bait, Joel doesn’t think you probably had many possessions to begin with. 

The women in the commune are tough as nails, mostly. Survivors through and through, either by the skin on their knuckles or by giving themselves over to the men for protection. Joel doesn’t judge either way; he knows it takes a particular sort of grit to survive that way. 

While violence is rampant in the group, what with the testosterone and the high stakes of survival, nobody ever lays hands on the women. As a result, they’re kind, happy to help anyone new. 

It doesn’t take long to find clothes in roughly your size among the women. A few shirts, two new pairs of jeans. Newish boots. 

Impulsively, he trades a week’s extra firewood and a bag of jerky for a winter coat for you, too. It’s a deep purple, with a fake fur lined hood, long enough to reach your knees. 

He doesn’t know why, but it’s important to him that you’re not uncomfortable. At least, no more than to be expected. Besides, he’d rather you didn’t freeze to death. That would just be annoying to deal with. 

Or so he tells himself as he fills his pack with the clothes he’s found and traded for, before heading back towards the house. 

Usually, on trade days, he’d stop and grab a few bottles of beer, too, but he’s still a little embarrassed about how he behaved last night when intoxicated. 

It wouldn’t normally bother him, to be seen as scary and intimidating. Hell, it doesn’t. But there’s a small part of him that feels ashamed when he remembers how fast you bounded up the stairs and bolted the door. 

He’s not used to having anyone beside Tommy in the house, and frankly he doesn’t give a shit whether he scares his brother or not. Tommy knows everything he does is to keep them safe, to keep them alive. He doesn’t have to like it, just accept it. 

Having you react the way you did has brought him back to earth a little, and he doesn’t like it. The last thing he wants is a reminder that he’s human. So fine. He’ll give you the clothes, but that’ll be the first and last favour he does for you. 

Or so he tells himself. 

#my writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #raider joel #rue beastly #joel miller x you

[pigeonwhumps]

Rules

Pets of the Silver Screen masterlist

Taglist: @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3 @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @bbu-on-the-side

Multiple times over the years, Agatha learns the rules.

2.1k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, kidnapping, collar, beating, stress positions, dehumanisation, non-con nudity (non sexual)

Agatha juts her chin out, poise perfect despite the tip-toe position she's been forced into.

"My name is Miss Agatha Stanbury, daughter of Lord Kenneth Stanbury. Let me go and you may get out of this alive."

Foster Montgomery smirks, pressing his knife into her neck, blood beading along its edge.

"I think I'd rather keep you. Nobody's going to find you, certainly not after I'm finished with you." He drags his knife down her front, slitting her clothes. They mostly stay on, but it must be a very sharp knife to manage that. "Take them off."

"No."

He holds up the knife, reminding her. "What did you say?"

Agatha swallows but keeps her poise. She's going to be an actress, she can pretend she has nothing to fear.

"I said no. You have given me nothing to wear afterwards and I will not follow your disgusting commands."

"I have more suitable clothing for you later, if you earn it. But if you won't obey willingly I'll have to do it for you."

Agatha's barely had a chance to process the statement when she's slammed to the ground. All her bones are jarred and her nose explodes with agony. A boot seems to grind her into the floor as Montgomery removes her clothing piece by piece.

She hates herself for thinking it, but at least he lets her keep her knickers.

He grunts in satisfaction, and hauls her to her knees. She shoves his hands away and stands, but is back on her knees in less than a second.

"Stay." He reaches behind him and picks up a leather collar complete with tag.

Agatha doesn't move when he reaches out and buckles the suffocating leather around her throat, but not out of obedience. She just doesn't think she can.

She reaches up to touch it, but Montgomery smacks away her hand before she can.

"Don't even think about it. I'll only ever remove it if you need a punishment that might interfere with the collar somehow, so if you do so yourself I'll assume that's what you're after. But you do still deserve a punishment. Bend over."

Agatha swallows hard, the soft leather and cold metal buckle pressing against her throat. She doesn't move. She only came down for the season, she's not going to obey a kidnapper who's apparently obsessed with turning her into a pet.

He couldn't find a volunteer? There's enough of them.

She pitches forward onto her hands and knees as he pushes her over, pulling her knickers down.

"Bare flesh is best for this. Pets obey. They don't say no. They don't talk back. You need to learn this."

Agatha has never had such a thrashing in her life as she receives then. No-one's ever drawn blood before. She's not passed out enough by the end to receive a reprieve though – he orders her to clean the house, and woe betide her if he finds a speck of dust or blood.

She experiences it all as if from miles away. As if from the gathering she's supposed to be at right now, with entirely different rules. She's not in her body, most of the time, and that's probably for the best.

That day and the next, she learns the rules of being Foster Montgomery's captive.

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address other people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

She adds an extra one from herself, too, which she knows is true. Montgomery giving her a collar is not just him being a sick bastard, it's theatre, another part of the pretense. Because even if he were to parade her in front of those she loves, everyone knows that only pets wear collars.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

Over the next few months, the rules don't change. The chores are hard, and the punishments harsh, and a lot more of her is scarred now. Very little of what Montgomery does has any logic to it.

But she still can't find an escape. She fears she's sinking into it.

_

When she's hired by Hayes Fletcher, more rules are added to the list.

9) Don't talk to the other pet.

10) If you disobey, it won't just be you who's punished.

Eloise won't receive whippings, of course, and no canings during the shoot, but she can be put in stress positions, or starved, or have a bucket of water dumped over her head before being left in the unheated studio overnight. And Agatha has absolutely no desire to subject her to anything other than a good hot meal and somewhere better to sleep.

_

Rule 7 is underlined dramatically by the inspector's visit. In the aftermath, Agatha's arm and back throbbing, blood pooling on the frozen stone floor that her toes are just able to touch, Eloise whimpering from her own position, Agatha makes sure to add another two rules to herself (though the second is altered after Eloise's angry objections).

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Even Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

_

Agatha could possibly escape during the transatlantic crossing. She thinks about it. Even jumping overboard might be better. But she needs to see Eloise again. Be sure that she's alive and physically unhurt (from the sinking at least, Agatha has no doubt she'll have been hurt since). Tell her that she's brave, and a hero, because if it had been anyone but fellow pets she'd saved, if she was anyone but a pet herself, her actions would've been lauded, but instead it's Hayes Fletcher who's being praised for having such a good pet. Which isn't right, it isn't fair, and Agatha can't leave Eloise on her own.

That's when Agatha solidifies the last rule for herself, that's been brewing since she first met Eloise but she's never stopped to think about it before.

13) Her and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

_

Then the Great War comes.

Foster Montgomery signs up to fight. He leaves Agatha in Hayes Fletcher's care, who lends her to the munitions factory, for good publicity and probably money (money for Fletcher? Money for Montgomery? She doesn't know. But neither man is big into philanthropy). Eloise isn't there. Agatha follows the rules Montgomery has already given her, hating the fact that they keep her alive.

Another few rules are added.

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

That last is... profoundly obvious, at times. When the rest of the workers get to go home at the end of their shifts and she is kept working, or if there's no-one else at all, locked in the breakroom until morning. When she's fed less than the others, or when she's beaten, or–

It's so obvious, even more so than when she was hired by Hayes Fletcher. She hates it. And she's so alone here.

The war will be over by Christmas, right?

_

1915. Foster Montgomery is dead, and Agatha desperately wishes she could thank his killer, if anybody even knows. She gets a new tattoo, signifying her ownership by Hayes Fletcher (luckily, she knows his rules, there's no new ones to learn there). The Munitions Act comes into force, and the regular bombing raids start.

Monkey's paw. She's not alone anymore, but it means that Eloise, and several other pets, have joined her in the munitions factory.

She teaches Eloise what she's learned about staying out of trouble where possible. They have a dedicated bunkroom now, pets crammed in on old bedding on the floors of the worst-maintained rooms. They learn that only a few owners have paid for their pets to be taken to air raid shelters.

Hayes Fletcher hasn't.

Night after night they spend, trying to stay calm as bombs rain down around them. Occasionally they're still chained or tied up at night, for punishments, and when that happens Agatha worries the most.

She learns one more rule.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

_

The war ends. By a miracle, her and Eloise are both still alive. Hayes Fletcher goes back to producing films, albeit with less success. Agatha watches as pet liberation campaigns grow, and the next decade approaches with force. The world seems a little more hopeful, things seem to be changing.

Except for her and Eloise. Stuck with the horrible, spiteful little man, punishments getting worse as he gets more frustrated and blames them for it (or maybe he simply has nowhere else to put his anger). The world's moving on, votes for women are coming, and she can't help but think of what her life might be like if she hadn't been kidnapped all those years ago.

She remembers rule 7. And the last time was dreadful, and another attempt could get them both killed, but she mentions her rule to Eloise one night and Eloise agrees. They have to try, don't they? Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.

A week later, the film studio burns down in the middle of the night. Arson, probably. By the time the fire brigade arrive to the burnt out husk Agatha and Eloise are already sneaking onto a train to London.

_

"If the both of you want rules, I can give you some," says Ira, clearly reluctant, "as long as we can go through the ones you already have first. Is that all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Ira nods. "Why don't you write me a list then? We can go through them while Eloise is busy."

Agatha takes the paper and pen she offers, wincing as she sits down, heart skipping a beat. She's still not used to it.

At the end of the session, her list reads:

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

9) Don't talk to the other pets.

10) If you disobey, it won't be just you who's punished.

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

13) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other. (Ira says she can get rid of this one partially too, but she's not so sure. Not yet)

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

The new rules are easy, and straightforward, and Agatha doesn't entirely trust them. The list now reads:

1) You belong to yourself.

2) You will never be punished, no matter what you do.

3) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

4) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

_

Agatha kneels on the floorboards, trembling. It's her turn today, Ira asked her to clean and she said yes, she's not sure why except she's so used to not being allowed to say no.

She hopes she's done well. She hopes she's done well. She hopes she won't be punished.

Ira doesn't do punishments. But all the same, she hopes she won't be punished.

There's footsteps, then they stop.

"Agatha?"

"I've finished cleaning, ma'am."

A hand on her shoulder. "Agatha, please look at me. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Come on, look up."

Agatha obeys hesitantly. And gasps. Ira's eyes are dark and warm and how could Agatha ever have thought otherwise? Ira gets down to her level as Agatha grasps her hands tightly, pulling her into a rare hug.

"Rules one and two, Agatha."

"I belong to myself," whispers Agatha, still clutching Ira tightly, "and I will not be punished."

Ira's two rules. The only two she'll ever make.

1) I belong to myself.

2) I will never be punished, no matter what I do.

And there's a third, that Agatha has added herself, that she thinks she probably can after so long. Rule number 5, now Ira has been proven correct and number 3 has been partially removed (Agatha does not only have Eloise now).

5) Ira keeps her promises.

#whump #whump writing #bbu community #bbu #box boy universe #box babe #multiple whumpees #pet whump #kidnapping #lady whump #whumpee and whumper #whumpee and caretaker #pets of the silver screen #agatha stanbury #foster montgomery #ira waterhouse #not happy with the list formatting but nvm #historical whump

[awkward-tension-art]

Bacta and Bandages Chp.2 (Rex x Reader)

oops, I added some angst with your fluff. sorry about that.

Chapter 1.

Vod

CW: Mentions of clone abuse, bruises, clone mistreatment, Medical procedures, needles, Talk of nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks, Reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), reader is a doctor, if I miss a tag LMK!

Minors DNI

Ahsoka was your first friend after you spent a few rotations adjusting. 

She was bubbly, spunky and energetic. Despite all of that, she had a heart of gold and was trying her best to be a good Jedi. 

The young togruta was the one to show you around the venator-class ship. She told of the inner workings, the decks, where the barracks are located, the mess hall, even a lounge type area with an endless supply of caf.

It was through her that signaled for the clones to warm-up to you. Rex was still formal and professional, but you’d nod and smile whenever you passed each other in the hall.

Hardcase and Kix were easy-going. The day you arrived and settled, they approached and properly apologized for slamming into you earlier. It was rather sweet. 

In fact, a lot of the clones were kind to you. Some were tense, ‘shinies’ you’ve learned is the term for rookies. Some were more open and genuine. Though, a couple seemed somewhat fearful. As if afraid of offending you. 

Over time you hoped to break these walls. 

Currently, you were treating a clone, Jesse, for a blaster bolt graze from a training incident. Rex was also in the medical bay, arms crossed and staring rather disapprovingly at the poor trooper. Both were mostly silent as you treated him with bacta and bandages.

Simple fix…What antics caused him to shoot his own arm though? By the look on Rex’s face, it must’ve been something ridiculous.

Once you removed his glove, you paused. The wound was on the back of his wrist, it was minor, but the real concern were the bruises that littered his skin. They were the size and shape of fingers, as if someone grabbed Jesse. 

You were trained to recognize instances of abuse. After all, people of any gender would come to your hospital carrying the wounds their loved-ones left. But clones weren’t allowed romantic partners.

So who hurt Jesse?

Your eyes drifted to Captain Rex before looking at your patient, “Jesse, would you like to…have some privacy?” You held his hand, offering him kindness if he chose to accept. 

Something seemed to click for the both of them, “Oh! These?” The trooper you were treating gave you a smile as he motioned to the bruises, “Rough-housing with the boys! We’re brothers after all and things can get…” 

“Rambunctious.” Rex finished his sentence.

Liar. 

You didn’t press, “Well, tell your boys not to be so rough.”

The captain scoffed, “Good luck with that.”

After you stabilized the bandages, you gave Jesse a small smile, “There. Easy treatment.” You slipped your gloves off, “I’ll give you some painkillers to take before you sleep. That way the healing pain doesn’t keep you awake.” 

“It’s alright Doc.” Jesse shook his head, “I’ve been through worse.”

You turned to look at him again. Your concern was evident, but you couldn’t force information out of him if he wasn’t willing to give it, “If you get hurt at all, by anything or anyone, you can come to me.” 

I’m here to help you. 

The trooper nodded with a smirk and stood, correcting his glove and armor again, “Thanks doc.” He gave you a salute before walking out of the medical bay. 

Rex was going to follow but you spoke up first, “Captain Rex?” 

He paused and turned to look at you, “What is it, Doctor?”

Your words had to be careful. One wrong move and you could label yourself as ‘unsafe’ for the clones to go to if they needed help. After a second you spoke calmly, making sure Rex knew you only wanted to be a safe person, “If you, or anyone needs anything, I’m here.”

He gave you a small smirk and a nod before leaving the medical bay. 

Later that night, you were looking over medical reports when the doors opened. Two troopers, ones you haven't met before, were standing in the doorway. They were both clad in their blacks, most likely having been sleeping.

One of them, with a shaved head and a scar on his lip, had his hands on the shoulders of another trooper with the standard military haircut. It looked like the former had led the latter, who was shaking and distressed, to you.

“Doctor?” The leader seemed startled, “I um…I found him…”

“I got you,” You stood from your desk and motioned to a bed, “What are your names?” 

“I’m Denal.” The stable one got the other onto the bed, “This is Vaughn.”

Denal and Vaughn. Got it.

You knelt by Vaughn’s feet, “Hey, Vaughn.” Your voice took a softer, gentler tone. You were clearly dealing with someone in great distress, “What happened?”

“He had some kind of nightmare and just…bolted. I found him in a supply closet.” Denal answered. 

Nightmare. Panic attack? Most likely.

You nodded, keeping at a lower eye level with the panicked soldier, “Vaughn…I’m going to help you ok?”

His brown eyes looked around wildly.

“Does this happen normally?” Your questions were directed at the other trooper now.

He shook his head, “When we have nightmares, usually we can calm each other down. I’ve never seen him this bad though.”

The clones rely on each other for emotional support. Good to know.

If Vaughn wasn’t responding to your words, he wouldn’t be coherent enough to follow directions to calm him down. It seemed like he was caught in some type of flash-back. His mind was in overdrive and he was thrown into this attack.

Something triggered him. The nightmare.

“Denal,” You stood, keeping a hand on your patient's shoulder, “I’d like to use a mild sedative on him, do you think he’d consent to that?” you turned to face him. Perhaps clones weren’t fans of medication. After all, Jesse rejected painkillers earlier…

The coherent trooper nodded, “Yea, if you think that's best.”

Oh, so maybe Jesse wasn’t a fan of meds.

Wordlessly you went to one of the medicine cabinets and prepared the sedatives for him. You’d have to inject them, and in Vaughn’s current state, you weren’t entirely sure if that would end well. 

Once things were prepared, you returned to kneel next to your patient, “Vaughn, I’m going to inject you with this, ok?” Your palm opened revealing the needle, “This will help, if you’ll let me.” 

His eyes were staring directly at you, but they weren't seeing you.

“Denal, can you hold his hand?” 

The other trooper sat next to his fellow soldier and grabbed his arm, “It’s gonna be ok, vod.” 

Vod?

You didn’t comment as you slipped the needle into Vaughn’s arm. The sedatives were administered and you stood to toss the empty syringe. The medication kicked in fast, because the trooper stopped shaking when you returned to his side. 

“Vaughn?” Your voice was still soft and quiet, “Do you know where you are?”

He looked around, before nodding, “The Resolute.”

You gave him a gentle smile, “Good. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” He croaked, “What…”

“Nightmare,” Denal answered, “You had a bad nightmare. Geonosis again?”

Vaughn was at the battle of Geonosis? 

You heard the reports and numbers. Half of the Republic's army had been wiped out on that planet. Many Jedi as well. It was a bloodbath.

Your patient nodded slowly, “Yea…” 

“S’ok vod,” the other soldier put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. 

You reached and put a comforting hand on his knee, “Do you want to sleep here until you need to be up and awake?” 

The medical bay offered some more privacy. It was quieter and if he woke up again, he wouldn’t need to worry about waking his fellow soldiers. 

To your surprise, he shook his head, “I’d rather be with my brothers.”

Brothers…The clones are brothers…of course…

You nodded in understanding, “Alright…I understand.” carefully, you got to your feet and sat down on his other side, “But if you feel like you need some quiet, you can come here.”

He gave you an exhausted, but grateful smile, “Thanks, doc.” 

The two stood, but before they left, you asked, “Denal, Vaughn, what does vod mean?”

They shared a look with each other before Denal answered, “It’s mando’a. For sibling.”

“Sibling…thank you.” You smiled, “Get some rest, alright?”

Both of the soldiers left you alone again. After straightening the bed, you moved to your desk and picked up your datapad again. 

Vod.

So the clones know mando’a…

#reader insert #tcw x reader #captain rex #captain rex x reader #clone trooper jesse #star wars tcw #star wars the clone wars #star wars #star wars x reader #clone troopers #clone wars 501st #501st #501st legion #501st shenanigans

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Bucky Barnes One Shots

Bucky Barnes Main Masterlist

A/N: all reader inserts are female unless otherwise stated. These are as inclusive as possible and only description that may be included is if reader has hair (mostly used in rough smut scenes).   KEY: ⁂ = smut † = death ⨮ =angst ꕥ = fluff ⧻ = 500+ notes

The Ransom ⁂ ⧻ ➴ Sassy reader gets rescued by boyfriend!Bucky and Avengers Whiteout ⁂ ⧻ ➴ Friends to lovers trope, mission extraction gone wrong, PWP Sick Day ꕥ ⧻ ➴ Bucky takes care of you when you are sick Fix You ⁂ ꕥ ➴ You take care of CW!Bucky after a nightmare Equal Opportunist ⁂ ➴ Assassin!Bucky keeps killing your marks so you have sex with him, PWP Sex-Ed ⧻ ➴ You fumble your way through teaching sex-ed with Bucky watching The Ghost Of You || AudioBook ➴ After the blip you have to survive the heartache without Bucky Postpartum Depression  ➴ Bucky helps you at your lowest, read warnings and tags Silver Tongue ➴ You break your rules to save Bucky End of the Line † ➴ Steve dies of old age in your care  Fall From Grace ⁂ ➴ MFF threesome, angel-turned-demon reader You Don’t Own Me  † || Dark!Winter Soldier ➴ No happy endings here, read warnings and tags 10 Little Lies ➴ Friends to lovers trope, a drunken night ends with Bucky in your bed  Eggplant Emoji ꕥ ➴ Bucky takes matters into his own hands when you struggle with modern dating. Good Behaviour ⁂ || ft. Baron Helmut Zemo ➴ The Baron sets you up a new Dom, Bucky, for when he is sent back to prison. Hacked ꕥ⨮ ➴ Your phone gets hacked and intimate files get threatened to be shared Obscene Behaviour ꕥ|| Platonic / Sam & Bucky ➴ Your coffee date with your friends takes a turn when you feed your newborn. She Knows ⁂ ⧻ ➴ You activate a new kink as you tease your boyfriend from across the bar. By Your Side ꕥ ➴ Bucky takes care of you when you are sick. Not Enough ꕥ ➴ Friends to lovers trope. When Worlds Collide ꕥ ➴ Your life changes completely when you and Bucky collide. Babysitting Bucky ⨮ ꕥ ➴ You are partnered with Bucky and he is not happy with the arrangement Control & Comfort ⁂ ꕥ ⧻ ➴ Bucky has a rough day and takes it out in your p*ssy Plié or Pliable ⁂ || Widow!reader ➴ Bucky watches you practicing ballet and wants to know how flexible you are.  A Change Of Season ⨮ ⁂ || Widow!reader ➴ You are reunited with Bucky after Nat frees you from the Red Room, but it’s not what you expected Better Late Than Never ⁂ || Bucky, Steve, Natasha x reader ➴ You come home to find the party started without you. Takeout ꕥ ➴ You try to make a home cooked meal but it doesn’t go to plan Nightmares ⁂ || SamBucky ➴ When you wake to find Bucky caught in a nightmare there’s only one way to chase away the lingering fear. Mine ⁂ ⨮ ➴ Bucky gets jealous and spanks you for it Last Words ⨮ ꕥ ➴ You get kidnapped after storming out from a fight with Bucky The Bond We Share || vampire!reader ➴ You bond yourself to Bucky to save his life My Heart Remembers You ⨮ ꕥ ➴ Your love transcends time as you are reborn to find your Bucky Burning House ⨮ ➴ Another night another nightmare The Interrogation ⁂ || Winter Soldier ➴ You interrogate the Winter Soldier Promises ⨮ ꕥ ➴ You need to come to grips with your newly acquired power The Secret Life of Bucky Barnes ➴ A glimpse into life as Bucky’s secret girlfriend Wallflower ꕥ ➴ You and Bucky finally confess your feeling for each other Instinct ꕥ || blind!reader ➴ Bucky tracks you down after trying to stop a mugging and he ends up staying for the company. Don’t Want To Miss A Thing ⁂ ➴ Bucky celebrates your birthday Seven Seconds † ➴ In seven seconds you see your entire future laid bare.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

[oxygenbefore1775]

AoT Warriors Losing Their Kid In A Shopping Mall

tags: modern au

cw: kids being lost, some kids crying and being emotionally distressed, mentions of stranger danger

a/n: the image below is the accurate representation of the thought process of any parent who can't find their kid - but i digress

Annie

out of all Warriors, Annie is the most prepared for having her kid missing in a mall

her child knows the pnone number of his mother by heart and while they are driving to the mall Annie makes her kid recite the phone number and the plan of action for the being-lost-scenario

but just in case, Annie put a band around her kid's wrist with all of the info written on it

with this confidence in her kid's self-sufficiency, Annie doesn't get bothered too much when she can't find her kid nearby

goes through the steps of the plan of action that they've agreed upon and heads to the meeting point

can't help but to feel proud for her child as she sees them patiently waiting for her

Bertholdt

fears to lose his kid the most but, ironically, is the least prepared for it — mainly because the mere thought of not being able to find his precious child in a mall scares him and Bertholdt doesn't even want to consider this scenario

but when push comes to shove and the child is nowhere to be seen, Bertholdt is panicking

he won't ask for help though as he doesn't want to look like an irresponsible parent to the others

Bertholdt manages to keep the straight face while going through the stores they have already visited, hoping to find his child there

the kid would probably come up to Bertholdt first because it's more likely for a child to find this tree of a man than the other way around

Bertholdt is immediately relieved and buys the kid ice cream to comfort them (but mostly for his own comfort)

Pieck

Pieck is the type of parent to constantly say to her kids "Soon I will die and you will have to manage without me" (even though Pieck is nowhere near to be dying)

so for Pieck, a trip to a mall is a perfect opportunity to teach her child (who is four at most) some independency

waits around for a perfect moment when her child is distracted and hides behind the shelvings

with a face free of any expression, watches as her kid starts looking around in search of mommy and calling out for her

only when her child starts to bawl their eyes out Pieck realizes that she maybe went too far

barely manages to calm her kid down and makes them promise not to tell mom/dad about this incident

Porco

when it comes to monitoring his kid during shopping, Porco is not controlling at all — his child only has two rules to follow: be nice to the others and stay in the same store as pops

but those rules are more like guidelines because the kid never faces any reprecussions for stepping out of the line

so as long as Porco can hear his child prancing about the place, everything is fine

that is, until one day when Porco completely zones out so that he doesn't notice his kid being missing

shows zero panic about it and is not urgent about finding his child right away — would probably leisurely walk around the mall, gaze sliding from store to store in search of the small figure that is his kid

frankly, Porco wouldn't classify this as his child being lost — to him, the kid is doing an autonomous mall exploration

likely finds the child in a candy store and, completely ignoring the fact that the kid walked off without his permission, offers to buy some candy that his child came all this way for

Reiner

Reiner is adamant to keep his children by his side — holds them firmly by the hand while shopping and never lets go of them

always has his eye on them, even when he seems not to be looking in their direction — when it comes to his children, Reiner has eyes on the back of his head

so in this impossible scenario when Reiner can't seem to find his kids in the close proximity, he remains surprisingly calm

would probably ask for help from the mall security and make an announcement via loudspeakers

but as Reiner says the announcement, his shaky voice betrays his utter worry

when they finally meet up in a designated spot, Reiner is happy beyond relief and tells the kids that they are really brave for holding out all alone without their dad (even though they've been apart for less than half an hour)

Zeke

like Porco, Zeke doesn't restrict his kid's freedom to roam around the store — the child is curious by nature and who is he to prevent them from exploring the world around them?

but seeing as Zeke is a strong believer in "stranger danger" concept, he decides to go an extra mile and teaches his kid that every stranger wants to sell their organs on the black market

so Zeke makes himself a huge disservice once his kid gets lost because they are fucking terrified to ask the adults in the mall for help and just end up hiding somewhere

spends an eternity looking for the kid everywhere in the mall

the child comes out from the hiding spot only at the sound of his father's voice calling out to him

although Zeke praises the kid for listening to his lessons, but he realizes that he flamboyantly fucked up by giving his kid paranoia at such a young age

#aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot headcanons #aot warriors #marleyan warriors #aot warriors headcanons #marleyan warriors headcanons #annie #annie leonhardt #bertholdt #bertholdt hoover #pieck #pieck finger #porco #porco galliard #reiner #reiner braun #zeke #zeke yeager #zeke jeager

[cadaverjuices]

!!!COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!!!

-> 18+ BLOG, MINORS GET PUT ON MY POTTERY WHEEL ON SIGHT!!! GET VASED IDIOT.

↓↓ PRESS READ MORE TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT ME/MY WORK ↓↓

hi!! my name is prisonjuice, u can call me that or variations or. anything else i dont really care, i use it/its pronouns, im an adult, and a writer/aritsts

im not particularly interested in being too out n about about my specific identity, but i will say that im an aroace-spec, nonbinary/trans, autistic/mentally ill, and disabled artist.

i mostly do oc stuff!! i have really complicated oc lore im always working on, but sometimes i might post fandom stuff- never anything serious though, god will strike me dead before i ever finish a second fanart!

I DRAW;

silly oc comics

silly fandom comics....

and when its serious work. my favourite things,

blood

guts

cannibalism

dismemberment

shark teeth snake teeth and little cat like nails

bright eye hurting neons like some sort of whore

sorry jesus [size difference in me ocs]

naked blood covered cannibalistic nonbinaries [they r just like me fr!!]

uuum. boobs

my artwork will obv be tagged for anything bad i can think of while tagging it! if i missed something please tell me and ill edit the post.

artwork will also all be tagged with oil spill [general content tag] & rainbow works [visual media specific tag] from now on! along with the name of the universe + ocs in it :)

ill um.... make a masterlist of what each universe has goin' on eventually but dont expect me to add all of my ocs in that masterlist <- 500 ocs last i counted

I WRITE;

no fandom stuff. probably never will, im just not interested

all of my ocs are autistic. sorry

all of my ocs are trans too. oopsie mistake

all of them are furthermore generally mentally ill and very queer. whoops

sorry lesbians, i like men a lot and im nonbinary so i mostly write men and nonbinary ocs

hurt/sometimes comfort. heavy emphasis on the hurt though [<- whump writer]

horror/fantasy/dystopia are my three weed smorking girlfriends out of trad lit genres

because of the 3 [whump, horror, dystopia] reasons above. my work will have EXTENSIVE CWs, please read them and take care when interacting with my writing! it is genuinely not for the faint of heart, and thats ok!!

my most common tropes when writing are...

equally abusive relationships 😋

unequally abusive relationships 😱

religious symbolism

lotsa rot/grossness/bugs [inside people too!]

symbolism in general is like. my favourite thing

writing will also all be tagged with oil spill [general content tag] & crime record [writing specific tag]! along with the name of the universe + ocs in it :)

ill um.... make a masterlist of what each universe has goin' on eventually but dont expect me to add all of my ocs in that masterlist <- 500 ocs last i counted

FANDOMS;

aka PLEASE interact if ur an adult who also likes these things. i wont post abt em much but i would love 2 talk abt em

genshin impact

honkai star rail

boku no hero academia

cookie run [kindom, trying 2 get into ovenbreak tho]

bungou stray dogs

fear and hunger

silent hill

creepypasta

chainsaw man

obey me

vocaloid [i especially love abu-se ken, syudou, and nilfruits]

dungeons and dragons

magi

warrior cats

jujutsu kaisen

milgram

#artists on tumblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #whump community #artblr #digital artists #whump #whump writers #original whump #oc artist #artist intro #queer artist #nonbinary artist #trans artist #lgbtq artist #writer intro #queer writer #nonbinary writer #trans writer #lgbtq writer #whump intro #whumpblr #gghghugghghh now to make a masterlist of my oc universes #the hubris of man [500 ocs and counting]

[greetingfromthedead]

C37: Plotting

For more information on the series (tags, CW, etc) click the banner!

Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 37/84

Words: 2k

No particular warnings for this chapter.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Spending the few days in town has made you realize that your distaste for humans has been misguided, stemming mostly from your patchy memory and misplaced fear. It's true that the people you've met over the years have also been kind to you, but the moments where they chased you out were the ones that actually stood out. Still, being with Vash has given you a new perspective. He too has been shunned and shamed by people, but he never held it against them; if anything, he understood their point of view and admitted his differences. Your history with humankind on this planet still brings forth mixed feelings for you, but moving forward, you're going to take a page out of Vash's book and choose to live with a more optimistic outlook. You know it's partially because you no longer look for their acceptance or validation; you don't need it anymore. You've accepted that you are no longer human, what you are is far removed from what is considered human, but it is the reality in which you live. Still, it bothers you now less than ever before because you've found yourself a tiny, wonderful corner of the world by the handsome Plant man's side.

Walking in the city on the last day of your stay, you don't even mind people looking; most of them don't pay you any attention anyway, choosing to focus on their own business. But even the glances that are shot your way no longer burn a hole in your skin; they don't leave a tingling sensation all over your body. Vash walks beside you, a bag of doughnuts under one of his arms, the other hand digging around in it for his next victim. Your fingers miss his, but you both agreed it's best not to make your relationship too obvious. Despite the fact that you aren't putting much effort into hiding it, mostly just keeping your hands away from each other in too open and crowded places, going too far with it has little to no point since you always share a room anyway.

You look around in the little town; it's made up of small stone buildings, none of them reaching higher than two floors, but despite all the buildings looking similar both in shape and color, the patterned curtains and wall hangings bring interest to the streets. You look at the fabrics, their patterns, and their colors. Things like these help you keep the voices at bay. You look for stimulation from wherever you can; mostly it's Vash, but at times like these, the visuals of the streets will have to do.

You reach the edge of town, where Vash has set up a target for you. This time, you stand further away than yesterday and make sure nobody else is around who could get hurt.

"You wanna start?" you ask Vash with a smile, but he has already sat down on a rock and digs in the bag for another doughnut.

"No, no, I like to watch you! And as you may notice, I am very comfortable!" He smiles back. Despite that, he doesn't look very comfortable; his seat is way too low for his long legs, but he makes do, reminding you a little bit of a spindly worm with the way he is sitting.

"Very well," you shrug, yet you walk up to him. You enjoy seeing him raise his head and have to look up at you; usually, the roles are reversed. You check around; no eyes seem to be on either of you; the few people in your sight are occupied with other things. You take Vash's chin into your hand and bow down, placing a kiss on his lips.

"You like to be bossy." Vash comments with amusement.

"Only towards you," you smirk as you turn around and pull out a knife from under your arm. It twirls around your finger before you use it to throw at the target. It is effortless for you; the weight of the blade tells you immediately how to throw it.

"Wow! Even from this distance! Bullseye!" Vash sounds astonished as he looks at the knife sticking out of the very middle of the board. You reach your hands across your body, pulling out a knife with both hands and using the same motion to throw them into the target. You hear more sounds of amazement exiting Vash's body, similar to yesterday. You pull out the leftover knives one by one and throw them in quick succession. Your aim is perfect with both hands.

"You're amazing! I bet even my aim wouldn't be that good with a different weapon. And it took me years to get any good with my gun. You say you haven't done this before? How do you do that?" Vash exclaims with excitement from his spot.

"Well, I'm not sure. There's something very natural about it, so maybe I have done it before; I just don't remember. But I'm not quite sure how I do it. I simply hold the blade, and all I need to know comes to me on its own. I don't have to think about it." You look at the six knives stuck in the metal. "I think my brain just processes information so quickly, especially in moments where adrenaline is involved. The world moves so slowly, and it seems like I can see two steps into the future just by observing the targets."

"Well, for my own self-esteem, I hope you have done it before... otherwise, I look like a real fool." He pouts a little at the thought, but you can hear it from his voice that, in actuality, he holds no grudge and is happy and proud.

You go to the target and pull out the blades, sticking them back into their holsters. Your attention is grabbed by distant footsteps thundering on the stony street. You turn towards the town, and soon you also hear a voice: "Where's the sheriff? Where's the director?!"

You walk back to Vash, who also clearly hears the commotion and has stood up. He looks towards the town, searching for the source of the voice, who still seems to be looking for the same people.

"Director? You think it could have something to do with the bank? And a sheriff? A bank robbery?" you ask him as you get close enough.

"I don't know, but we better check it out." Vash says that as he takes off at a running pace, you are following right behind. The voice calling out for the director and sheriff has gone off to a different alley, so you decide to just head straight to the center of town, where most establishments were all together anyway.

Sure enough, you barely make it around the corner when you see the bank building and a large armored car parked in the square in front of it. You can see two rough-looking bandits on the roof of the vehicle, machine guns in hand, facing the streets you found yourself on. You immediately jump back behind the corner of a house, pulling Vash with you.

"Yep, it's a bank robbery," you quietly state, and Vash lets out a deep sigh before taking another doughnut from the bag. "Come, let's get closer; maybe someone can fill us in on the details."

You hurry around some houses, careful to avoid getting in the line of sight of the outlaws. As you reach the closest houses to the square, you find people cowering behind barrels and boxes. Some men have taken up arms and are lurking to find an opportunity to attack.

"What's going on here?" Vash speaks over your head, his voice low.

"Some damned idiots have decided to hit our bank!" A young man answers. You see him tightly holding his gun, and you wonder why they haven't shot the two men on top of the car. The people here look very trigger-happy.

"Not only that, they have taken four hostages; one of them is the daughter of the director! They want the safe to be opened!" An older man answers your unspoken question.

"We can't do much, or they will kill the hostages!" the younger man speaks again. "The two on top are keeping an eye out on the crowd; there's another one behind the car, ready to shoot up the whole building if it comes to that; two more are inside, waiting for the director with the hostages."

"And you don't have a clear shot into the building from here either because of the armored car," you quietly say as you analyze the sight in front of you.

"Yes. Also, the sheriff and director are nowhere to be found!"

"They won't be able to do much besides give in to the demands." You continue, your voice monotone as you peek around the corner. "Hey, Red, you think you could handle the two on top of the car?"

"Is that even a question? Of course I could, but the hostages would get hurt." Vash speaks near your ear as he too takes a look around the corner; his mouth is still stuffed with a doughnut.

"What about we give them another hostage?" you say nonchalantly.

"What do you mean?" Concern creeps into Vash's voice, as he seems to understand your train of thought.

"Well, we can't guarantee the safety of the hostages from here, and we can't do much about the men outside the building because of it. So I'll go in and protect the hostages." Both of you pull back into the cover provided by the building.

"That's suicide! Even if you go inside, you'll just be another person to hold over our heads, or they'll kill you!" The younger man from before chimes in.

"I wouldn't worry about me," you say, and you turn towards Vash. "What do you think?"

"I should go; there's quite a big likelihood it will come to a shootout, and it's more dangerous in there." He looks at you, worried.

"Exactly my point; that's why I should go. If you take care of the machine guns outside, I can protect the hostages and take out whoever is inside. Also, I have a feeling they might not want you as leverage. They might just shoot you."

"The girl's right; if I were a twisted outlaw, I wouldn't take someone like him as a hostage, but a young girl who doesn't look too tough would be a perfect victim." the older guy says.

"See? We should listen to our elders." You lower your voice. "Also, there's a certain way you would prefer this to end, right? So don't you trust me to handle it?"

"Of course I trust you. I just don't want you to get hurt." His eyes look into yours with an intensity that you don't see often.

"Well, I'll be careful," you assure him.

After another moment of hesitation, Vash gives in and agrees with your plan. You flesh out the plan, including the other two men in it. You agree on your timing and signals, talking everything through as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Agreeing that you would look suspicious with all your knives out on display, you end up borrowing the suit jacket of the younger man, rolling up its sleeves, and making it look less like you borrowed it from a stranger and more like you made a choice to wear it. It covers the sheaths on your sides, and you unbuckle the hunting knife from your thigh, handing it to Vash.

With your plan set into motion and preparations made, you take off, running quietly along the streets to the side of the square with the bank building without being seen. As you get closer, you take out some doubledollar notes from your pocket and slow down. You count the papers in your hand, not letting on like you are in a rush or that you notice anything at all about what's going on. You make your way between the bank building and the armored car.

"So, what's this?" a squeaky male voice exclaims from next to the vehicle. 

For more information and chapters, check out the MASTERLIST.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

#tempest wind #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #Trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #Humanoid Typhoon #vashxreader #vash x reader #x reader #plant boi #Vash the Stampede

[whumpinggrounds]

Dust to Dust

For day 3 of @whumptober, it’s “say goodbye” with Liam and Delilah! Poor Liam...

Previous   Next

CW: male whumpee, female whumper, little whumper, big whumpee, creepy whumper, Taser, psychological whump, death threats, attempted murder? idk how to tag this. my man is in danger

When the hole is almost up to Liam’s neck, Delilah lets out a long, loud sigh. “You can stop,” she tells him, resting her hand, just for a moment, on the top of his head. Liam hardly dares breathe – he doesn’t like the touch, but it’s been so long since she was gentle with him. Maybe…maybe it’s a good sign?

The touch still makes him shiver, but Liam masks it well. He hands the shovel up to her. “Thank you, darling.” She gives him a sad smile. “Sit down, please.”

“Sit…?”

“Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.” She raises a hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear that might well be imaginary. In the frozen pit he’s dug in the ground, Liam looks up at her with dawning horror.

“Please…please don’t do this.”

For the first time, it’s real. For the first time, it starts to sink in that he might not actually make it out of this.

Delilah levels the Taser at him. Her face is sorrowful, but her eyes are alive, interested. This is just another story to her, just another twist in her grand, tragic romance. Liam shakes his head. “I…Delilah. Please. Please, don’t do this.”

“Goodbye, darling. Goodbye. You were the best prince you could be. I thank you for trying, even though it wasn’t to be.” Eyes going dreamy, she gazes down at him with a soft expression on her face. “I’ll miss you.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Liam is shaking his head, trying to back away. His shoulders hit the back of the grave he’s just dug himself and he flinches violently away from the earth’s cold embrace. “Please, d-darling. Please.” His mouth is dry, and his hands are shaking.

“I do, my love. I’m so sorry, but I do.” Tucking the Taser under her arm, Delilah flings the first shovelful of loose earth onto Liam.

Dirt gets everywhere, mostly Liam’s chest and face. He coughs, hands coming up to cover his face, to shield his eyes, try to dig it out of his mouth. “Sit down, sweetheart,” intones Delilah, her face smooth and peaceful.

“Please,” Liam chokes. He can’t find any other words to express the writhing desperation that’s come alive in his chest. He didn’t know – he’s never felt this way before. He didn’t think he ever could feel this way before – this fear, this desperation, the sudden searing certainty that he doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want this to happen, he doesn’t want to die.

But it’s come too late. He followed her into the woods, docile as a lamb, and when she handed him the shovel, Liam dug his grave. Only now, only when he can’t ignore it anymore, does the reality actually hit him, actually stop his breath in his chest. But it’s too late. It’s too late.

“Say goodbye, darling.” There’s an intensity in Delilah’s eyes, a burning heat. She throws another shovel of dirt onto Liam’s head,.

“No! No, I’m, I’m not saying goodbye! Delilah please, please don’t do this. I’ll be better to you, I can be your prince, please just let me.” Liam sets his hands on either side of the grave, and Delilah’s eyes go flat and dead.

“You’re not my prince,” Delilah tells him. “You’re not.”

“But I-”

Eyes full of dirt, Liam doesn’t see Delilah raise the shovel over her head. There’s a thundering burst of pain, right on the top of his head.

Liam’s vision goes black.

Tagging @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @lonesome–hunter, @diyalogues, @deluxewhump, @hearse-song, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpy-writings, @warm-my-whumpee-heart and @brutal-nemesis​! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.3 #say goodbye #ocs #oc #fic #male whumpee #female whumper #big whumpee #little whumper #creepy whumper #death threats #attempted murder #digging own grave #buried alive #kinda #not yet #but #liam and delilah

[whump-in-the-closet]

i had idea. i wrote idea down. i present to you chiar. (context being that he’s not exactly…human? he was. at one point. now he’s capable of great destruction and really good at hiding. mostly. when you got glow in the dark eyes it’s kinda hard to hide yk?)

Raising Chaos.

masterlist.

cw: general whump, kind of inhuman whumpee, mention of blood, beatings, multiple whumpers, urge to electrocute people? that’s like part of the deal of not being exactly human: destructive impulse as mentioned above, he imagines a voice in his head (idk exactly how to tag that but i think that’s all let me know if missed anything!)

Chiar knew the shadows betrayed him. Betrayed him for what he was. The darkness clung to his skin in ways it shouldn’t and when you didn’t want attention, this was not a good thing. 

People noticed him. 

Even when he was careful to walk with eyes downcast, shrinking down into his jacket, making himself as small as possible– they would always be waiting for him. 

 Waiting with harsh words and harsher blows. 

And every time, he would end up running. Running with the taste of copper in his mouth and his face smarting and maybe they hadn’t kicked him when he was down but they had sticks and had known how to use those. 

He would run with the darkness trailing behind him, fading to blue as it wrapped around his wrists. Humming nervously. 

Run with electricity pounding behind his eyes, thrumming through every vein, begging to be released. 

And every time, Chiar would shove the impulse down and run, letting the steady sound of boots on concrete drive out every thought– drive out the pain. All he wanted was one night– just one– where he could walk the streets without being shoved into a circle of people, with their loud voices and angry laughter, telling him what he was. Telling him to get up and take it. Because he deserved it. 

Because he was lucky he wasn’t in a lab right now. 

Because everyone already knew so why did he try to hide it? 

The energy inside him hummed comfortingly.

You don’t have to hide it. 

Let me out. 

Let them see. 

A new night, a new city, a new group of people in front of a tired building. Torches in their hands, and twisted laughter in the air. 

Shadows curled under his fingers. It did little to slow his racing heart. He knew what happened next and knew it was pointless to run now. Running was for when they grew tired. 

The moonlight was watery, contorting the sidewalk and the people into shadowy shapes without faces. They surrounded him, the burning torches far too bright for his sensitive eyes. 

 Chiar stood his ground, focusing on their shoes. He counted six pairs. An assortment of leather and steel. 

Someone kicked him in the back of the knees. 

He took it. He stumbled, true, but he didn’t fall. 

A sharp slap. More insulting than it was painful. “I asked you a question. What’re the likes of you doing in a civilized city?” 

Chiar hissed at the man. “I was leaving. I was just leaving.” The energy was screaming inside his head– white noise that made it hard to think clearly. 

The next person to touch him– 

A hand yanked his hood back. 

Chiar stiffened. 

The group drew back. 

Chiar looked at them with strange eyes– glowing– dark blue. Darker than an ocean and without pupils. 

Chiar smiled. It was more of a grimace. “You shouldn't have done that.” 

The atmosphere hardened. There was anger, raw and murderous. Anger and fear. 

Chiar was used to that. 

The first blow was unexpected– and his ribs ached in protest. He dropped to one knee, and another blow fell over the back of his head. 

 Someone had a cane. 

The energy inside him screamed to be released. The power to electrocute the whole group was in his hands– he could do it– the pain would stop– 

No. 

He couldn’t do it. He would never use it again. 

So he took the blows and the kicks and the throbbing pain and found himself wishing he could scream along with the white noise in his head.

#whump #whump writing #whump scenario #whump community #inhuman whumpee #whump fic #whumblr #whump stuff #idk what i’m doing #look let me explain #i have character #i like this said character #so i make him suffer like the little punk he is #he’s a part of my wip so shhh #this isn’t canon #it’s just me having fun #and him suffering #because why not ok #i love him so much #he is my son and i will protect him #but also hurt him beyond his wildest dreams #someone tell me i’m not crazy

[spngeorg]

Episode 70, 4.10 Heaven and Hell

If their ability to find an escape hatch out of this one irritated Chuck, I can’t help but imagine that’s at least part of what pushes him in 4.18 to “write himself into the story,” you know? When does Chuck ever show up in the story, when the Winchesters could really use a helping hand from a loving God? Nah. Well, maybe a little bit... but mostly it’s when they’re finding loopholes in the story-- the whole “we’ll find another way” rather than make this most awful choice the narrative has been pushing them toward. But that’s besides the point, because this episode isn’t about him :’D

Mostly what we learn about here is the intro to all the stuff that will underpin Castiel’s entire character arc for the next 13 seasons-- the nature of angel grace, what an angel is, what differentiates and what makes them similar to a human soul, and the oppression angels experience under Heaven’s rules of “obey or die.” Right there you get the foundation for Cas’s fear of allowing his “humanity” to blossom, and if you let me I’ll rant forever about why this alone makes his end in canon the ultimate tragedy. But I won’t do that today >.>

We also learn a little more about Dean’s 40 years in Hell and that he wished he couldn’t feel any of that at all-- the worst human emotions. He’d give up the good stuff just to not have to feel all that bad stuff, as Anna tells him even knowing what he experienced and feels right then is worth it to her, that she doesn’t want to give up any of it to go back to being an angel who can’t really feel any of it... 

(I miss you pb&j in 9.11... was not about a sandwich...)

okay, on to the references for this week’s episode!

The Superwiki page for this episode

My tag for this episode

but especially these posts:

the destiel uh.. the dean/anna sex scene and other callbacks to 4.01

June 2019 rewatch notes

on Dean’s “weakness”

angels and emotions

this episode’s installment of lizbob’s “dean and cas are in love” series

and a second “dean and cas are in love” post for this ep

Anna, Grace, and Humanity

April 2017 rewatch notes

that old nugget that “Cas stole Anna’s role in the narrative” after this episode... if you read this you must read the whole thing and not cherry pick the bits that confirm your preferred narrative, while remembering that tvtropes and the fandom wikia are not reliable info sources :’D 

The cut scene of Cas and Uriel talking about their orders that is absolutely essential, likely cut because it gave too much away of the larger plot (1:47 long video)

The CW promo for this episode (:20 long video)

an interview with Gen Padalecki talking about Ruby’s motivations

Thunderbird Dinwiddie discussing Pamela’s return to Supernatural

Listen now on AnchorFM, or wherever you enjoy podcasts!

#spn 4.10 #spn podcasts #spiders georg of the tnt loop

[365runesoftheamalgamations]

100 Great Drabble Experiment pt.5

Content Tag List (ask to be added or removed) @a-completely-normal-writer | @aalinaaaaaa | @autumnalwalker | @bardic-tales | @creepypyromancer | @emersonjydestein | @enchanted-lightning-aes | @fearofahumanplanet | @forthelanterns | @jessica-writes22 | @junypr-camus | @lockejhaven | @midnight-and-his-melodiverse | @papercutsunset | @perasperaadastrawriting | @talesofsorrowandofruin

we are here with another set of drabble prompts! Actually got an ask basically demanding some more drabbles - cough cough Fear cough cough - so we obviously had to default to its demands, it would have never given me peace otherwise. o(≧∇≦o)

October 08 2022 | Four Asks Answered | Drabbles 12 - 15

cw: slap, mentioned beating, hunger, starvation, thirst, puking, tremble, vague body mutilation, dead limbs Keep yourselves safe. Please let us know if anything needs to be added or removed.

Prompt 12 | Slap | 100 Word Drabble

Open palms hurt more than closed fists. The Villain can at least ready himself for a fist, but the slap knocks his head to the side without any warning, and he spits hard as his cheek explodes in pain. He drags in air, tries not to aggravate his entire right side as he gives the Guard lopsided smirk. “No wonder you needed a Hero. You can barely throw a hit.” It’s the wrong move; instigating more violence is going to get him killed but he doesn’t care. There’s sick satisfaction in it, even if it gets him a worse beating.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Prompt 13 | Hunger | 100 Word Drabble

The hunger isn’t as bad as the thirst. The Villain isn’t concerned with his missed meals. The only thing edible that enters his cell are tiny morsels sitting alongside already rotting food. He would rather not press his luck, especially with how hard they make it to eat, so he leaves the meals unless liquid is involved. So the soup, even dropped and mostly sloshed out onto the cell’s floor is worth the risk. He slurps the amount left in the bowl, tries to bite back the growling in his stomach when it does nothing to stave off the emptiness.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Prompt 14 | Thirst | 100 Word Drabble

The thirst almost gets him. The Hero ends up bringing more water than the Guards could be bothered to. She hates the soft torture they are putting him through, doesn’t realize the extent until too late. He almost makes her spill the canteen, and even when she gives it over, his need for the liquid outweighs his logic. She has to tear the container from his lips, curses as she doesn’t do it fast enough. He barely swallows the water down before he is puking it back up, the Hero spending the next hour helping him learn to drink again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Prompt 15 | Tremble | 100 Word Drabble

His right hand is useless. The Hero makes a soft noise as she takes the limb in her own hands, the Villain barely grunting as she inspects the hand. It is gnarled and blackened, skin twisted against bones and fingers curled into the palm as it trembles against her hands. There is also the tiny stench of decay and rot sitting too close for comfort; she swallows back bile as she looks up and meets the Villain’s eyes. He shrugs at her, takes back the dead limb and touching against the thick leather band keeping it attached to the wrist.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Master Post | Part Four | Part Six?

Like what we write? Buy us a Coffee! c:

#100 drabble challenge #whump edition #the great motivation experiment #the 100 great drabble experiment #writings #writerscommunity #writingcommunity #writing snippet #content warnings #slap #implied beatings #hunger #implied starvation #thirst #puking #tremble #body mutilation #decaying limbs #rune ⊹ writings

[huntershowl]

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟏    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.    

NAME:  persephone aisa

EYE COLOUR: dark brown

HAIR STYLE  /  COLOUR: shiny, black and pin-straight down to her hips. in the more shadowed parts, deeper like... vantablack??? with faintly glittering stars visible inside of it. black, odorless smoke billows off the ends.

HEIGHT:  6′4″

CLOTHING STYLE: all black and silver; somewhere between uniform and fightwear.

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: i think their hair’s pretty neat. :)

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟐    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.    

FEARS: the one who haunts her finally returning to finish the job; dying before they can get revenge; their brother being hurt because of them.

GUILTY PLEASURE:  raspberry jam straight out the jar baybeeee.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE: disrespect. being hit on by men she’s trying to beat the shit out of.

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: ( suicidal ideation cw ) so. that’s a thing. seph’s plan is basically to keep building her reputation as a monster and garner as much fear as possible, then when [redacted] returns to the city, be untouchable by the mob because she controls their fear. once [redacted] is dead, they’re basically just. giving up? planning on turning herself in to law enforcement to face whatever judgment they have planned, or letting someone looking for revenge on her finally achieve it.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟑    :    𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒.

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: where am i? am i alone? where’s my gun? is it safe here? always counts her weapons upon waking, just in case.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST:  where the next threat is coming from.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: usually drunk enough to think about nothing, but before that, whether she’s sealed off all entry points.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: skill at her job. 

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟒    :    𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒    𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES:  no

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED:  respected

BEAUTY OR BRAINS: both, but brains mostly

DOGS OR CATS: animals don’t much like seph, but cats! (or horses.)

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟓    :    𝐃𝐎    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘…

LIE:   no. seph is a TERRIBLE liar, so they’ll usually omit rather than fib.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES:  in terms of doing her job? yes. anything else? f

BELIEVE IN LOVE:  aBSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT (except platonic love. endless oodles of it for her brother!!)

WANT SOMEONE: shut up

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟔    :    𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘    𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑…

BEEN ON STAGE:  accidentally, mid-murder, yes

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: yes, but for a job, rather than their own wishes

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟕    :    𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒.

FAVOURITE COLOUR:  crimson & deep violet

FAVOURITE ANIMAL:   horses

FAVOURITE BOOK:   hmm. that’s verse-dependent, but they like poetry?

FAVOURITE GAME:  anything that allows her to turn her brain off for a little while !!

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑   ��𝟎𝟎𝟖    :    𝐀𝐆𝐄.

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE:  bro what

HOW OLD WILL THEY BE: verse-dependent, seph’s usually anywhere from early to late twenties!

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟗    :    𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.

I LOVE: my brother :)

I FEEL: angry

I HIDE: weakness

I MISS: my brother :(

I WISH:  to rest

tagged by: thiefed from @crowshoots​ <33 tagging: thief it!

#>> DASH GAMES. #suicidal ideation cw