#nothing will come so what’s the point in holding back for fear of the consequences?

[trashendence]

Your tags on this set:

I'm still wrapping my head around it, but there's something about how this whole storyline and Eddie's evolving (?) philosophy about the universe is in conversation with the scene at the equestrian center about choice and the randomness of the universe. Something about Buck's utter determination (for self destruction, alas), no matter what the universe throws at him. That the universe screams, but it doesn't control our fate? That we still have to make our own choices, that we are responsible for who we are. Even if and when terrible things happen to us that we can't control, what matters is how we respond to that trauma.

I just really love the overarching narrative and how this theme about agency vs. the universe - choice vs. fate - are all being told through Eddie, at the moment. How the universe may be screaming at Buck, but you are 100% right: Eddie would believe that the choice is up to Buck. That Buck has to decide what (and who) he wants. But it is funny how this stance is leaving them in this emotional stalemate. Eddie, waiting. Buck, running away, deeper into self-destruction.

Anyway, sorry for rambling in your ask box, but I have feelings and would love to hear more of your thoughts on Buck and Eddie and the Universe.

oh i love this ask! eddie and faith, eddie and fate, buddie and the universe? sign me up every. single. time.

i think you’re definitely on to something with eddie’s evolving philosophy about the universe and charlie’s role in all of it (it’s actually why i think ‘suspicion’ should get all the credit). arguably, charlie and his mum represent a turning point for eddie; a single parent turned rotten, someone eddie trusts on instinct because he sees himself in her, and someone who betrays him and her own son in the end. it’s okay not to believe in a higher power if you can believe in people, but what happens when people are not inherently good? what is the point then?

if there are too many variables to keep track of, where does that leave eddie? eddie, who thought he could prepare for everything in his life and, most importantly, in his death. the binary code he can’t predict but can welcome when it comes. and the one time - the one time - he tries to put an end to a situation he didn’t see coming, he gets shot. the one time he reaches out to those he cared about, they’re dead. he starts wondering what’s the point of everything if it all ends in fire, what’s the point of his abuela collecting debt to say goodbye to his abuelo, what’s the point of mitchell dying when they could have found another way, what’s the point. and the point, i think he’s always instinctively known but is slowly realizing just now, is love.

“our job was always to save the person in front of us. and what happens next? well, we aren’t supposed to know. it got me thinking…about the day you got shot. i almost forgot that wasn’t even our call and it made me wonder if you ever wished we hadn’t saved him,” is what buck tells eddie before letting him know the second chance eddie blindly gave charlie - out of love and nothing else - worked. they didn’t know if it would, and it did. both buck and eddie agree there is nothing to regret, even if it’s random, even if it turns out a mess.

i think eddie accepted then and there that they will never know for certain whether it is all a coincidence or if there’s a bigger picture, but there is one conclusion: you can either listen to the universe and call it love, or scream with your own voice and call it love anyway. just like with ‘suspicion’, it’s about not being defined by what you attract - be it shitty people, natural disasters, unexpected losses -, nor by the cards you’ve been dealt. it’s about eddie being a great dad and still pulling into his orbit the exact opposite, which makes him feel used and stupid but also tells us one more time about his heart and what it desires. it’s about buck being stopped multiple times on the way to his donation and still running to make it work, because that’s what he thinks he desires. and everything is drenched in love; for a son, for an old friend, for the chance to give happiness to someone else. trial and error.

that’s why eddie wouldn’t actually stop buck from doing it; he knows randomness is not the enemy because choice is what matters. but i think buck is not there yet. he frantically looks for a sign, opens his arms to possibilities because in the great numbers reside higher chances, thinks his future is written unless what he needs to change it finds him first. there is very little agency in his ‘yes’, there is so much pain in his running and hoping for the best. eddie ultimately will show him that buck found love actively, organically, effortlessly and yes, also a bit randomly.

it’s truly a great love story story of love.

#because this wasn’t already long enough: ‘we don’t know what happens next’ paired up with the shooting scene is the synthesis of everything. #when dying and *free from the future* - that’s when eddie reaches out to buck and openly seeks him #to ASK if buck is okay. #nothing will come so what’s the point in holding back for fear of the consequences? #free from the future is what buck should try to be too right now #( #the suspicion-equestrian lessons-sperm donation pipeline is the realest thing in my life as of now #) #okay i’m done #iri got asked #thank you for the most amazing ask my friend. always a delight! #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie

[pancake-breakfast]

I think chapter 2 of TriMax Volume 6 might just be my favorite thus far. Everything in it hinges on this one iconic scene.

This isn't the first time Wolfwood has pointed a gun at Vash's head. Maybe it won't even be the last. But it holds a bit more weight here because just a few pages ago, we saw a flashback where Wolfwood pointed his gun at someone else's head.

His hand shakes as he aims at Knives. His breath is heavy, and the memory of the Fifth Moon incident is fresh in his mind. He knows if he can just pull the trigger, he can end it here. This being of destruction will be gone, and maybe this time his fancy scientists won't be able to bring him back.

But then Knives does Plant things, and under the weight of it Wolfwood finds he just can't follow through. He fears his own death too much, and Knives will surely kill him.

When he points his gun at Vash, it's different. His hand is steady, his breath calm. The memory of everything that happened at the Dragon's Nest is fresh in his mind; just this morning he warned Meryl that she and Milly should remember that, despite his ideals, Vash is still a loose cannon that they'd do well to avoid. He thinks to himself that if he can just pull the trigger, if he can just take out the less intimidating of the brothers, then one of these monstrous twins and half of the problem will be gone.

This time, there's no crushing sensation of oppression. There's no air of fear and malice. There are no threats or memories of twisted promises. There's only a look, wary and concerned...

...but even by the time this happens, Wolfwood has already lowered his gun. He's decided not to pull the trigger, not because of an immediate threat on his life, but because... well, it's Vash.

Wolfwood surely knows that if he pulls that trigger, he catastrophically fails his mission, and whatever consequences might await him on the far side of such a failure aren't going to be anywhere near pleasant. But it doesn't seem like it's fear of Knives that makes him lower his gun. At the very, very least, Wolfwood knows no one stands a better chance at taking down Knives, but he also knows Vash. He's seen Vash's fake smiles and knows his real ones. He understands Vash's ideals despite very much not wanting to and not knowing how he could possibly accept them for himself. He's fought side by side with Vash, and been standing at his back since day 1.

And before this night is out, only a few minutes after pulling a gun on Vash, Wolfwood's right back there again, moving in tandem with Vash, being a human shield so they can accomplish Vash's goals together.

It's only when the fight comes to a close that Wolfwood realizes that's what he's been doing. He didn't put any thought into falling in step behind Vash, didn't dwell on the fact that Vash trusted and moved with him during the fight. It's only afterwards, when they stop to catch their breath, that he realizes Vash hasn't looked his way through the whole battle. That Vash didn't need to look his way through the whole battle.

Not only did Vash trust Wolfwood at his back, but he knows Wolfwood well enough to move intuitively around him, not hesitating and always understanding what Wolfwood's about to do. And at that moment, Wolfwood realizes two things:

First, that there's no way Vash didn't notice when Wolfwood pointed a gun at him. If Knives could figure it out while half dead and barely knowing Wolfwood, then Vash, who's awake, alert, and has spent plenty of time with Wolfwood, can surely figure it out.

And second, that when he's fighting back to back with Vash, nothing else really matters. All his (quite legitimate) fears about what Vash is and how dangerous he can be, about Knives, about finishing his job, about what he himself has become... they all melt away. He's where he needs to be, where he should be, and that's all there is to it.

#vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #vashwood #(you don't have to ship them to see the connection between them here) #trigunbookclub #trigun maximum #volume 6 #manga spoilers #manga analysis #character analysis #pancake thoughts

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI - CONSEQUENCES

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.5K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Everyone myst face the consequences of their actions. THe Baron subjects Feyd and his na-Baroness inconcievable violence to make his point. The aftermath and fallout of his actions write the charges for his very own sentencing.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Violence & Sexual Content

MASTERLIST

VI - CONSEQUENCES

Feyd’s eyes are not his own. The set of his jaw is hard and he doesn’t speak. He pulls you into the room you entered weeks ago with contraptions, straps, harnesses and a large wooden x. There’s no time to freshen up, there’s no time for explanations, only hasty preparation. Tears prick your eyes and it breaks him. He stops pulling open his drawer. There are no words to warn you about what is to come, there’s nothing he can do to salvage what the two of you have right now. He can only protect you in small ways. Grabbing the chastity belt he comes close, clasping the heavy chains on your body. Looking at the contraption you realize he’s safeguarding you against brutality and cringe inward. It gives you pause signaling to him being incapacitated, incapable of being able to protect you. He moves efficiently attaching a breastplate made of the same hard material. It nearly crushes you under its weight. Feyd-Rautha moves quickly, fastening all the locks knowing his uncle's cruelty knows no bounds. Finishing he brings a helmet, putting it on your head and fastening the neck into all three of the contraptions. It’s a metal monstrosity, a cage of sorts placing on a shield he taps it to ensure you cannot be made vulnerable.

“Feyd” you whisper but your words come out like a croak cracking.

“I will be fine, you are not to say a word under any circumstances” he says and you panic.

“But-”

“No” he snaps, silencing you as your body trembles. The person he would have to become to withstand the impending cruelty was not the man you’d grown to love.

“What’s happened?” You ask and he goes to wipe your tears but his hand is singed by the active shield. You disable it and reach for him.

“Promise me” he says cupping your face, more tears stream. You shake your head in fear knowing his hesitation means whatever is to come will bring you an unheard of level of horror. “Promise me” he growls close to breaking already.

“Promise” you agree and he nods, stepping back. Your steps are slow as you maneuver the contraption only to be dressed by a concerned Leia. There’s no time for questions as she moves quickly.

“Put one on yourself” Feyd tells her, pointing to the contraption. 

“Why do you have so many?” you ask as Feyd finishes dressing you in the Bene Gesserit regalia to conceal your garment.

“For hostages, to protect them against the men '' Feyd says plainly, the brutality of this planet knows no bounds. You want to kiss him but the steel around your mouth is solid. After experiencing Feyd’s sexual physicality you now know why.

“Feyd what’s happening” you ask, taking his hands, his hard eyes soften a touch.

“My uncle will try to break me in front of you and the men.” He sighs.

“Because of me?” You ask, feeling a wash with panic.

“No, because of him. Because he wants to show his power” Feyd snaps.

Because of me.

The voice in your head says. More tears fall and Feyd leaves without a goodbye, unable to manage your emotions with the energy required to withstand the consequence for his distraction. Time passes outside of your perception until you find Leia dressed beside you, her eyes mournful. Her hands hold yours as large brutish men await your exit. You leave the room and Leia asks what’s happened many times. Fear and exhaustion overwhelms you to the point of despondence as the pod travels through the dreadful palace of Giedi Prime. Anger mixes in with the fear and you can feel Leia’s hand in yours. You take note of the scores of men all heading where you are. 

It will be a spectacle.

Leia’s eyes search yours in horror. You tell her about the heinousness of the intrusion and how they’d left the room to discuss things in private leading you to this moment here. A familiar guard pushes the Baron’s guards away from you, his eyes are human and apologetic as he places you on a throne below the Barons. The smell of him makes you want to be sick, you fight to overcome the nausea not wanting to choke under the mask and find Leia trying to do the same.

“My nephew's little pet,” the Baron mocks, desceding. You bow although you don’t have an inch of respect for him. Baron Harkonnen smiles at your submissive acceptance of his disrespect. “Do well to remember today’s events next time you think he belongs to you. Everything on this planet belongs to me and I will do with it whatever I choose” he says and his breath is flagrant, smelling like putrid fecal matter. Every part of him disgusts you and it is a great challenge to not react. You would give him no reason to further his brutality of Feyd. Drums sound and you’re startled by their vibration.the cage around you rattling against you slightly. Its weight is more than you’ve ever been made to bear. The Baron ascends to his seat and you breathe finally thankful for the reprieve. Feyd-Rautha emerges barefoot, wearing only a black loincloth that hangs to his knees. He stands tall walking in his powerful stride as people make strange noises, it’s a mixture of cheering and mocking as they hiss and shout in unison.  Two poles are mounted in the center of the room and you watch as shackles are placed on his wrists. He’s strung up between them and his arms stretched apart leaving just his toes touching the sand. A tall man emerges with a whip. Your chest rises and falls as you pray against all hope it isn’t what you think of it. He pulls his hand back and it crackles against Feyd’s skin stunning you. Feyd doesn’t make a sound taking it in stride. He’d learned to love the pain after taking so much of it. Your heart races as the whippings continue, tears stream down your face hidden behind your veil.

Leia’s hand tightens against yours and you both avert your eyes, wincing every time the whip crackles, the only reprieve is Feyd’s silent indifference to the abuse. It goes on much longer, until his silence is broken and he laughs, smiling and goading the man to whip him more. It has to be a farce, you watch knowing no one could enjoy that much pain, especially as it breaks skin. Especially as it breaks your heart. It’s madness but all around everyone seems to be impressed by the strength of na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. The Baron raises a hand and horns sound the very moment Feyd-Rautha is released from his chains. The man with the whip drops a sword absconding from the pit as doors are opened and out come angry emaciated slaves. Knowing he must pace himself, Feyd takes a moment on the ground as he’s released from the contraption before standing to his feet. You sit forward as he stands his pale skin red with blood and pink welts from the abuse. Feyd-Rautha stands tall just as the men come out swarming him. Your heart races as he finds the blade, in spite of the beating he kills them all. The trumpets sound again only for more to emerge. It’s a horrific display. It repeats and Feyd refuses to go down willingly, large fighters are forced to tackle him before stringing him back up before he is made to endure other punishments. His smile is only small reassurance as the state of his body begins showing what his spirit doesn’t. It's been hours, you take account of his breath as he’s watered and given a break, hatred like no other begins burning through you as you watch the man you love, the only person aside from Leia  and your parents that ever cared enough to fight for you hang bloody and beaten.

His pale skin is various shades of purple and red, his head swaying as he fights to remain standing, his black eyes remain open in defiance. Each of the trials have done well to avoid his face. His thoughts are on you, and on staying as lucid as possible to power through his punishment. To show you who he is, as a man and all he can endure, to occupy his uncle's attention so you're never made to. To show his people that he was unbreakable and worth every whisper of his legend. He’d never withstood any punishment for this long before. But his life had recently garnered a new purpose. The doors open after a considerable rest and watering. Abominations of eight feet, pale and all muscles, genetically mutated and created for the Harkonnen war machine. They hold clubs. Feyd was capable of taking them at his best and with the assistance of poison but he couldn’t move fast enough now, his shoulder feels dislocated and his leg severely injured. Feyd’s suspension between the two poles fastened by the wrists only furthers the pain in his shoulder. Still, Feyd puts on a smile trying to find pleasure in the pain. You watch in horror as the giant draws back his club before swinging it like a bat into Feyd’s abdomen. An audible hush rips through the crowd. Your heart stops, you feel the connection between you sever and before you know what you're doing you're walking up the steps to where the Baron sits. His eyes fix on yours.

“Mercy” you snap, casting off your veil as his guards go to grab you. The room falls to a hush. Your eyes catch the Baron’s as you fall to your knees. Smiling evilly, he places a hand on your shoulder. You hear Feyd groan viciously and before you can turn anger surges through you. You have a head rush, the Barons suspension tubes are ripped savagely out of his back leaving him paralyzed under his own weight, Beast Rabban is being punished by an unhappy emperor, the Baron is being laughed at. The wealth of Giedi Prime seized, his home world destroyed. Breathing heavily you shudder at the strange sensation. A voice that is not your own commands him to stop telekinetically, notifying him that this is what is to come should any further harm befall Feyd-Rautha. 

Unaware of what’s transpired the Baron suspends himself raising a hand and stopping any further assaults. Rattled by the sensation of the vision he puts on a brave face smiling. He has no idea what has taken over him, perhaps too much smoke, too much pain, too much poison. There was no time to pinpoint the culprit right now he needed his heir restored. His point had been made, turning he smiles knowing you have no idea the extent of the damage you’ve done to Feyd. In spite of his suspicions of the Bene Gesserit and his relentless inquiries into the extent of their powers he’d never come across vision transference or telekinesis so there was no reason to suspect you. Still on your knees you feel weak, turning your head you see an outraged Feyd-Rautha as Leia assists you to your feet. The Baron sweats shaken from the vision in spite of his powerful appearance leaving the room before he can fully appreciate the extent of his damage.

White rages oozes from Feyd, his body trembles, breaths accelerate and nostrils flare. His anger is palpable as he manages to get back on his feet. The weight of his torture no longer burying him. His fury at your actions is anchoring him to life. The people roar and blood drains onto the sand as Feyd is released from the suspension cuffs. Leia helps you down the stairs and your eyes linger on the Mentat who seems suspicious of what’s happened. You try to go to Feyd but he shuns you.

He’d warned you already.

Heading into the cryo-chambers on a gurney Feyd rages uncontrollably. Your betrayal hurts more than anything the Baron could do to him. There had never been any love between them. He’d long stopped admiring anything other than the man's ability to control and enforce his rule. The monstrous nature of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had never been more clear to him then and now. Feyd had learned to revel in the pain because he’d been so deprived of love. He could withstand lashes and cuts and the other consequences of combat better than most. He’d been a small boy, and unlike his brother the Beast there’d been nothing inherently terrifying about his physicality. He had to earn his place among the fearsome Harkonnen overlords. As a boy his remarkable quality was that he had no quit in him, no matter how hard he was pummeled he always got back up. It was there he got his reputation for being insane. Floating in the chamber trying to manage the stinging cold he’s brought back to childhood. It was the last time he was in one of these. The last time he was punished so severely. He had to learn to be cunning, he paid extra attention during lessons about poison. He learned to stop wiping away the blood from his nose after being hit, that laughing as he fought back did something psychologically, as did meeting anger with a smile. In addrition to dodging the strikes of a man whose only objective was to kill him. He learned that the only person he would seek to please was the Baron who seemed to have no shortage of sick and twisted punishments to dole out. He’d been privy to many of them in the years following his youth. Crossing the Baron was a mistake too costly for most to bear.

He’d known from the very moment the Baron entered the bedroom the test was not for him, it was for you. He needed strength from his na-Baroness. Strength and unwavering obedience, but no. You had allowed yourself to be broken by another man, while yours fought valiantly through unimaginable pain for you. Worse yet, you had begged on your knees for everyone to see. The punishment was stopped, of course it was the Baron knew there was no further punishment required. Baron Vladimir Harokonnen had received your submission claiming you in front of everyone. He’d sullied you in the eyes of Giedi Prime. In doing as you had you had acknowledged the Baron as the superior man. Women in Giedi Prime appreciated strength and social standing above all else.

Groaning in distress, his anger makes his pain palpable as ice forms against his body. A Mentat enters to read his vitals. Thufir Hawat commandeered by the Atreides and the personal Mentat of the Baron. Thufir bows before beginning his assessment of the damages dispensing the necessary fluids to revive the heir. Stealing glances at Feyd he somehow feels terrified still as the man who’d endured so much can still manage to be angry and not in absolute physical agony.

“Where is the na-Baroness?” He asks feeling the reprieve of Mentat's work.

“Her and he Lady’s maid are in their quarters na-Baron” Thufir responds. Exhaling Feyd allows himself to settle into the thought a little. Looking at you during the trials would have killed him. He knows your actions were born out of the love you bare him but they disgust him nonetheless. Nothing could be more disrespectful. Kneeling before another man - it was undoubtedly the only reason the Baron had spared your life. Any inclination of Bene Gesserit manipulation and the Baron would’ve had your throat cut in light of the treasonous act of manipulation. But not a drop of your blood had been spilled. The Baron's deep hatred for the witches was a deep Harkonnen secret and the biggest reason Feyd hadn’t wanted you to speak. Getting on your knees to plead was inconceivable to him.

“How is that?” The Mentat questions daring to look at the enraged Feyd-Rautha.

“Better” Feyd snarls.

“She knows nothing of the Harkonnen traditions, she was experiencing seriously high levels of distress” Thufir says, speaking out of turn. He’d known your family and met you on several occasions in your childhood. Your mother had been born on Caladan and of one of the prominent houses there. Her and Duke Leto had been close friends. Feyd’s thoughts go to his efforts. He’d been trying to breed with you, trying to conceive a child up to an hour before his torture had began. He’d been trying to continue his line, multiply his love for you and now perhaps the Baron’s viciousness had even undermined that.

“She’s strong,” Feyd dismisses.

“She wishes to see you” The Mentat says, earning a terrifying glare from Feyd. “Duke Leto was disappointed she was betrothed to you and not Paul.” The Mentat continues teaching Feyd a part of history he’d never known.

“Then she would’ve been slaughtered with the rest of the Atreides scum” Feyd spits feeling possessive.

“Curious, she’s avoided two major calamities, perhaps your betrothed is good luck” Thufir says before setting the last of the chamber's functions. Feyd-Rautha will be restored in a matter of hours, only adding to his legend. Only creating more lore around the Harkonnen heir. There’d been a thousand people in attendance who all had stories of the man being broken. Soon they would hear whispers of his resilience and quick recovery from his torture. As the pain subsides the torture of watching you fall to your knees in front of the Baron begin replaying in his mind in a loop. Plucking away at his sanity, tearing through his pride.

———————

After a morning of tears and discomfort Leia appears at your bedroom doors with the key to your chastity device on a silver platter. She helps you get out of the metal exoskeleton and you see the bruises from the weight of it on your flesh. You had tried to sleep in Feyds chambers to await him but it had been an act of futility. The usual green flashing lights were red, access denied it had said each of the ten times you tried before singing your fingers slightly. You could not be sure if it was the Baron’s doing or if it were Feyd himself but after his shunning last night it was hard to be sure. He’d been all anger and rage as his eyes met yours, disgust was in abundance too, even while broken he wouldn’t be defeated. You’d broken a promise. Not out of defiance or disregard but out of love. The emptiness you felt in your core after that club smacked against his chest. No amount of his charming smiles or goading looks could convince you against the pain he undoubtedly felt. The more they cheered the more you lost hope. Their desire for brutality, their bloodlust unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s a horrible culture, a terrible way to live. Subjecting people to hours of torture because they’ve found comfort in the arms of another. There’d been no wrongdoing either he was your betrothed and the na-Baron. He had your consent. There were no dubious means associated with your connection.

Yet still he’d paid such a great cost.

Doors open and servants bring you breakfast. The table is laid quickly and efficiently.

“I would like to be brought to my Lord Feyd-Rautha” you speak and the women keep their heads down. The Mentat charged with your household's care since your arrival on Giedi Prime. 

“The na-Baron is not taking visitors,” he says, bowing to you.

“He would want to see his na-baroness, you know how fond they are of one another” Leia says on your behalf.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Nodding the Mentat sighs, “the na-Baron is well, he is making arrangements for Arrakis, he does not want any visitors” the Mentat repeats.

“Please let him know that I would like to see him” you swallow blinking through tears.

“Yes na-baroness, please enjoy your breakfast” the Mentat says leaving.

You find yourself sitting in a daze, Leia eats her plate clean before noticing your despondence. She encourages you to eat but you have no appetite. You have no desire to consume anything in your current state. Wiping your eyes you sense Feyd is upset with you. Far more upset than you ever imagined. Attendants enter in the afternoon and begin packing you up for the voyage to Arrakis. The silence is uncanny and you can’t pretend to be happy. Feyd’s wellbeing is grating on your nerves as much as your last image of him is suspended, beaten and bloody. Day turns to evening and it's more of the same, packing as your dinner is prepped and laying in front of you, you pick at your plate so Leia doesn’t worry and spend much of the night looking out on Giedi Prime. Your resentment for one place has never been so strong. Resting your head against the cool glass you consider your actions, a broken promise. Feyd could not so much as even look your way. Had he not considered your love for him and his for you. The very real possibility of an unborn child and the bonds forged since he’d declared his intention to uphold the betrothal. Those declarations hadn’t only been words. Together with his action they’d become everything to you - being with Feyd was the best part of your days and nights.

Sitting in his own room Feyd feels the pull to you. He tries to rid himself of thoughts of you. Had it been anyone else the consequences would’ve been swift and serious. A paddle, a whip, a crop against soft flesh, but he couldn’t. He was afraid in his frustration he would actually hurt you, the one thing in his life that was irreplaceable. And still, he could not bring himself to be in your presence, to look you in your beautiful eyes, to hold you to, and to forgive you for your betrayal. It was cheating and your innocence to that fact doesn’t make it any better. Whether you had pleaded for his absolution or not, he could have managed the pain. His defiance of the Baron sends a louder message than your display of vulnerability, fear and lack of faith in his resilience. It was there out in the open for everyone to see when Feyd knew you understood the dangers of that, vulnerabilities would always be exploited on this world and any other when the vulnerable have anything of perceived value or station. You’d openly defied him in front of an audience and submitted to his uncle. You could not be so easily forgiven.

A beep sounds getting his attention and he turns to see you trying to enter his chambers again. He manually denies it watching as you draw your head back looking up in the direction of the camera. He can see the sorrow in your eyes. Feyd-Rautha watches you head into your bedroom pressing the intercom. It rings incessantly, he watches you press against the button time and time again and considers punishing you may be easier. But the whispers would be a flurry. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has killed for less disrespect than what you’ve done.

“Feyd I’m sorry, I just want to see that you’re okay. I can’t sleep without knowing and no one will let me see you” there’s desperation in your voice. He pulls the tablet closer to his face to see your emotions. The sadness is unmistakable. He’d been prepared to take his punishment; you would have to learn to take yours.

“Come to the door, do not step through it” he snaps and goosebumps pepper your skin. You stand walking quickly to the door and it opens. To your surprise Feyd-Rautha stands upright, he radiates strength and anger and is seemingly untouched. It’s as though the torture session was a figment of your imagination. Your eyes widen and mouth gapes as you look up at him overwhelmed and relieved. You want to feel his arms against yours.

“Come to bed” you whisper, needing to feel him. Feyd breathes tilting his head slightly. “I’m sorry Feyd, I couldn’t-” your apology is cut short. He moves so quickly it’s a blur. He holds your arm with one hand covering your mouth with another. His grip around is strong but unlike when he’s making love to you there’s no kindness or blind desire, there’s only rage.

“Shut your mouth” he snaps. “Your word means nothing, you dishonored me and you will sleep alone, you will remain alone thankful for my mercy, that I allow you the companionship of your lady. You will cease all attempts to contact me to end further humiliation. If you think this is a cruelty the other option is a kin to what you saw me endure - please do not push me” Feyd shouts. His eyes are fearsome and after his resilience during his torture there are several reasons to fear him. Still you don’t cower as you should. You feel protective, remorseful, overwhelmed, frustrated and confused. Your eyes search for pieces of your na-Baron, the man you’ve grown to love. His grip loosens and he withdraws his hand from your lips. He steps back and you reach for him tentatively. He raises a brow upset by your defiance. “This is not how the na-Baroness acts, she is obedient to her na-Baron” he snaps.

“So she cannot be concerned with the well being of the man she loves? If I’m to be punished should I not understand my mistake so that I may not make the same one twice?” You question inciting his temper.

“You need me to explain why you should keep your word!” Feyd shouts.

“So I must be shunned because I’ve been dishonorable by the standards of people who cheered as you were beaten and tortured?” You snap finding your voice. Feyd holds your gaze in defiance for several moments, unrelenting. His anger is still palpable after his displays of strength you know you don’t have the resilience to withstand him. Wiping the angry tears you nod accepting your station. “As you wish my Lord na-Baron” you snap bowing deeply before walking away leaving him standing there alone, as he’s requested.

————

Feyd-Rautha watches the rotating live  projection of Arrakis. He’d been watching it tirelessly for days only to come across several fool options plans with contingencies to make the spice flow. His advisors had done their due diligence as had he, there was a considerable amount of secrecy he maintained in light of the Bene Gesserit whisperings and the Emperor’s jealous nature. He would restore the Harkonnen name but he would do it on his own terms to suit his own needs. Crossing the palatial ground his mind falls to you. It’d been three days since your argument and to his surprise you’ve maintained your distance. Much to his chagrin you were no longer sending longing looks at his door, or pacing through your bed chambers. You ceased sending notes or trying to be in his vicinity. Entering he pulls up the screen and finds you with a smile on your face enjoying fruits with Leia.

His resentment of your actions had begun to fade, only for the anger from seeing you on your knees in front of the Baron ignited every time he laid eyes on his uncle. He would make the Baron grovel the same way the Baron’s cruelty had forced you onto your knees. The Baron will know the agony he’s caused through a series of punishments he will need injections to withstand while conscious. Shaking the thoughts of kinslaying from his head he watches your smile.  He wanted to see you in real time, to be around your softness to forget about the tensions between you two. To get back to the tandem showers and baths, and the good nights and early mornings. He needed you, it was driving him half mad to stay away and even more so now that you seemed to be settling into the distance. He cleans himself off heading to the roof to watch the striking sun rise one last time. After several moments alone he summons a guard to have you brought to him. He waits patiently until you materialize before him.

He’s calm at this moment, his muscles and veins aren’t prominent in the shadowy light of the roof. Still you hesitate until Feyd motions to the seat near him. You should be in his arms. Your breaths in sync, his hands tracing the softness of your skin, tangled in each other and covered in bed-linens. Your head near his heart listening to its steady beat. Your child is surrounded by the love of both of its parents. You move carefully sitting, the last time Feyd had brought you here had been your first disagreement. You follow his eyes to the sun of Giedi Prime. You’ve never wanted to leave a place more, even with the whispers of the dangers that abound on Arrakis.

“Are you ready for tomorrow’s voyage?” Feyd asks.

“Yes” you respond.

“I will be preoccupied for most of the day once we land but I will return in time for a late dinner,” Feyd says, standing with his hands behind his back.

“I will be ready” you respond and he feels the iciness to you instead of your usual honeyed tone.

“Have the staff been treating you well?” He asks.

“Yes Lord na-Baron” you answer.

“What is it?” Feyd asks, sensing the distance.

“Your grace and benevolence are appreciated lord na-Baron, may I retire” you ask. Feyd knows you well enough to sense emptier words have never been said.

“You flatter me in word only while you shame me in action” he comments.

“I don’t regret my actions Feyd, your mind has been twisted by rotten men with horrid customs. You said you wanted my willing submission, to be the first person I think of when I wake and the last at night before sleep takes me. You said you wanted my body, my laughter, smiles, all of my tomorrows, my arousal, my desire, trust and unconditional love.” You remind him of the words he’d said that had come to find a special place in your heart, the words you’d held onto. Feyd blinks stricken by your memory of what he’d said word for word. Somehow fighting his desire for you now is even harder than it had been then. He had tasted paradise between your legs and witnessed its full glory with you as his lady.

“You had it and you’ve shunned me for something out of my control Feyd what was I too do. Die right there? Do you know what that did to me? Can you imagine how it felt seeing you in the state? And to be made a villain for it!” You shout and Feyd watches as your hand goes to your stomach.

“If I show weakness the attacks will never end, it endangers you and our unborn and if you listened none of this would be this way” Feyd explains he’d never in all of his years had to repeat himself so incessantly.

“If you want a loveless marriage why not take the Emperor’s daughter, why be so cruel? Feyd I really am furious with you, I’ve never felt rage like this and so I’d better leave before this goes further” you confess not knowing where the extreme range had come from. Your hand goes to your stomach again and Feyd smiles knowing it could only be a trait acquired from him. Annoyed by the sight of his smirk, you head into the elevator. He doesn’t allow you to return on your own. Standing in the elevator it takes absolutely everything in your being not to walk into his arms, only they could relieve you of these complicated emotions and sadness. Only they could make it okay. If things weren’t so strained you would drag him back into your chambers and hold him tight. Your folded arms, your anger and defiance makes Feyd’s smirk grow. His love for you was so overwhelming it heightened his anger. It had been irrational he knew that but that didn’t make stomaching it easier. Especially knowing you were carrying his heir. But he’d been defying himself since childhood. He follows you into your chambers.

“You will need to learn how to perform for the crowds. Trust that I can handle any mans worst. I do not need your protection, just your love” Feyd comments saying his last piece. 

His request for love in light of his distance is the last straw of the night, turning you head into your bedroom without another word. You place a manual lock on the door as you have every night since your argument. From his own chambers Feyd-Ratha watches you get back into bed, the curtains are drawn so he can see into the canopy. Swallowing his pride, Feyd-Rautha decides he will not allow pride and miscommunication to keep you from him any further. Once he brought order to the spice mines and killed the Baron he would hand you over the reigns and your lives will be yours to create.

_____________

Authors note:

Thanks for reading, this was a challenge I did my best to give the best of both worlds. With the na-baroness' reaction to what was happening around her. How do we think Feyd handled her defiance? Comment below, like and reblog if you enjoyed 🩶

________

@elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22 @meetmeatyourworst @jojoclown69 @lillypink @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @avidreader73 @emeraldsgirl33 @strawberryfieldsforevermore @rose-are-royal @delusionsofnostalgia @szapizzapanda @palomavz @mcswan02 @slutforsmut4ever @emeraldsgirl @jackiekae @sarahhelpimsinking @maat-the-prescriptive @moonsoulk @katherineswiftie2017-blog @melancholicmelanin @littlebugs @alexa4040 @unicoreads @mimsie95 @mamawiggers1980 @miaraised @7-reblogs @thefirebreather00

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #austin butler x you #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x reader

[ladyelissarose]

‘Reckless’

Summary; Miguel finds out why you’ve been too careless and reckless on missions..

Warnings: an argument between the two- its not to heavy.. mostly hurt/comfort

“Ow-“

You had just flinched your arm away from Miguel when he had grabbed it. You cradled it close to you as he then scolded you firmly, keeping an eye on you as you refused to meet his,

“You lied. It’s not a scratch!! You broke your arm and he almost had your head!!”

You rolled your eyes at his loud words and even scoffed, even though you winced when you tried to put your arm down, trying to show it was ok- which you totally failed at doing. Nonetheless you sighed, annoyance evident in your tone,

“Ok maybe I did! But it’s not that bad-“

With one hand on his waist and the other pointing at you, he snapped,

“You disobeyed orders! You’re making close calls and I don’t like it! Yes we can get hurt on the job, but not like this when you’re making poor choices.”

Feet planted on the ground you tried to keep a steady position and look strong, taking his yelling about safety and all, but in reality you were in pain and felt lightheaded, and slowly you were growing frustrated because of it as Miguel ranted on.

“Come on niña!! (Girl) what’s the matter with you-“

Finally you’ve had enough of his mountain of a man speaking down to you as you were of course shorter… but in his eyes all he saw was you being very careless.

The pain was getting to you, making your emotions swirl out of place, hence why you screamed,

“AND WHAT’S YOUR POINT!?”

Miguel flinched a bit at your unusual behavior with him, but he couldn’t help but let his ego bark back at you with some honesty to wake your head up.

“That you could’ve been killed!! That’s the point! Do you know what kind of problems that would’ve caused? Pain or anything? Cómo puedes ser tan imprudente y no preocuparte por las consecuencias, niña terca?!” (How could you be so reckless and not care about the consequences you stubborn girl!?)

Tears of anger and pain grew in your once sun-shining eyes as you shouted back, trying to reason out your deal,

“Because I have nothing to lose ok!?? Maybe that’s why I don’t care as much!!”

Miguel was about to yell back, but your words caught him off guard. Like if someone sucker punched him.

He didn’t look so bulky or so scary anymore, when he lowered himself onto one knee to get on your level, as he reasoned with curiosity, one hand resting on your good shoulder,

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His brown eyes showed his genuine concern for you, unlike anyone you’ve known. You wanted to keep tough and play as the fearless Spider-Woman you were, but it was made impossible when Miguel got a hold of your cheek, beckoning you silently to speak up.

So at last, you broke and confessed, like a little girl and no longer like Spider-Woman.

Letting the façades you wore tumble down through your tears, into his large hands that would catch and hold them all.

“Nothing.… that I have no one back at home.. no family to mourn me. Bury me. Cover my graves with flowers. Like if I had to put everything aside and boil it down for me- I’m… alone.”

His lips parted a bit, as his eyes searched yours, trying to find the right words to say.

It had been a while since he’s used good encouraging words while being kind, but suddenly it was like a switch that flipped in him, and almost immediately he found the words, and he patted your cheek gently as he cooed, his anger and disappointment long gone.

“You’re not alone. You have me.. and I’ll never leave you out like that. But even then I won’t ever do such.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged a bit and shyed out with his eyes everywhere but on you, mostly cause of the fear it caused him to think of you six feet under, and he knew it’d be seen on him.

“The burying thingy and all.”

‘Oh so he wouldn’t bury me then? Or what?…’

“Oh.. why?”

Disappointment was heard in your voice, and Miguel was quick to address with his eyes on you this time, wanting to show he meant it with every bone and vain in his body,

“Because Dulce, I wouldn’t ever let you die on me. You’re not allowed to die under my watch, te lo prometo.” (I promise you that.)

Shyness took over you as the realization of your craziness, thinking it was ok to give up everything of you, when you had so much to lose.. so you apologized immediately.

“I’m so sorry- I didn’t know what I was thinking-“

“Shh shh sh.”

He shushed you right away, letting you know that it was ok as he added,

“It’s ok now.. you’re safe, alive, and here… No más lágrimas mi amada.” (No more tears my beloved.)

With gentle hands he cradled your face and let his thumbs wipe your tears away, refusing to let them fall.

He now wanted to see you cheered up, so he offered with the best smile he could muster.. if not the only one he showed- but just to you.

“You want ice cream after we leave the med? It’ll help with the fever you got.”

Twinkles were shining in your eyes as you replied with a nod,

“please?”

He chuckled at the sight of joy beaming on you, and he then stood up to his full height and took your good hand in his, leading you out as he responded sweetly, squeezing your hand comfortingly,

“of course Dulce-“

Then with a smirk most likely painted on his face, he added,

“-ven mi shadow.” (Come my)

Miguel knew deep down he had thought the same thoughts once, but with you around and so much more? He’d rather deal with the the weight of the good and bad everyday, then leave empty.

#miguel o’hara x reader #Miguel O’Hara x platonic reader #dad miguel o'hara #sunshine x midnight #Miguel x Dulce #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader fluff #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara angst

[klipgenie]

you should’ve never said yes.

summary: alhaitham was always distant and whenever he would come around, there would be arguments and tears shedded. Having you go to bed sad and angry— he said what others may have thought leaving you baffled and mute.

a/n: i love alhaitham sm but i feel like he’s just not as emotionally available as he convinces himself he is :(

warnings: angst with no comfort, fem reader. alhaitham acting like a bitchy teenage boy

hope you enjoy!!

tonight was another failed night as alhaitham promised to come home before dinner. But you cooked dinner 4 hours ago..it’s okay you thought, putting his dinner in the microwave.

his favorite meal was yours and that’s what really connected you two— a love for food and books. Sitting back on the couch wondering why..why must these people overwork alhaitham to the point where he has to book hotel rooms or sleep in his office. You were starting to get a little heartbroken and glum thinking that you’re marriage was just you being a neglected housewife— something you always feared as a little girl.

as you sit with your thoughts at the dinner table, the front door rightfully opens as an overfamiliar statureous shadow appears behind the door making its full appearance. you were staggered that he came home tonight..after so many weeks going on months of craving his warmth and to be near his vessel- he finally showed up.

with a desperate gasp you stumble out the chair to greet him— eradicating any unnecessary weight of clothes and hand items he was carrying. “i’ve missed you— oh! you’re food got cold but i’ll warm it up for you.” was all you said before rushing around the kitchen to satisfy you’re overworked..and ungrateful husband.

“are you going to eat?” you questioned nervously. Perched up beside your husband and agitatedly twisting your hair between your fingertips. with a sigh and a shake of his head “no” he gets up leaving for the bedroom. sitting there vague of his response you wait a few before following him to the bedroom where he’s rested. “what’s wrong alhaitham, you sure you don’t wanna eat or anything..you’ve been getting awfully thin-“ you softly spoke in a caring and motherly manner before being brutally cut off

“y/n! i’ll eat when i feel like it..now stop pestering me. do not start this today, i’m tired.” was all it took for you to muster up the daring sense to respond to his plea to be left alone.

“al haitham, have you no respect for the work i do as your wife?” you say now leaving the doorway of the bedroom strutting to the end of the bed where he lays. “all i do for you while you work and leave me alone!” you cry “i do not want to do this with you right now, i’m a busy man with a bunch of work to do. Who will pay the bills without a job like mines? surely not you.” alhaitham retaliates as your voice of nagger is too galling for him as you feast a tantrum about him.

taken aback you won’t settle down for nothing as you raise your voice at him, tired and holding back emotions and biting your tongue “i just want you to spend time with me and appreciate the things i do! is that to much to ask for?”

“yes! yes it is! is it to much to ask for when i beg the gods for you to leave me the hell alone?” that sentence alone cut deep into you like soft meat. leaving you there baffled and silent.

“you knew what the consequences were when you married me.”

with a scoff— coming back from your stillness “no, you did! you were the one that proposed” spitting out with a solemn expression “you should’ve never said yes.” took you took your breaking point as his words couldn’t shatter or break your heart as there was nothing left but sad matter. At this point, you both were shouting at each other like little kids.

Looking back at it now you’re reminiscing on if the argument or you begging and worrying about his well being wss worth it. You didn’t learn from the previous arguments, overthinking every word he said that slipped between his dull lips as you cry in your trembling hands.

#genshin headcanons #al haitam x reader #genshin alhaitham #genshin imagines #alhaitham headcanons #alhaitham #genshin sumeru #sumeru boys #sumeru alhaitham #genshin angst #alhaitham angst #sumeru genshin

[ijustliketoreadstuff]

The days Zoe loved Marinette

In "Adoration", Zoe reveals to Marinette she had been secretly in love with her since the day they met. Marinette might have felt surprised to learn that she was the ninth grader Zoe was in love with all along, but it wasn’t long before Marinette's moment of surprise quickly turned to realization as she thought back to the time they shared together and realized it was obvious from the start that Zoe was in love with her, it’s just that no one thought to take notice.

Aside from Andre, no one else knew Zoe was in love with Marinette, but looking back, a lot of things that happened around Zoe in past episodes, make a lot more sense now.

Zoe met Marinette the day she arrived to Paris in "Sole Crusher," and at the time, no one knew who she was, making it all the more pleasant for Zoe as it was a brief window of opportunity to show her real personality, before having to hide it to fit the standards of the Bourgeois. Meeting Marinette was a complete contrast to what Zoe normally experienced, but was overall a moment Zoe felt she could genuinely just talk to someone without fearing the consequences that would come from allowing herself to be vulnerable enough to act more like herself.

Obviously Chloe did not hesitate to judge Zoe the moment they met, even threatening to send her back to New York if she didn't fit the family standards, while Audrey in turn saw nothing wrong in Chloe's methods and was more than willing to agree with Chloe for the same reasons. But with Marinette, everything was different. Marinette didn't judge Zoe, she looked at her with honest eyes and noticed she had her unique qualities, but also her share of struggles, all things Chloe and Audrey were quick to reject and ignore, from the unique shoes on her feet, to the way she hinted about her life in New York being anything but happy. Marinette listened to Zoe, she wanted to understand her, and despite not knowing much about her, there she was ready and willing to not only gift Zoe pastries as a way of welcoming her to Paris, but to also ensure the two of them would keep in touch by exchanging numbers.

Marinette gave Zoe her number on a box of macaroons, but it was her heart felt attempts to keep Zoe's number as close to her as possible, on the palm of her hand, that truly made Zoe realize Marinette was a kind and considerate person who wanted to befriend her, rather than expect her to be a certain way in order to obtain that friendship. But in actuality, this little moment always had more to it than the start of a friendship, it was the start of something more. Not long after Zoe wrote her phone number on Marinette's palm, Zoe BLUSHES, hinting she was not only falling for Marinette the moment they met, but that this new love she felt would grow the more Marinette reached out to her and saw through her attempts to fit in with her family, understanding there was something holding het back from being who she truly wanted to be.

(In "Sole Crusher", Zoe blushed at Marinette, revealing the beginning of her love towards Marinette.)

(In Sole Crusher, after Zoe arrived at the Collège Françoise Dupont and felt compelled to insult Marinette to please Chloe, it was Marinette, the one girl who actually got to know her, who understood something was wrong and who was unwilling to push her away without hearing her out.)

 Although Zoe believed she had no other choice but to accept the same fate Andre had, as he too accepted long ago that he would need to abandon his dreams and much of who he was so he could shape himself to fit the standards of the Bourgeois family, it was Marinette who once again tried to reach out to her and told her what she was too afraid to tell herself, that no matter the consequences she feared, she always had a choice to just be herself.

After Zoe was akumatized into Sole Crusher, Shadowmoth pointed out that Zoe was weakening the more she listened to Marinette's words, and of course she did, this one girl(Marinette) whom she had fallen in love with, knew exactly how she was feeling, how frustrated she was to have to hide herself from others and constantly put on a show to pretend her life was fine. And of course Marinette understood how Zoe felt as well as the life Zoe was living, because she too was living that very struggle everyday of her life as Ladybug, and had already known all too well what it was like to have to live a life where she was controlled and judged by Chloe, who expected her to fit the role she had made for her.

(Back in "Heart Hunter", Marinette opened up about her frustrations, one of which was being unable to just be herself, of always having to pretend she was fine for fear of the consequences.)

 Marinette didn't want Zoe to live with the same lonely struggle she had, to constantly hide from others, which is why she was so determined to reach Zoe/Sole Crusher and tell her she didn't have to hide her true self while in Paris.

Marinette did say there would always be someone there to help Zoe up when she is down, if she took that chance to open up to people who actually cared about others, and at the very least, Zoe could place her faith in knowing that someone like Marinette, who never gave up on trying to reach out to her, really would always be there for her, and she was, from the very moment they met.

At the end of "Sole Crusher'', when Zoe shared the macaroons Marinette gifted her with everyone at Anarka's boat, who welcomed her with open arms, there was a subtle moment where Zoe's eye's remained focused on Marinette, that look was not just out of friendship, it was out of love for the girl who gave her the life she never thought she could have.

We even see Nino pointing to a rainbow on the title screen as Zoe happily stood beside him, a hint that Zoe was LGBTQ+. Zoe loved Marinette the day they met, but there was just one problem, it was entirely one sided as Marinette was already in love with Adrien.

Back in "Transmission", when Zoe found out that Marinette was struggling with her love life, she did not hesitate to reach out to her to help. Of course, the situation surrounding Marinette and Adrien's love life was no easy matter to sort through and understand on account of their secret lives as heroes, but out of everyone in their social circle, it was Zoe who said she knew perfectly well just how complicated love can be. She knew because she was secretly facing a complicated love of her own, towards Marinette, that entire time.

And sure, Zoe still had her issues with her family to sort through, but it was precisely her love for Marinette that eventually helped her find the courage she always had to stand up to all of them, and learn to not let their threats continue to control her.

To be the one whom her family mistreated was one thing, but to watch her family mistreat the girl she loved was not something she could bare to stand and watch, which is why in "Deflagration", Zoe took any fear and doubt she had over facing Chloe, and threw it straight out the window, refusing to stand by any longer as Chloe attempted to humiliate Marinette during her special lunch with Adrien. Chloe's threats might have proven effective in the past to make Zoe grovel for forgiveness, but in that moment, Zoe could care less, she’d rather get sent back to New York than have to stand by and watch the girl she loved cry.

(In Transmission", Zoe found the courage to stand up to Chloe for Marinette's sake, and even though she quickly realized she may have to face severe consequences for it later, to see Marinette smile happily at her, thanking her for what she did, made it feel it was all worth while if it meant she helped the girl she loved.)

As tough as it must have been watching Marinette fall head over heels for Adrien, even helping in any plans to help her get closer to him, the one thing Zoe had that likely eased her heartache, was knowing that Marinette was still part of her life and had found happiness with someone who loved her just as much as she did.

In "Adoration", Zoe saw picture after picture of Adrien that Marinette owned, she saw Marinette's constant flustering and embarrassment towards him, her little sketches, her writings and talks about what their future together would be like, Zoe watched it all, and even though she knew every action and every word that came out of Marinette was for someone else, Zoe never reacted negatively towards it, instead, she smiled, smiled at how all those things made Marinette happy and larger than life. At the end of "Adoration", Zoe said she felt there was no point in telling Marinette she loved her if she was already in love with someone else, that doing so would only change, or even ruin, things between them, but thankfully, Marinette thought otherwise

In many ways, Marinette knew the kind of heartache Zoe felt, because she faced the same thing in the season 3 finale, when she tried to give up on telling Adrien she loved him and instead watched him drift towards Kagami, someone she thought Adrien loved and would love him just as much as she did in return.

Yeah, Marinette's situation with Adrien wound up working out as she realized he always loved her, but had she been in the same position Zoe was in, then she would have wanted to take the chance to tell the person she loved how she felt if they were willing to give her that chance, to finally have that weight lifted from her shoulders and allow her to move on with her life, and that is exactly what she gave Zoe, a chance in knowing the person she loved would be willing to listen to her confession.

At the end of "Adoration", Marinette gave Zoe the chance to speak her feelings, and despite Zoe's fears over what could have changed between them as friends in the process, thankfully, nothing did. If anything, the only change that did occur between them, was added respect towards one another in knowing they had both grown as people. Marinette never made any elaborate plans when she thought Zoe was in love with Adrien, and Zoe never broke the boundaries of their friendship to try and make Marinette fall in love with her. The two of them never lost sight of each other and accepted they both needed to be considerate of one another and be clear on how they felt. Marinette couldn’t reciprocate Zoe’s feelings, but this didn’t change the fact that she still loved her just as much as any other good person in her life, she loved everything Zoe did to make her feel better and appreciated everything Zoe did to look out for her in her most dire of times, such as when Chloe blamed her for stealing. Instead of ignoring Zoe’s confession, Marinette chose to acknowledge Zoe's feelings, giving her a proper rejection.

(Despite not feeling romantically drawn to Zoe, Marinette was still flattered by someone as wonderful as Zoe would fall in love with her.)

Zoe was always aware her love towards Marinette was entirely one sided, and even though she knew a romantic future with Marinette would never be possible, to know that Marinette valued her so much and thought so highly of her, meant more to her than anything, giving her the peace she never knew she wanted, and the confidence she needed to keep being that amazing girl Marinette said anyone would be honored to be loved by.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #tales of ladybug and cat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #mlb ladybug #thomas astruc #ml ladybug #cat noir #mlb s5 spoilers #zoe lee #mlb vesperia #mlb Adoration analysis #mlb sole crusher analysis #mlb s5 analysis #ml s5 analysis #ml Adoration analysis #zoenette

[fujisfuji]

★ ┊ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎 𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 ?

“ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 “ ~ 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘥

I always used to get confused when I heard that you must simply feel I never understood what it meant I would think to myself “ but emotions don’t manifest , isn’t that the whole point ?“ ♡

☆ ┊ FEELINGS AND IMAGINATION

when we want to feel we can simply imagine here’s a tiny exercise …. imagine you are in a big empty seashore , there’s no one but you you run blissfully in the sand and play with the water …. take a few seconds to imagine that and come back to this post … how did that feel to you ? didn’t you within your imagination feel free didn’t you feel like no one can stop you ? different people get different feelings from different things . feelings come from imagination . think of a really dark time in your life . think of something scary . think of a time in your life where you achieved something . think of your comfort person hugging you . think of the time you got a really good grade .. each of those will bring certain feelings attached to them .that’s how you feel . we simply imagine .

IMAGINATION >>> STATE >>> FEELINGS >>> THOUGHTS

all of them flow in response to one another it is natural . ♡

But that is what I WANT. I want to feel that, I want to experience that. I want to imagine that and believe that. That is what I want. Why reject myself from that experience? Neville is saying, "What if NOTHING could embarrass you?" What if your world was safe? What if your world always worked toward the fulfillment of your desires instead of having opposition? When I assume it, I do not care about how it will happen or when, or even if it is possible. All I care about is changing my entire feeling to exactly what I want. Then it's own strange way, it grows in my world.This is what I mean by giving yourself what you truly want. Find something deep that you want, and dare to assume it. This is what truly changes the "self" and that "self" will be expressed.~ edward art

☆ ┊WHAT SHOULD I BE FEELING EXACTLY

well . that’s up to you … it depends on what you desire what do we actually want . you see we don’t run around desires if they didn’t give us some type of feeling . for example you want to be a top student , you will probably be concerned with the satisfaction and the validation from your friends and family .. so give yourself that within your imagination . feel it in fullness . the whole point of manifesting if feeling of fulfillment with your desires . when you imagine remove the 3d . the point is fulfilling yourself in the 4d and feeling what you want to truly feel .

When you experience something you disliked and it happened a few years ago, where do you think that experience is taking place? If you fear the future, where do you think that is taking place? It is all happening within your Mind, "self." Past/future only exist in the mind. And you have the luxury to change what you wish in your mind. Don't think in these terms of the past or future. It becomes too confusing on what exactly to do. Remember: "No one or nothing to change but self." The way you change self is to imagine with feeling anything you want. It must be something you want. Not something you think you should want. Or something you have to want or else. Remove consequences from the mind. Remove all punishments and pardon yourself from guilt. Remove having to get things. Remove that stress. You do this by simply imagining what you want with the feeling of actual freedom to do so. ~ edward art

☆ ┊EMOTIONS

emotions have absolutely nothing to do with manifesting . you can cry but still feel fulfilled within your 4d and identify your with your 4d . please take care of your mental health & don’t hold back ! when we talk about feelings we mean feelings of satisfaction, fulfillment , etc . whatever you feel imagining your desires .

FREE YOURSELF IN YOUR MIND ENTIRELY. Stop caring if it will happen or what will happen, REALITY IS YOUR MIND. IT REFLECTS "SELF." ~ edward art

hope this post helped anyone who was confused about feelings , it is a principle concept of the law ! so now you know ! ♡

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter IX : What should we believe in next?

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: There is no point to which you cannot return — the moment lives on forever.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Fluff (fucking finally, am I right?); smut; pregnancy kink

A/N: Art is Femme Au Tigre (detail), François Martin-Kavel

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

Chapter IX: What should we believe in next?

To love someone 

is firstly to confess: I’m prepared to be devastated by you.

-Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

In many ways, you felt like the forest had swallowed you down its dark maw, and spit you back out a different person altogether – a rebirth of sorts. You’d awoken to a different set of priorities to which, you now knew, you had to dedicate yourself to like nothing you’d ever done before.

There could be no recalcitrance, no doubt, no fear. You realized it was, as ever, always choices, choices, choices that determined the value of your character, the weight of your potential. It had seemed for so long that you’d found yourself unmoored – waiting for something, Joel or your own certainty, your own desires to come to fruition. But you’d not realized, until this very moment, until death had been so close, until you’d almost lost yourself in that overwhelming wilderness, alone with only the possibility of what your future could be, and now, carrying this baby in your arms, another held within you, born of all the love in your heart you could ever hold – you realized your choice had been made a long time ago – in your dedication to survive after Beth. You remember the moment of startling revelation that you’d never considered putting an end to yourself after witnessing such a tragedy, that it, perhaps, would have been less of a struggle after such a trauma. The realization seems to be colored in a different sort of light now, after everything. You can see now that that was your decision, that was your choice. That was your moment of ownership over yourself, of taking your very life, your future in your hands, and choosing to go on. Everything that had come after that was merely a byproduct of that moment of perseverance. Joel, Connie, Jackson, your life here, those were all consequences – the fruit – of that choice. You’d chosen to live. You’d chosen to go on in a world in which there existed the great possibility of being alone for the rest of your life, of dying, of more pain, more hurt, more struggle, and yet you’d done it. 

You think of that long past conversation with Connie, I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again, but what he’d failed to realize was that you’d been living in the realm of that past choice already. That the ultimate decision – the one to endure, to survive despite whatever had passed or may come to pass, had already been made. The enlightenment of that certainty, that which you could provide for yourself, to forge your own path, to survive when you needed to, was infinitely comforting in the face of all that you had to look forward to. You realize now, holding such potential for life within you, in your arms, that was what your choice was, to live. Anything that came after that was only what had always been intended, what was inevitable, what would have always happened thereafter, no matter what. A life full of inevitabilities: Beth, you, Joel, a child. The comfort that realization provides now is so profound. You wish, like in so many other moments, that Connie were here to share it with him. The great epiphany of having realized that the place your life had come to had been led here by your own hand, after having felt, for so long, so out of control. There could be no regret after that, only a great appreciation that now you had so much to look forward to; even if, perhaps, the one thing, the one man, you needed might not be part of it. Another choice to be made there. Perhaps the most terrifying of them all. 

Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on. 

You look down at Kate asleep in your arms, her full belly and the gentle sway of the rocking chair pulling her into drowsiness. You run the tip of your finger over the soft peach fuzz of her tiny little brow. “Poor little girl. All alone in the world… But now you have me – you’ll always have me. And soon there’ll be another, another baby,” you tell her, your most precious secret. “There’ll be three of us then. And I don’t know where I’ll get the strength to take care of us all, but I will, I promise. I’ll find it, I’ll pull it out of myself any way I have to. I promise you.” You press a small kiss to the softest rose petal of a cheek you’ve ever felt. 

-

Joel leans against the side of your house – listening to you talk to Kate – promising this most sacred of things as you sit slowly rocking her on your back porch. Another baby, another baby, another baby. The entirety of the face of the world could be alight with fire in this moment, and he doesn’t think he’d feel himself burning. Maybe he already is. His heart, his heart – it’s on fire. Maybe I’ve finally gotten so fucking old this’ll be the thing to kill me. Maybe I’m actually just dying of a goddamn heart attack right now. He clutches his chest. Wants to laugh and cry and scream and kiss the ever loving hell out of you. He wishes, like in so many other moments, that Sarah was here. He wishes he could tell her she’s going to have a little brother or sister, that the two of you could have known each other. He can’t move, can’t get his brain to send a signal to his legs to move. To go to you. And he thinks: this is what real wonder is. This is like nothing else that has ever come before. A baby, a baby, my Birdie’s baby.

He can’t say he’s even surprised really, has just been subconsciously waiting for this. Acting like a goddamn teenager, just discovered sex, never heard of a condom or pulling out, fucking you every chance he got. Jesus. Two babies in his fifties – he’ll never hear the end of it from Ellie. A huff of a laugh escapes, and he feels a tear run down his cheek.

-

“Can I hold her?” He steps up onto the porch. You startle a tiny bit, jostling the sleeping bundle, looking around yourself as if for an escape, but when you look back into his eyes, it’s almost like there’s an air of resignation in them, as if you’re now realizing there’s no escaping this. 

“Of course.” You frown down a little at her as you make the transfer, a soft coo passing your lips to settle her, reassure her, I’ll be right here, don’t be scared. The warm brush of your arms along his chest sends a shivering jolt through him. He hasn’t touched you in too long, what feels like years. He takes the baby gently from your arms and settles in the rocker across from you. The tiny weight in his palms is so small and yet so magnificently significant, heavy in the weight of what she represents. It’s been so many years since he’s held a baby, his own baby, but it feels as natural as breathing. The muscle memory reawakening to remind him to support her head, keep his too-big-hands gentle and soft. He looks back at you, so lovely, always. The most beautiful thing he’s ever set eyes on in his whole life, he’s sure. He wants to go and lay his head in your lap, stay there forever. And now that he knows the secret you’ve been carrying, he’s shocked at himself, that he hadn’t noticed before, so attuned is he to the planes of your face, the slope of your mouth and brow and cheekbone, the color and warmth of your skin, your body. But he sees it now, painted upon you as if you were a canvas for all that’s shared between the two of you, this tiny little secret you’ve both created together. It glows out of the light shining in your eyes, bathes your skin in the most radiant luminescence. But you look tired now too, afraid of him, of what he’s about to say, for he can see you know there’s something he wants to say to you. 

“What is it? Tell me,” you breathe, and there it is, always that keen ability you have to read his mind. 

“I was afraid,” he confesses.

And yet it is not a confession, for you already know, have always understood him to his very core. “I know.”

“I had a choice to make, a moment to flinch. I chose wrong.” Your gaze is trained on Kate asleep in his arms, and he can see the roll of your throat swallowing. “I should have never turned away from you. I will never turn away from you again.”

You stifle a little gasp, turn away to look out into the dark of the surrounding trees. He can see your eyes shifting back and forth, as if you’re searching for something. Perhaps now’s the appropriate time for him to get on his knees and start begging. He watches your throat work several times, and the tears welling in your eyes tell him you’re trying to swallow your sobs. A bludgeoning would be less painful than watching the look on your face right now. 

He can’t voice what he just heard you say, not yet, not yet. He needs this to be about the two of you first, about what he feels for you, about what he needs you to understand about what’s inside of him, what he’s let go of, before he lets anything else interfere in what might happen here. He needs the two of you now to come to each other of your own volition, unburdened by anything else except for what you feel for one another, the necessity of being together because without the other you’d simply die. 

“Birdie, look at me. Gimme those gorgeous eyes.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“Please, baby. Why not?”

“I don’t want to see what’s not there. I can’t–” He gets up then, comes to kneel before you, the baby still cradled in one arm, he brings his other to grasp your face. “Look at me, Birdie. Listen to me when I tell you that I fucking love you, and I will never ever leave you again.”

“Joel– there’s something–” you cut yourself off.

He grips your chin gently, the rest of his life cradled in both hands, “I am so fucking sorry. And I love you so goddamn much. I can’t say that I’ll never hurt you again, piss you off, that’ll I’ll never make a mistake, do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing,” his voice is guttural, he has to clear his throat several times of the tightness overwhelming it before he can continue, “But I promise I’m gonna do everything in my power to try. To be the man you need, the man Kate and Ellie need. Look at me–” for you’ve closed your eyes now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, running over his fingers to drip down onto your lap. You blink them open. “You hearin’ me?” 

“Yes–” you whisper, “Yes, I hear you.” And then you’re sliding down into his lap, bottom coming to rest on his bent knee so he’s cradling you in one arm and Kate in the other. “I should've never left–” you sob, clutch at his clothes, his hair, drag your nails through the thick of his beard. 

“No, baby– no. I should’a never let you go.” He tangles a hand into the back of your hair, bringing your mouth to his, and then finally, finally the taste of you within him again. He licks into your mouth, deep. The hot cave of it, opening so sweetly for him. You moan into him, breathe him in, let your head fall back for him to devour more deeply. 

But he pulls back, gives you a moment to breathe. There’s still so much left for the two of you to say. He grips you around the waist and rises to his feet with a grunt, goddamn knees, the both of you clutched within his arms. “Let’s put her to bed.”

-

The sight of him cradling Kate’s in his strong arms, the little bundle of her, so small, he could hold her entire weight in the palm of his large hand. Watching him set her in the crib you’d set up beside your bed, so, so gently, it has images of the rest of a shared life flashing in your mind. Sending painful cramps of lust through your womb, spears of longing through your heart. He’s so solid and strong. Broad and thick and you know that nothing could ever hurt you when you’re in the circle of his arms. He makes you untouchable by anyone or anything but him.

When he turns to face you you’re already there, pressing your hands and your breasts along the broad, strong planes of his chest. Pulling him out of the bedroom and into the hallway to push him roughly up against the wall and attempt to climb him. “Jesus fuck, Birdie–”

He cradles your jaw in that strong hand he’d just so gently cradled the tiny baby with, and you suck his thumb into your mouth, the groan he lets out at that — it sets you ablaze. “Joel, please, please, fuck me,” you beg. Your voice pitched into a whine. You’ll become inconsolable soon, if he isn’t careful, if he doesn’t hurry. Your cunt, a tight furl of desperate need, you claw at his belt, his shirt. “Please, p–please, I can’t wait anymore, I need it. I don’t care.” 

“Birdie, open your fucking eyes,” he gives your head a sharp little shake, you’d pressed your eyes tightly closed to keep the tears at bay, “Look at me. This is it,” he says, “You and me. Do you understand? This is it – us.” Your eyes are huge and wet, unblinking. His grip on your jaw, cheeks smushed, mouth in a pucker, forces your head to nod like a marionette – as if he could force the understanding into you.

“I love you, Birdie. Do you understand me?” And you want to say no, no you don’t understand because how could you ever comprehend something that enormous. 

You look down, then, unable to meet his eyes anymore and press the tips of your fingers to his lips as if to stifle his words. How can something you’ve wanted for so long, so desperately, scare you so much now? It’s as if the two of you have switched places – as if he’s transplanted his fear into you. What would you do with the love of a man like this? What does one do once they have the possibility of everything they’ve ever wanted within arms reach? How could your love for him, the intensity of it, intertwine with his in a way that could create a life together? How did one grapple with the notion of casting away their loneliness, their aloneness, when you’d lived with it for so long? And most important of all, what about all you hadn’t told him yet? What would he say then? 

So many questions, little bird.

“I’ll give you anything. Anything you want, baby,” he whispers, and you wish he wouldn’t say such things. No – you couldn’t brush up against the idea of your love for each other existing out in the world one moment, only for it to be ripped away from you the next. 

His voice is hushed, he says again: “I love you,” and the words slide through your hair like water as he presses you tighter into him. You feel so empty, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing at just the deep, familiar sound of his voice.

This feels, simultaneously, like the final nail in the coffin being ripped away, setting you free, and also, being hammered home, sealing your fate away with an undeniable finality. 

-

And Joel, he’d never been able to say the words easily before. I love you, it is a blessing – a benediction and a gift – to be able to tell the person you love, out loud, how you feel about them. To have them in front of you to do such a simple thing. To have that choice. He’d always felt too laid bare by it – vulnerable. To Sarah, to Ellie, to his brother. He’d always needed to work around it, find another word for it, another action to show them – let me do you this favor, let me bring you this thing I know you love, let me stand guard over you all night so you can rest. It wasn’t ever enough; so, he’d say it now. He’d tell you now, without fear or regret or take backs. Without pushing you away after. He’d tell you, let it settle between the two of you and exist as it would. 

-

You rip yourself from his arms then and turn away abruptly, too much to take in all at once. Pacing away, you can feel him stalking after you, herding you like prey. His fingers ghosting along the trailing tips of your long hair. You go as far as the confines of the house allow you to escape him, and then his hands are gripping your hips, spinning you around to face him and pressing you up and against him. Patience seemingly at an end. 

He presses you up against the wall, his hands everywhere, under your breasts to lift the heavy weight of them up and into his face and open mouth, kissing and sucking and biting. He bends his knees to bring his face down closer to your level, sucks whatever skin of yours he can into his mouth, breathes you in, wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes.

You moan at the feel of him, your head tipped back – you should talk, you should talk, you know you have more to say –  but your eyes are cast to the ceiling almost in supplication, and he’s everywhere, touching every part of you. 

“I love you, and you’re gonna listen to me. I’m gonna say it over and over until you’ve got it in your head. Do anything I gotta do to prove it to you.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” you beg suddenly, “Promise me you’ll be with me always, please.”

“I promise, Birdie.” I promise, I promise, I promise.

He pulls back, presses his brow to yours, it feels feverish and you’re trembling in his arms, needy little fingers carding through his hair to tug his mouth back to yours. “Tell me– lemme hear you say it.” He does not need to specify, you know what it is he wants from you. 

A tiny whimper, and then: “I love you too.”

-

“Fuck–” who would’ve ever thought the words’d have such a direct line to his cock. He moans, deep in his chest and slots your mouths back together, takes your top lip between his own to pepper soft little kisses on your open, panting mouth, sucking and nibbling and licking. 

He straightens to his full height, grasps the hinge of your jaw to open your mouth wide for him and thrusts his tongue inside, runs it along the roof of your mouth, behind your teeth. It’s wet and sloppy and you feel like you’re suffocating in each other. His hands roam down to clutch your ass in his hands and hoist you up and into him, your legs wrapping around his waist, he rolls his already hard erection into you. “I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? ‘Nd then we’ll talk some more, but fuck, right now I need inside that gorgeous cunt.”

“I missed you – oh god,” you moan, rolling your hot center along the stiff length of him, “Missed you so mu–much.” He growls the start of your name, his ragged voice turning it into nothing more than an incoherent, wordless snarl before he’s turning on his heel and setting your ass down on the edge of the kitchen table. His hands tangle in your hair, tugging your head back to open you to his savaging, all tongue and teeth, he fucks into your mouth with all the mounted desperation and fear and need of the past few days. 

Your hands are at his belt, tearing his clothes open and then your hand is there, wrapping around the hot, hard length of him and he rips his mouth back to stare into your eyes, teeth bared in a snarl. You stare at each other, open mouths panting into each other as you start to jack his cock slowly, up and down, tight little hand squeezing from base to tip, a twist at the sensitive, leaking head. 

“Shit, I– I was out of my fucking mind–” and at his words a flash of hot anger burns through him. “You’re never leaving me again. This is it,” he growls. 

“Never,” you promise, “Never again.”

He pushes you back onto the surface of the table and pulls your ass to the edge, ripping your leggings and panties over your hips and down your legs. He pushes your sweater up over your naked breasts, wraps his hand around the lush weight of both of them and brings his face to them, licking and sucking as much as he can into his mouth. “Joel, please, please, I need you inside of me,” you’re crying, breathy, high pitched and whining. 

“Not yet, not yet. Need to feel you, Birdie. Need to feel you here with me, need to taste you.” He kneels between your spread thighs, hooks one over his shoulder, your other ankle held in his grasp to anchor you wide, pushes to rest your heel on the edge of the table, completely vulnerable and open to him. Your pussy is red and swollen and soaked, slick sliding down your thighs, between your ass onto the table. “Fuck–” he licks the broad, flat of his tongue through the mess of your cunt, drinking your slick down. The taste of you – he’ll never tire of it, never get enough. Your back arches at the feel of his mouth on your aching sex and he takes the swollen bud of your clit gently between his teeth and holds there, you pause, acknowledge that you’re caught, before he sucks hard, and the whining mewl you let out, Jesus Christ, he could come just at the sound of it. He moves back down, presses his tongue inside, fucking in and out of you, can feel the ripple of your muscles, desperate for more. 

He moves back up to your clit lapping at it with his tongue as he presses two thick fingers inside to stretch you open, eyes trained on your face the entire time. He can hear you whispering his name over and over again and it washes over him like a litany of forgiveness. He will do anything he needs to, to continue hearing you say his name like that for the rest of his life. 

He stands then, fists his aching cock at the thick base and presses the wide head at your little clenching hole. “Gonna give it to you now, baby. No more crying, it’s okay, I’m gonna fuck you now.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

He’s pressing in, then, all the way to the end of you. Until his tip is at the mouth of your womb, right where you’re carrying his baby now. He pulls his hips back, the slick suck of your cunt trying to hold on to him, pull him back in deeper, and thrusts in again a little harder, but slow, just as deep, so that you feel the entire length of him, every throbbing ridge. Your eyes are unfocused, wet – lips red and swollen. So, so fucking beautiful. He needs to tell you now. He needs to tell you what he knows. Needs to tell you that he heard. That he’s gonna take care of the three of you. That you and him and Ellie and the babies will all be a family. That you’ll never have to worry or be scared or alone ever again. That there will be no more monsters. He pushes in again, harder, his hands sliding along the slopes and dips of your soft curves, brings one of them to the crown of your head to hold you in place, anchor you against the sharp thrust of his hips. 

“How is it that we always end up in this position, huh?” he grunts. “Meant to have a conversation, but instead buried balls deep in your sweet cunt.” He nuzzles into your throat and you tip your head back. You’re beyond conversation, a half laugh, half moan all you can manage. He presses again and again and again against that sensitive spot he owns inside of you, fucks up against it harder.  

“I heard you,” he whispers, so soft, into the dark, tender crook of your neck, that place made just for him, not stopping the rhythm of his hips. “I heard what you said to the baby earlier.” You freeze beneath him. Suddenly filled with tense fear and trepidation, and he hates himself for ever behaving in a way that could ever pull such a reaction from you. He promises himself and you and his child within you, that he will never, ever do something again to further that uncertainty. He presses a gentle kiss to the hinge of your jaw, runs his palm over the soft swell of your belly. “Heard you’re carrying a little secret, just for me.”

“Joel–” 

“Didn’t think I could ever– would– would ever have– have this again,” presses another soft kiss, grinds his cock deeper.

It is almost possible to canonize each other with the force of this feeling. To give so much to each other – to create life in a dead world– what on earth could ever, ever be as sacred as this?

“You gonna give me a baby, little bird?”

“Y– yes, Joel. Yes – Oh, God– that’s so good,” you moan. 

He grips your face roughly: “Tell me again, say it. I have’ta hear you.”

“I love you. I’m gonna give you a baby.”

“Fuck — fuck.” He starts to saw his length in and out of you again, the wet squelch like some lewd song between your bodies. “Again, again.”

“Ungh — I love you, I love you, I love you, Joel.” His cock feels like it gets harder and harder the more you say it. The words sing through his entire body. He grips the sides of the heavy wooden table to keep it from scooting across the floor with the power of his thrusts, and you clutch the front of his shirt to pull yourself onto him deeper.

“Fucking tight, p– perfect,” he grits, forehead pressed into your breasts as he watches the place where his cock impales you. His hips pick up their pace, fuck you harder “I’m gonna take care of us. Gonna love you forever." He starts to feel your muscles pulse and flutter at that, the wet suck of your pussy as you start to come around him, and the tight clutch is so wet, searing, it triggers his own orgasm. He wraps his arms around your waist to arch your back up, off the table and buries his face in your breasts as he starts to fill you with his spend. Your fingers tangle in his hair, press him harder into you until he’s almost drowning in your soft musky scent, come and sweat and him covering your skin everywhere. 

-

“What are we going to do?” The two of you lay in a nest made of the comforter dragged off your bed, your ugly orange throw draped over your naked hips. He’d gotten the fire going, the warm fingers of it licking at your back. Your head’s tucked into the crook of his shoulder, your bare chests pressed together, hot and sweaty. So close and comfortable.

“You’re not to worry about anything,” tiny kiss pressed to your nose, “I’m gonna take care of everything,” another to the arch of your brow, the corner of your mouth, the edge of your jaw. 

“Two babies is a lot.” You twirl your fingers through the curls at his nape. You’ll never stop touching him now, for the rest of your life, you plan to keep your hands on his skin. 

He ignores that, continues his lecture, “And you’re not going to work so hard anymore – lots of breaks and resting. And you’re not to go forgetting meals anymore either. Three times a day, three square meals. And be sure that I’m gonna keep a close eye on all that.” 

“And, and, and,” you mock, “Anything else?”

He gives you a stern frown, “I’ll let you know as I think of ‘em.”

“Actually, I think I’ll do what I want.” You hitch your thigh over his hip so that your wet core is pressed up against his thigh, his come still leaking from you. Even after he’d bent to clean you with his tongue after he’d pulled out earlier. 

“You’ll do as I say.” He gives your bottom a gentle swat.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

He nuzzles at your nipple, “No–” gives it a little bite, “You’d like that too much. Won’t give you my cock, that’s what I’ll do. Make you really suffer.”

“What a mean old man you are.”

“You like that too.” He rolls to lean over you, your head cushioned in the crook of his elbow. He gathers your wrists in his hand above your head, runs his nose along the length of your throat, a wet swipe of his tongue over the wing of your collarbone, down to the peak of your breast where he presses a long kiss, then his open mouth dragging over the lines of your ribs, lower still to the soft swell of your belly, where he presses his forehead. No sign of your secret yet, just the shared knowledge between the two of you for now. His tongue dips into your navel and you giggle, try and push him away, but he grips your thigh to keep you in place. He has you caught, snared. His nose journeys back up, skating along the surface of your skin. He nips gently at the meat of your bicep, and then back into your hair again to breathe deep, “Smell so good,” he moans. You can feel his length hardening again against your hip and your answering wetness begins to pool. “So soft–”

Kate’s cry sounds from the bedroom.

He pauses, “I’ll get her, don’t worry.” He presses a soft kiss to your temple and brow and heaves himself up with a rough groan. You watch the long lines of his body uncoil, the messy, silver threaded curls, broad shoulders, thick arms, smattering of hair on his chest that creeps down to his belly, his cock, thick and long, even soft as it is now, still wearing the glossy sheen of your slick. All your insides clench at the sight of him. Lust mixed with the satisfying flavor of possession, and the overwhelming splendor of your love, the knowledge that he’s all yours. That his claim over you is mutual, shared in full. That you love him, you love him, you love him, and he loves you back. That you’re carrying his baby. 

Thank God pregnancy’s going to give you an extra excuse to jump his bones even more than usual, you think, with a pleased sigh. 

“Stop ogling me,” he grouches, but you know he likes it, likes your eyes on him. 

“Never.” You burrow further into your nest of blankets and stare at his ass as he walks away. 

-

Joel and Ellie sit on her porch in the cool evening air after dinner. Nancy makes hooch in her spare time, when she isn’t helping you tend to patients, and they nurse glasses of it together now. It’s strong as shit, and who knew old ladies’d be so good at brewing booze, Ellie laughs

“How’s she doing?”

“Good. Settled now, just a bit tired from all the movin’ around. Overturning a mountain’d be easier than trying to get that woman to get off her feet for ten minutes.” He’d moved you and Kate into his house earlier that week. He had more bedrooms. More space to turn one of the guests into a nursery for the babies. 

“She’s unsatisfied with the color of the outside of the house.” Baby, it’s so dreary. It can’t be a curmudgeon lair anymore, it’s gotta be baby friendly and bright. “Too dark and dreary, according to her.” It needs to look happy. “Don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to find enough exterior paint for a whole house in the middle of the damn apocalypse but–” he sighs. And really, when you’d gotten on your knees afterwards to make him agreeable, how was he meant to do anything besides whatever it was you could ever possibly want.

“Real trouble maker you’ve got on your hands there, it seems.”

“Ah, well, what’s three more trouble makers in the grand scheme of things, huh? Dealt with you well enough.”

She freezes, “Three?” The look on her face – oh, he’s in for it now. 

“Well…you see– Birdie’s… well, she’s— I’d been meaning to mention it—” he can’t even say the word to her, slow and stuttering and red in the face. 

“You knocked her up, didn’t you?!” she shouts. “But h– no – oh, that is so – ewwwwww! That is so– I don’t even– I don’t even wanna think about that!”

“Don’t be immature,” he says, exasperated, “And quit your damn hollerin’.”

“Fuck you, man. That’s disgusting – I can’t think about that shit. Old man and my friend – no way. Let’s talk about something else –” she looks up at the sky, anywhere but him, pretends to whistle, even though she still can’t, “Isn’t the weather nice tonight? Not too cold, huh?”

“You’re a weird kid.”

“You’re a weird kid, you dick.”

“Don’t go gettin’ all over excited now. These things happen–”

“You knocked your girlfriend up in the middle of the apocalypse,” she deadpans. 

“Ellie–”

“Oh god–” she’s laughing hysterically now, bent over and clutching her middle, “Oh, god… I am never gonna let you live this down – Dina!” she hollers, “Dina, get the fuck out here! Oh my god, the fuck are you going to do with two babies, Birdie, me and Dina.You’ve officially been overpowered by estrogen.” She cranes her neck back and screams again, “Dina, Joel’s gonna be a baby daddy!” at the top of her goddamn lungs. 

“Ellie! What’s the matter with you?” he hushes, looking around the dark road, “Whole damn neighborhood’s gonna hear you.” 

She turns back to him, points a mocking finger at him, “You better fuckin’ pray that baby turns out a boy or you’ll never win another argument for the rest of your sorry life, old man.” 

-

He slides into bed with you afterwards, his hand sneaking up the back of his t-shirt you have on to slide against your bare skin.

“How’d it go?” you murmur into his hair, sleepy and warm, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. 

“Good, Dina made dinner. Me and Ellie sat out on the porch after, had a drink.” The girls had invited the two of you over tonight as a small step, Joel and Ellie’s way of easing back into the normalcy of things, with the benefit of you and Dina serving as buffers for the inevitable awkwardness. You’d been too tired to join them – the fatigue of pregnancy taking a toll on your good graces. “Nancy’s hooch s’fuckin’ strong,” he mumbles into your skin, “Think it got me tipsy or somethin’.”

You huff a laugh, “So, normal…” 

“Yeah, normal, s’good.”

“You talked?”

“Yeah, we talked. Told her about the baby” he says with a small smile, softly pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Oh, and what’d she have to say about that?” You sidle up into his chest, running your hands across the strong planes of him.

“Nothing flattering or respectful towards me or for the ears of an infant,” he grouches.

“I’d expect nothing less of her. Call you an old dog?”

He grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, amongst other things. Not so old I couldn’t knock you up though, am I?” Smug bastard.

“Of course not, baby. You know your old-man-charm is what really got me into bed with you in the first place.”

“Shut up, little girl.” He buries his head in the valley of your breasts, nuzzles softly, gives the swell a soft nip. Your breath hitches, extra sensitive now. “And how were you?”

“Tired…achy,” you pout. His hands roam now, squeezing and kneading the soft swells of your curves. 

“My poor Birdie.” 

“Feel better now though,” you squirm a little, hitch your knee higher up on his side.

“Is that so?”

“Mmm, we missed you.” Your hips roll a little, seeking the relief of his hard length. 

“Missed me?” he nuzzles deeper and laves his tongue into your cleavage.

“Missed our daddy,” you whisper into his hair, breathy, whiny. Provoking.

That shocks him into stillness, gotcha. “Jesus,” he says gruffly. His hands reach down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly, rolling his hardening length into the soft apex of your thighs. Pressing down right on your clit and pulling a throaty moan out of you. 

“Jesus fucking christ–” he pants and moves to cup you between the legs. “Make me so fuckin’ hard with that mouth.” The molten heat of your core seeps through the thin gusset of your panties, already soaked. “Can’t wait to see you round and swollen with my baby, little bird.” He pulls the neck of your soft, worn t-shirt down bearing your naked breasts to him. “So goddamn pretty…” His big hands mold the heavy weight of them and gently squeezes your tits up and into his open mouth, so sensitive… I know, I know, Birdie. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with this soft little cunt. I’ll get you nice and ready for me first.

What a cruel, cruel man. 

He reaches down to free his hard cock from the confines of his jeans, pushes them down far enough to free his aching length and heavy balls. He pulls your panties to the side, exposing your aching, wet flesh to the cool air and tucks his cock under the elastic, letting the thick weight of him rest there, over your cunt, the tight stretch of the fabric adding to the pressure. Oh, he’s going to be mean, you can already tell. “Joel, please, no– no teasing– It hurts–”

“I know, I know, don’t worry, I’m gonna give it to you – Don’t worry. Just be a good and patient girl for me, just for a little.” He starts to thrust against your slick pussy, the fat head catching on your clit with every thrust up – stoking the fire in your blood. His hands on your ass direct your movements, but you need more, you need to feel more of his skin. You pull your shirt up over your breasts, and tug his own t-shirt up his chest as well, let your stomachs press together, the shared heat between your skin turning the temperature of your blood up to boiling. “Need to feel you,” you whimper. 

“I’m right here, little bird.” His thrusts start to get faster, and he shifts his hips back a little, changing the angle so that the wide tip catches on your sensitive entrance with every thrust, and then up to grind against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Give it to me just like this so I can fuck you after. Need that little cunt nice and soft for me – gotta be gentle with her now it’s filled with my baby.” And God, the mouth on this man. 

Your heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s burning, like it’s going to melt and seep right into his own chest cavity. Everything below your waist starts to tighten and quicken and his cock is soaked with your slick, sliding fast and smooth, the slight catch at your opening and then the surge up to grind the entire length of him against your sex, the restriction of your panties making the squeeze tighter. You grip the thick muscle of his shoulders to leverage yourself better, roll your hips onto him harder, faster. You’re moaning his name, begging him for his cock and everything else he has to give, you want everything. And then you’re coming, the knot in your womb going loose and wet. Your head falls back on your neck, but he grips your jaw to bring your face back to his. “Lemme see those gorgeous eyes, my love, lemme see you come for me.” Your open mouth is panting into his, and he licks into you, tastes behind your teeth. He guides you through it, keeps the steady roll of his thrusts and your ass gripped in his hands bringing you further into him. “Just like that– Yeah, baby, give it to me just like that. So fucking pretty.”

“Feels so– so good,” you stutter.

He grips the base of his cock, your walls still fluttering and pulsing, and starts to press into your still clenching pussy. The wet gush of your orgasm pulls him in with a lewd suck of your walls, and then he’s there, there as deep as anyone’s ever been inside of you, right at his spot, and fucking up into it. His grip on the flesh of your ass is tight and you feel one of his hands sneak back between your legs to slot around where he’s fucking you open. “Goddamn, it does–” he growls, looking down at where his cock disappears into you. “Look at that– milking me like such a good girl. My perfect girl. Gonna give me a baby, my Birdie’s baby, huh?”

“Y– yes, Joel,” your voice is a soft, whimpering mewl. “I’ll give you anything– anything–” You dig your fingernails into the muscle of his back, try to drive your words home, into his skin. 

“I know, I know, you’re fucking perfect, fucking wet– Keep going, keep coming around my cock, just like that.” He rolls you over onto your back now, settling deeper between your thighs, and picks up the pace of his hips. Your naked breasts pressed tight against his chest, the hair there rubs against your sensitive, swollen nipples. It feels like he’s everywhere, embedded in every square inch of your skin, invading, conquering. And he has, he conquered you a long time ago. 

It is perhaps the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you. 

One of his hands cups the crown of your head, keeping you in place, his palm so wide it covers the entire span of your skull, and the other pulls your thigh open for him wider, angling your pelvis so he can ram against the mouth of your womb, and your insides are so sensitive, your orgasm still echoing in your skin, it feels like he has a direct line to the very heart of your pleasure. He speaks to it in whispers and demands, and you roll directly into the throbs of a new orgasm. No reprieve, no moment to gather your skin around you, pull your seams together.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

“Yeah, I can feel it – Gonna soak my cock again, I can feel it–”

“Oh my fucking god,” your moan is broken and guttural, and then it’s there, overtaking you completely, your vision whiting out. Your back arches as deep as possible, somehow letting him in ever further and you feel the pulse of his come, the heat of it, as he starts to fill you.

“Fuck– fucking perfect cunt, take me so well.” He buries his face in your neck, licking and kissing as much skin as he can get his mouth on. The hinge is your jaw feels like it’s come undone, gasping and hiccuping, it’s too much. He feels so heavy inside of you, like your insides, your skin is swollen with him. 

“Joel–” you whisper, trembling. He hums, pressing his nose into your hair, he pushes your head back, making room to run the tip of it along the column of your throat, kiss to the soft spot behind your ear, down to your collarbone to suck a blossom into the dip there. 

He’s whispering into your skin, perfect girl, perfect pussy, so good, so pretty, let me fuck a baby into you, take me so well always. He pulls out gently, the both of you groaning at the loss, at the sudden gush of your mingled come. You’re soaked, the insides of your thighs, your panties a sodden mess. The lap of his jeans, that he’d not bothered to even take off all the way, soaked in your slick as well. He moves to shuck off his clothes, and then pulls your ruined panties down the smooth slopes of your legs. He kneels between your spread thighs, brings your foot up to his mouth, presses a soft kiss to the arch of it, then further up, his tongue dragging along your calf to your knee, another press of his mouth to the bone there, and then he’s spreading your thighs wide, a smug look of appreciation as he surveys the wet, swollen mess he’s made of you. His thumbs pull your lips apart to take in the sight of his come leaking out of your still clenching hole, a soft swipe of his thumb to your clit that has you gasping and bucking away. “Ah, ah, gotta clean you up, little bird.”

You’re too blissed out to even object, to tell him you’re too sensitive, that you can’t take anymore. His tongue is gentle, slow languorous strokes against your wet flesh. He eats up the mess, cleaning you slowly until another orgasm is right there, pooling low in your pelvis and then surging through you in gentle waves, rolling along the lines of your limbs. There are overwhelmed tears running down your cheeks, and you can see the slow grind of his hips into the mattress, turned on just from this, from the shared taste of you. 

He kisses the insides of your thighs, runs his tongue along the crevice between your leg and pelvis, licking up the slick and sweat there, and it should be disgusting, but all it does is make you want to taste every single inch of his skin, as well. Finally, he lays his cheek on the damp inside of your thigh, looks up at you, and the two of you just lay there, holding each other’s gazes, quiet. 

There’s a tiny bump to your belly now. The soft little swell existing between the two of you, like the most precious, perfect shared secret. This little kernel of truth that only belongs to the two of you. He’s been so smug about it, strutting around like a damn peacock. You’ve made him promise, Ellie, and Dina by proxy, are the only ones he can tell until you’re a little further along, but the cocky look he gets in his eyes every time he looks at you is practically a blaring sign. Yeah, I knocked her up, she belongs to me. And it’s also made him insatiable, relentless and needy, fucking you every chance he can get. Not that you’re complaining. 

Wish I could get you pregnant again already, he’d whispered in your ear as he’d finished inside of you yesterday, bent over the kitchen table, leggings and panties around your ankles. 

It is a small sort of miracle to lay here now, like this. Without any sort of distance, after everything else.

The desire for choice was the spark that animated the deepest inquiries of what now existed between you. The force that grounded the two of you together, a need for a path of your own choosing; one so savage, it overcame all other obstacles. Internal, external, human, fungus, past, present. None of those existential inquiries mattered after the choice for one another had been made. Once the helm of fear had been cast away, all that remained thereafter, was only the deepest desire to choose the path that, at the birth of the end of the world, had been stripped of the two of you. The willingness to choose for yourself that which you knew might, could, devastate you, and yet choose it anyway. To accept that a thing could hurt you, maim you, obliterate you, and yet still take its hand. To know that you may not deserve it, but that you would inevitably be hurt – that you would, yourself, inevitably hurt someone who, in turn, did not deserve it either. But that was the price of accepting your monstrousness, of cherishing it, of, at long last, letting it go. After all, to acknowledge a thing was, in many ways, to free yourself of its power over you. Your fear could not lead you, control you, if you were aware of it enough to master it, to take it for what it was, merely a faction of yourself, not the entirety of who you were. 

No longer a man made up of fears, no longer a man made up of hurts. 

After courage, the possibilities were endless. For courage, above all else, was what was necessary to go on. 

Epilogue

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #ellie williams

[multific]

Surprise

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut (only in the beginning, this is mainly fluff)

Johnny loved to hold you close.

He loved to hold you close and cum in you. For him, the fullest moment was when you laid under him and he filled you over and over with his cum.

Johnny didn't have a breeding kink. Not at all, it wasn't why he was doing it.

To him, it was a way of marking what's his. 

And you were his. 

There was no denying that. 

His cum gushing out of you was the proof.

Marking you in more ways than one. 

This is how he liked to spend many hours after a long mission away from you. 

However, having your boyfriend creampie you each and every time he gets home, hours on end has its consequences as you have learned.

"Pregnant? But I was taking pills!"

"Yes, but it looks like when you changed to the new pills it took a long time for it to fully work and in that tiny window, you got pregnant."

Your doctor's explanation made sense, and this was something you always feared might happen. 

Now, you just had to somehow explain it to Johnny.

Should you send a letter? No, he said it wouldn't be safe.

Should you call? No way of knowing he would pick up.

Should you just wait? Yes, the only logical solution.

You were going through a roller coaster.

One moment, everything was okay, you were happy and ready for a baby, the next, you were in the bathroom crying telling yourself you couldn't do this.

You needed Johnny, and he wasn't there, so you had to deal with this on your own.

You took a deep breath. And as you wash your face one last time, you gave yourself a nod.

Yes, you were ready for this, yes you will do this. You will keep the baby and be an amazing mother!

Nothing could derail your plan.

Days passed, then weeks, and then three months. 

You missed Johnny but the baby did take your mind off of things.

First, you had to make a room for them, furniture and paint the walls.

Ikea came in clutch with their home delivery service once the room was painted. 

You were probably planning way ahead but with a boyfriend who could be gone for months, you needed to be ready. You couldn't wait to plan a room and assemble furniture with a huge baby bump.

Then, another month passed. And Johnny was coming home.

You received a call from him, saying he was on his way to you, and you were ready. With an envelope in your hand, you were ready to see him again.

You rushed into his arms as he waited for you, standing there with open arms, you ran into him. Almost knocking him over as the others left with the car. He lifted you up and you felt in cloud nine.

He was home. Finally.

You cried, probably more than ever, thanks to hormones.

But Johnny just kept smiling and laughing, holding you tight.

"Bonnie, I'm home." he said and the nickname he gave you made you shiver, he always called you Bonnie, ever since you two met, you loved it when he called you that.

"Welcome back, I have a surprise for you." you said as you two walked into the house.

"I really hope it's either something to eat or tear off of you." he said as he pulled you close and bit your ear.

Thanks to the thick sweater you wore it was invisible to see that you were pregnant.

"No, Johnny, this time I'm serious." you said as he kicked the door closed and you grabbed your papers. "You might need to sit down." you said and he did.

"Now you are making me worried." as he sat, you moved to sit on the coffee table in front of him and handed him the papers.

"Since you might not believe me, here. Read these."

Johnny took the papers he looked at you once more before he started to read them out loud.

"Patient name: Y/N Y/L/N.... Are you ill?" his eyes shot up.

"Keep going." you said pointing back and he read further.

You watched his face closely, waiting for the moment when he will get it.

"It says... patient admitted feeling sick, throwing up and feeling uncomfortable, after blood test patient.... five weeks pregnant?" he continued with the next paper.

"Pregnancy week ten, baby healthy, mother healthy.... Pregnancy week fourteen... baby healthy, good heart rhythm, mother healthy. As per the patient's request, ultrasound pictures were provided." you handed him the pictures.

"The doctor said they took the perfect shot. Keep going there is one more paper." Johnny looked and the photos before continuing with the last.

"Week eighteen, strong heart rhythm, baby healthy, mother healthy, based on ultrasound, baby suspected to be a girl, the doctor will confirm at later appointment...Bonnie? Are you... p-are you going to have a baby?"

"Silly, we are going to have a baby. She is as much yours as mine." John kept staring at the picture, a tear escaped his eyes.

"She's mine?" 

"Of course. But please don't misunderstand this wasn't planned. The doctor said my new birth control pills lapsed or something and... it was right when you were home and..."

"I'm going to be a father." he finally looked at you, his eyes filled with happiness. And suddenly your worries got lifted.

"You are, Love. We are having a little girl."

It was so much to take in at once.

"Please tell me this is not a cruel prank." he begged and you stood up, lifting your shirt, showing him your stomach.

"I can confirm Mr MacTavish, your baby is in here. This is not a prank, not a sick joke. It's all true and tomorrow, when I go back to the doctor's you can finally come with me."

"Oh Bonnie." he dropped all papers as he stood up and hugged you. "I love you so much."

"I know this is a surprise and I wasn't expecting it either but if possible, can you... maybe, I understand if not but I would like if you can be here at least for the birth... I know your schedule is not-"

"I'll be here before that day, Bonnie. I will tell the Captain I need time to be with my family and he will understand, he did just catch a big guy so... they can go without me for a couple, I'm sure Simon will miss me but, I want to be here for you and for them."

"Thank you."

"Of course. I want to be here more for you, and while I do know you understand when I need to leave, I do just want to stay."

"I love you Johnny." you felt him squeeze you a little before his hand moved under your shirt, feeling your skin, trying to be as close to his baby as he can.

This is what Johnny always longed for, a home.

And now the ring that weighted down his bags suddenly felt even more appropriate.

For months now, he was afraid you'd say no, and yet here you were waiting for him with a baby under your heart.

This was the best surprise he would have asked for.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart​​ @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​​ @paola-carter​​ @stunkbiggu

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

#john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish imagine #john soap mactavish imagines #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish imagine #soap x reader #soap imagine #soap imagines #soap x fem reader #soap x you #johnny soap mactavish imagines #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare II #modern warfare imagines #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare x fem reader #john soap mactavish x fem reader #x fem reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish imagine

[songofthesibyl]

There’s a lot of Lucien in my upcoming fics so he’s been on my mind and I need to rant about him.

The books/some of the fandom portray him as this feckless coward (past book one anyway), when there is absolutely no evidence for it; rather, the marks on him—his face and back—forever reveal what he is willing to do for the ones he loves (much sexier in that sense than tattoos) . He stood up to Amarantha—more than once—regardless of any consequences. So we know he’s not a coward. And despite the general consensus, Tamlin is not worse than Amarantha. But he and Tamlin are old friends, and one imagines it was probably difficult to see Tamlin losing it the way he did, and choosing Ianthe over him, etc. But there were plenty of times he stood up for Feyre, when she knew Lucien was being subjected to the same rage. 

So then we look at the IC. There’s obviously the pregnancy arc, but—

Particularly before she was reborn, Amren was an exception. But now she pretty much agrees with whatever Rhysand does.

Mor was upset at Keir and his army being given access to Velaris. Rhys felt a little bad. But did anything come of it? Was she able to rescind the order? No. Because he’s High Lord, and his word is law.

In the bonus chapter, Azriel is surprised Rhys is pulling rank. He pushes back, but Rhys is firm. When Azriel continues mouthing off, Rhys threatens him. And though he grumbles, Azriel backs down, and obeys.

And what did Cassian do, when Rhys lost it and threatened Nesta’s life? Did he know, in his point of view, that Rhys was just blowing off steam? Or did he take him seriously? Did he yell that Rhys was out of line, how dare he threaten the life of the woman he loved, that his fear was no excuse? No. He obeyed, taking Nesta out of the city. 

So Lucien only did so much, but eventually backed down. If Rhys kept the energy he had when he threatened Nesta every day, for weeks, are we to believe his Inner Circle would be able to handle it well all the time? That they wouldn’t make missteps, even excuses? Because even when they are hurt by Rhys, or see he is acting “out of character,” and they all make up later—in the end, they do what he says. (And this isn’t about “well Rhys was in the right though”—it’s about what friends of a High Lord do when they are in disagreement with him.)

And then, you know, the pregnancy thing.

So what would they have done differently in Lucien’s position? Nothing.

But of course there is no introspection, or maturity, or self-awareness, and so they hold out Elain like a carrot on a stick, they allow him to work for them and are snide with him every chance they get, they mock Jurian and Vassa as if that meeting between the humans and fae never happened, they call the Band of Exiles bullshit while they have their Inner Circle Jerk, they send every person with any connection to Feyre to the Spring Court as if not knowing it will set off Tamlin when his Court borders the human lands; or not caring. Knowing Beron wants to kill/hurt Tamlin and take his lands, the only home Lucien knew for hundreds of years. Stationing Lucien there to take the brunt of it.

The don’t have like him, or feel comfortable around him. But if they don’t, and aren’t, they should just say so, and grow up, and move on with their lives.

[autumnslance]

The Unsundered and Tempering

There's apparently some kinda post going around ruffling jimmies about the Ascians versus the Ancients, with extreme assumptions about a society we see precious little of ourselves in game and mostly get informed of by people still grieving it millennia later.

Most of them antagonists, that like many other antagonists and allies, folks seem to want to take at face value for a lot of what they say, while often ignoring what they do and how, while speaking.

This is something I have noticed among fandom and roleplayers for decades, so it's nothing new, but there's a lot of times the text of any situation is making it clear that even if a character isn't outright lying--even thinks they are being "honest"--that is not necessarily the case.

It also comes back to making sure one is using all the available information--goodness knows I've made a fool of myself before by missing scenes or text that did explain someone's position on lore and characters!

Regardless of how one feels about certain plot points, storylines, or characters, they all inform each other in canon. Different characters say different things at different times in different company. A scene from two expansions ago may inform a new patch cutscene. Actions may contradict words. It all works together.

For an example, since it's come up elsewhere, I've had doubts about how Tempered the Unsundered were from the moment Emet-Selch claimed it, due to one of the last scenes in ARR, cutscene #5 in "Before the Dawn" where we see Lahabrea and Elidibus speak just before Urianger arrives in response to the Emissary's request for a meeting:

Lahabrea: The earth is fertile, and the seeds well sown. By my will, they shall reap salvation unlike any the world has known. Elidibus: By His will. Lahabrea: …By His will.

The Ascians in ARR and HW spend a lot of time telling the WoL about their One True God. Here though, in a moment of privacy before the Archon's arrival, Elidibus has to remind Lahabrea to check his ego as his actions are for Zodiark, not himself.

This is an early indication, alongside Nabriales's actions in the previous patch quests, that not everyone's on the same page in regards to the Ascian agenda. Nor is Zodiark's hold on each red mask absolute--even the ones initially at His summoning.

EDIT: Not to mention Fandaniel's actions in their entirety in Shadowbringers and Endwalker; killing one's god to usher in the end of the world is not the act of a tempered man!

Further doubt is placed on Emet-Selch's claim by Tiamat. We get more of her situation in the Shadowbringers patches, in the "Righteous Indignation" cutscene:

Tiamat: Recall, mortals, that it was I who did first summon my beloved, praying with all my being to bring him forth. You who contend with eikons cannot well be ignorant of the consequence. Alphinaud: …You too were exposed to his influence. That you are yet in possession of your own will is testament to the indomitable strength of your soul. Alphinaud: But were you to meet with Bahamut again, you fear you might succumb. Tiamat: Indeed. Ask the dragonslayer, and he will tell thee the power we of the first brood wield. Were I to lose myself to the eikon's influence, all would pay the price. Tiamat: But it is of little matter. For even had I the strength to resist, I yet lack the strength to break my shackles. This prison shall be my tomb. Alisaie: On the matter of Bahamut's influence, at least, I believe we can be of some assistance. Alisaie: If you're afraid of being enthralled, don't be─we have a cure. And while we've never tried it on one such as you, its basic principles are universal. Tiamat: Speakest thou in earnest? Alphinaud: There is no future for those bound to the past. Alphinaud: That you committed a terrible sin, I do not dispute. But if you feel remorse, you may yet make amends. We offer you that chance. Take it, or you will forever remain a prisoner, not of these cruel shackles, but of your own guilt. Tiamat: A chance to make amends… To lay Bahamut's memory to rest… Tiamat: When our own star faced annihilation, Hydaelyn granted us sanctuary. And now your foes would bring about Her destruction. This I cannot allow. For the debt I owe to Hydaelyn, and to all who have suffered for my sins…I shall fight with you, children of man.

Tiamat is a victim of the purposefully corrupted summoning magic the Ascians distributed. Yet she is not entirely enthralled by the Bahamut she summoned; she fears she would be if she were exposed further to a primal. Tiamat, as a Great Wyrm of the First Brood, is more akin in her aetheric composition to the Unsundered than most others on Hydaelyn. She knows she is influenced by the primal she summoned, and part of her remaining bound is to protect herself and the world from that consequence.

And then she chooses the cure and to move forward with her life, when given the option. As do other enthralled figures among the tribes when granted the option.

While there wasn't yet a cure when still fighting the Unsundered, entreaties to end their crusade and move forward fell on deaf ears--but I doubt very much it was due to Zodiark's influence entirely, and more their own stubborness after having clung to this course for ages.

The first cutscene of "Unto the Heavens" in Endwalker presents finally the intersection of original creation magic and modern summoning, as preparations are made to board the Ragnarok:

Livingway: You've done a fine job of readying the Ragnarok, but for it to take flight, we'll of course need the power of the Mothercrystal. Livingway: Given its immense size, however, transporting it would be an absolute logistical nightmare. Not to mention we'd need to shatter it into tiny shards for feeding to the engines. Livingway: But a brilliant idea came to me: we convert the crystal's energy into forms that can transport themselves! Urianger: Thou wouldst employ summoning…or should I say its precursor─creation magicks. Thancred: Care to explain for our benefit? Urianger: As you may have witnessed at Bestways Burrow, the Loporrits are capable of creation magicks, which they use to shape the moon's environment. Urianger: Yet simple though they make it seem, 'tis a highly advanced and exacting art. To perform it correctly requireth that the wielder holdeth the object in his mind's eye in clearest detail. Alphinaud: Hence the ancients' meticulous management of concepts. Urianger: Drawing upon this art, the Ascians conceived of summoning as we know it. Urianger: A derivative that replaceth the complexity of concepts with the simplicity of zealotry to make manifest a creation. Y'shtola: I see… By combining the Loporrits' magicks and the tribes' faith, we convert the Mothercrystal into primals of purer form and greater obedience. Y'shtola: Summoning as it was intended, one might say. Livingway: Indeed, indeed! Livingway: While Hydaelyn gave us the ability to use creation magicks, She forbade us from using it to make anything possessed of a soul─or similar. Livingway: She didn't say anything about fulfilling the desires of others, though. So! Borrowing our friends' faith, we'll create deities using the Mothercrystal's power, and send them to the Ragnarok! Alisaie: Am I the only one here concerned about the risk of being turned into a tempered minion? Livingway: Oh, right, I was getting to that… From what I've read in Sharlayan tomes, it appears the Ascians incorporated an additional nasty element into their summoning method: the fervent desire to assimilate others into one's belief. Livingway: Beings thus created are instilled with the selfsame desire, and use their powers to enthrall people─starting with the summoner. Livingway: In contrast, our creation magicks─the original and the best, accept no substitutes─don't incorporate any of that rubbish, so there's no risk of tempering. I mean, if the being was on the scale of Zodiark, you might feel a little “tug”…but I think we'll be safe enough.

From what we get here, summoning is quite obviously an offshoot of the original creation energies of the Ancients, but twisted by the thinness of the sundered mortals' aether and using faith and collected aether as a substitute. The tempering part was a later, intentional addition, possibly after the Unsundered had opportunity to examine the effect of Zodiark's summoning on themselves and extrapolating that.

Now, is some of this likely retconning to explain discrepancies in how characters acted and how tempering has been used? Probably! There was supposedly a rewrite of the main Ascian/Hydaelyn/Zodiark storyline, inherited from 1.0, which Stormblood allowed the time and consideration going forward on how they wanted to resolve this long arc. There's a lot in ARR and HW that has been recontextualized to fit, though some things still stand out a bit oddly; they did as good a job as they could, especially given the many years and writers involved.

But from the more recent writings, the intention is not to excuse the Unsundereds' actions with "they were tempered." And the final proof comes from Emet-Selch in Ultima Thule in cutscene #4 of "You Are Not Alone", having been through the preliminary wash cycle of the Lifestream long enough to have had various enchantments removed from him, while yet retaining his self before that too is washed out before reincarnation:

Alisaie: You're leaving!? Emet-Selch: Of course. The encore is finished, and I will not suffer myself to live again by Hydaelyn's magick. Emet-Selch: But more than that, the future you seek is not the past we loved. That is why we fought. And why I lost. Emet-Selch: But though you defeated me, my ideals are inviolate. Invincible. Emet-Selch: Spare me your pity. I have no use for it. If you would do something for me─save our star. Emet-Selch: See this tale to a triumphant conclusion, and with elation in your hearts, bid the final curtain fall. Emet-Selch: Only then may it rise again and a new tale begin─with new parts for all to play.

Through Shadowbringers, Emet-Selch claimed to want to cooperate with the Scions, while only giving bits and pieces of carefully considered information, and moving the goal posts whenever they did prove to him they were able to pass his tests and meet his expectations. It is not until this moment where, his duty to fight finished and the fate of his beloved world in any form at stake, that he is truly honest about what he did and why.

(I may also have an analysis WIP about comparing him and The Sandman's Morpheus and that stubborn refusal to change his mind and ideals, but it's slow going)

So while we mostly do have to go by what characters say, directly to WoL or to other characters in other scenes, each conversation cannot be taken in a vacuum; it is taken into account with their other conversations, with their actions, with other characters' input. And sometimes, the writers change direction, and new information will overwrite the old, even as it builds off of it.

The game is not consistent about Tempering and Summoning, though the double acts of Shadowbringers and Endwalker's story tries to clean that up. I just seriously doubt, from all the evidence, that the Unsundered were as entirely under Zodiark's thumb as say, one of Ifrit's over-hammered thralls and therefore not responsible for their choice and actions, the plans they made and came up with and clung to in stubborn guilt and grief and rage for so long they couldn't do anything else, even when presented proof of other options and chances to change or move forward.

Because another thing ShB and EW have shown us in both MSQ and in the Pandaemonium storyline, is who these men were, to become the Ascians we know, and how their own beliefs shaped them individually when faced with such loss--and how in each case, those past, pre-Zodiark selves would look at the eldritch beings they became by the Seventh era, and be horrified. Not because of any god's influence, but what they were capable of on their own.

...Well OK, Lahabrea already had a pretty good idea of what kind of monster he was capable of becoming. He also chose the worst way to handle it, and never seemed to learn from that. Elidibus and Emet-Selch though, while adamant in their beliefs, were also warped by what they chose to do and be, to where Elidibus even refused to remember his past to avoid the pain, tunneling into his duty with no wavering. Only Emet-Selch chose to remember, wallowing in it, acknowledging the monstrosity of his actions...and choosing to commit them anyway.

EDIT ADDITION: Relevant lore info directly from Banri Oda on Tempering and many other things.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Tempering #Ascians #Unsunderered #Emet-Selch #Lahabrea #Elidibus #Tiamat #Livingway #Banri Oda #lore #character analysis #A Realm Reborn #Shadowbringers #Endwalker

[ofbreathandflame]

Mor is “Lying by Omission” and not Nesta when she lies to those men she was sleeping around with about her virginity? Nesta stans and y’all constant contradictions and stupid talking points

alright — you only come up with a response like this if you’ve fundamentally misunderstood what the problem is here.

(1) i think its an argument that can absolutely be made -- and considering sjm's writing history, i think we can at least draw parallels. i don't know you sent this as a gotcha -- the whole point im making is that writing that does into these characters is a consequence of sjm not writing them with care. that means that all of the characters fall consequence to the shitty writing. if you believe so -- then sure, make the argument. the problem is that the issues outside of the characters are being exploited. i really do dislike the the theme in her stories of people withholding pivitol pieces of information from people under the guise of love.

(2) the situation you're referencing isn't quite the same thing. not for the argument i was making, at least. first cassian immediately stops having sex with mor when he realizes what happened -- that in itself displays the difference between these two situation.

nesta doesn’t owe her sexual partners a summary of her sexual history. she’s just having a one night stand. second, the circumstances around nesta having sex aren’t being altered. the fear is centered around cassian finding out -- which means nothing because as of that point in the story, nesta has vehemently expressed no interest in cassian. nesta isn’t lying about being engaged to cassian, she isn’t specifically having sex with someone with the intent to accomplish something else. but in theory, if you wanted to make the argument, there’s definitely room to make it. morrigan specifically chooses cassian bc she wanted to lie down with "the greatest" which definitely a conversation for another day. she does choose him though -- to make a point to her family. which IS complex and NOT bad writing inherently. does mor owe cass a summary about her sexual history? - no. the problem isn't the virginity, its the lying. inherently the virginity thing isn't bad; but the story goes to great lengths to reiterate that this situation specifically enormous. AGAIN cassian IMMEDIATELY stops having sex with mor once he realizes she lied. he immediately recognizes the problem. he would not have even had sex with had he known the reality of the situation:

he’d done it, and regretted it at that very first thrust, when he’d felt her maidenhead yield to him, and realized the enormity of what she’d done

(3) the point isn’t that mor isn’t a victim, or that her situation isn’t worthy of empathy. the problem at hand a purely a writing problem. that’s really the point. the situation is (at the very least) complex. morrigan situation is complex and of intrigue. the problem is that the writing doesn't hold these issues to be dear enough to write with care.

(4) morrigan is badly written because she is constantly thrown away and minimized by the writing. huge swathes of people literally left the fandom because of how badly conceptualized more became after acomaf (subjective ofc - but this has been an issue in the fandom since the release of acowar).

(5) i just want the issues to properly acknowledged, i don't quite care about the feelings for the characters, i just think that sometimes people should take a step back and understand the concepts behind the characters. esp bc earlier in that thread people were literally justifying tamlin's abuse of lucien bc they argued that his actions during his abuse negated any ideas of victimhood, and that feyre is allowed to get her 'deserts' by having tamlin beat the hell out of lucien. like the argument being presented wasn't consistent and it just fell into abuse apologism. which is...definitely not conscious, thoughtful scholarship.

#anti sjm #anti sjm: morrigan #anti sjm: cassian #anti sjm: nesta archeron #anti acosf #great deal of typos srry

[afewfantasies]

COMING SOON - 🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI

Authors note: I've been working on Feyd's Blade on and off for the past week and have written 2 different scenarios of how things play out, I think I've decided which one I want to go with and a new chapter should be out sometime this weekend. For now heres a snippet. Let me know wha you think in the comments and/or poll below 🖤

MASTERLIST

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI - SNIPPET

Feyd’s eyes are not his own. The set of his jaw is hard and he doesn’t speak. He pulls you into the room you entered weeks ago with contraptions and straps. There’s no time to freshen up, he doesn’t push you into the bathing chamber. Tears prick your eyes and it breaks him. He stops pulling open his drawer. There are no words to warn you about what is to come, there’s nothing he can do to salvage what the two of you have right now. There’s he can only protect you in small ways. Grabbing the chastity belt he comes close clasping the heavy chains on your body. Looking at the contraption you realize he’d safeguarding you against brutality and cringe inward. It signals to him being incapacitated, incapable of being able to protect you. He moves efficiently attaching a breastplate made of the same hard material. It nearly crushes you under its weight. Feyd-Rautha moves quickly fastening all the locks knowing his uncles cruelty knows no bounds. Finishing he brings a helmet putting it on your head and fastening the neck into all three of the contraptions. It’s a metal monstrosity, a cage of sorts placing on a shield he taps it to ensure you cannot be made vulnerable.

“Feyd” you whisper but your words come out like a croak cracking.

“I will be find, you are not to say a word under any circumstances” he says and you panic.

“But-”

“No” he snaps silencing you as your body trembles.

“What’s happened?” You ask and he goes to wipe your tears but his hand is singed by the active shield. You disable it and reach for him.

“Promise me” he says cupping your face, more tears stream. You shake your head in fear knowing his hesitation means whatever is to come will me an unheard of level of horror. “Promise me” he growls close to breaking already.

“Promise” you agree and he nods stepping back. Your steps are slow as you maneuver the contraption only to be dressed by a concerned Leia. There’s no time for questions as she moved quickly.

“Put one on yourself” Feyd tells her pointing to the contraption. 

“Why do you have so many” you ask as Feyd finishes dressing you in the Bene Gesserit regalia to conceal your garment.

“For hostages, to protect them against the men” Feyd says plainly, the brutality makes you queasy. You want to kiss him but the steel around your mouth is solid.

“Feyd what’s happening” you ask taking his hands, his hard eyes soften a touch.

“My uncle will try to break me in front of you and the men.” He sighs.

“Because of me?” You ask feeling a wash with panic.

“No, because of him. Because he wants to show his power” Feyd snaps.

Because of me.

The voice in your head says. More tears fall and Feyd leaves without a goodbye unable to manage your emotions with the energy required to withstand the consequence for his distraction. Time passes outside of your perception until you find Leia dressed beside you her eyes mournful. Her hands holds yours as large brutish men await your exit. You leave the room and Leia asks what’s happened many times. Fear and exhaustion overwhelms you to the point of despondence as the pod travels through the dreadful palace of Giedi Prime. Anger mixes in with the fear and you can feel Leia’s hand in yours. You take note of the scores of men all heading where you are. 

It will be a spectacle.

TAGLIST:

@elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22 @meetmeatyourworst @jojoclown69 @lillypink @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @avidreader73 @emeraldsgirl33 @strawberryfieldsforevermore @rose-are-royal @delusionsofnostalgia @szapizzapanda @palomavz @mcswan02 @slutforsmut4ever @emeraldsgirl @jackiekae @sarahhelpimsinking @maat-the-prescriptive @moonsoulk @katherineswiftie2017-blog @melancholicmelanin @littlebugs @alexa4040 @unicoreads @mimsie95 @mamawiggers1980 @miaraised @7-reblogs

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #black authors #austin butler #austin butler imagine #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd oneshot #house harkonnen #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you

[songbirdsanctuary]

This is a rewrite of an old fic of mine.

Warnings: Someone gets punched, panic attack

Word count: 1,392

The underground hum of Redstone engines filled the cavernous chamber where Docm had toiled tirelessly on his latest project—a massive tunnel bore. But Scar and Grian had come by, and he saw that they had blown it up.

"Scar! Grian! What in the world were you two doing down here?" Docm's voice echoed through the cavern, laced with frustration and anger.

Scar and Grian sheepishly walked further into the chamber, guilt written across their faces as they surveyed the damage they had caused. "We just wanted to test it out," Scar mumbled, avoiding Docm's gaze.

Docm's temper flared at the sight of his painstaking work reduced to rubble. "You blew up my tunnel bore!" he roared, his voice reverberating off the walls.

Grian winced at the intensity of Docm's anger, his heart pounding with a familiar sense of dread. Memories of past betrayals flooded his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. His breath quickened, and his hands started to shake.

"Doc, calm down," Scar interjected, placing a hand on Docm's shoulder in an attempt to defuse the tension.

But Docm's fury had reached a boiling point, his vision clouded by a red haze of rage. Without thinking, he lashed out. Scar jumped away fast enough not to get hit, but Docm's fist connected with Grian's jaw with a sickening ‘crack’.

Pain exploded across Grian's face, but it was nothing compared to the shock of betrayal that pierced his heart. He staggered backward, the world spinning around him as he struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Panic seized him, and he clutched at his chest, gasping for breath.

The memory of Sam's manipulation flooded back with terrifying clarity. Sam had always been a master of control, using subtle threats and occasional violence to keep Grian in line. Whenever Grian had tried to stand up for himself or step out of the boundaries Sam set, the consequences had mostly been swift and brutal, like a punch to the gut, a slap across the face, but some of them were long and torchures,—Sam had been relentless in making sure Grian knew his place. The physical pain was always fleeting compared to the emotional scars, the constant anxiety of anticipating the next blow or cruel word.

Now, as Docm's punch landed, it wasn't just the immediate pain that overwhelmed Grian; it was the resurgence of those old fears, the sense of helplessness that he thought he had left behind. His vision blurred with tears, and he felt as though he was suffocating under the weight of his past.

Scar rushed to Grian's side, concern etched on his face as he helped Grian steady himself. "Hey, hey, it's okay," Scar murmured, his voice soothing. But Grian couldn't stop himself from yelling in fear, his voice rising in pitch as he backed away. "No, no, no! Stay away!"

"It's okay, Grian, it's okay," Scar repeated, trying to calm him down, but the words barely penetrated Grian's panic.

Grian's breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps as tears streamed down his face. The pain in his jaw throbbed, but it was the terror that consumed him. He felt trapped, cornered, just as he had so many times with Sam. His mind raced with thoughts of betrayal and hurt. "No!" he cried, trembling uncontrollably.

Scar tightened his grip on Grian's shoulders, his touch firm yet gentle. "Grian, listen to me. You're safe. Doc didn't mean it. He just lost his temper. You're safe now."

But Grian's mind was a whirlwind of fear and memories. "He... he hit me. Just like Sam," he choked out between sobs. "I trusted him, and he hit me." The betrayal was a fresh wound layered over old scars, and it left Grian reeling, struggling to differentiate between past and present.

Scar's eyes softened with understanding as he pulled Grian into a hug, holding him tightly. "I'm here, Grian, and Sam isn't here. Doc made a mistake, but you're not alone. I'm here, and I won't let anyone hurt you."

Grian clung to Scar, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. Slowly, the warmth of Scar's embrace began to penetrate the cold fear that gripped him. The steady rhythm of Scar's breathing, the comforting pressure of his arms around Grian—it all worked to ground him, to pull him back from the edge of his panic.

Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, before Grian's sobs began to subside. He took a shaky breath, his grip on Scar loosening just a fraction.

With Scar's support, Grian turned and began to make his way out of the chamber, leaving Docm alone with his thoughts. As the echoes of their footsteps faded into the distance, Docm sank to his knees, the weight of his regret crushing him like a tidal wave. He had forgotten about what Grian had told him about his past, about Sam's abuse and the deep scars it had left.

Docm's mind replayed the scene over and over, the moment his fist connected with Grian's jaw, the look of sheer terror and betrayal on Grian's face. He remembered the way Grian's eyes had widened in shock, the instinctive step back, and the heart-wrenching panic that had overtaken him. Docm felt his stomach twist with guilt. How could he have forgotten something so important?

The memories of Grian's confessions came flooding back to him. Grian had trusted him enough to share his painful history, the years of manipulation and violence at the hands of Sam. Grian had been so vulnerable, opening up about the times he'd been hurt, the constant fear he lived in, the way Sam had chipped away at his spirit with every act of cruelty. And now, with one thoughtless action, Docm had brought all that pain rushing back.

Docm clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "How could I have done this?" he muttered to himself. He had prided himself on being a protector, someone who stood up for his friends, not someone who inflicted pain on them. But now, he had become the very thing he despised.

He thought about Grian's reaction—the tears streaming down his face, the way he had clutched at his chest, gasping for breath. Grian's cries of "No, no, no! Stay away!" echoed in Docm's mind, each word a dagger of remorse. Grian's terror was palpable, a raw wound laid bare, and Docm knew that he was responsible for reopening it.

The depth of Grian's fear struck Docm harder than any physical blow ever could. He had seen Grian face mobs, traps, and rival players without flinching, but this—this was different. This was a fear that ran deeper than any physical danger, rooted in past traumas that Docm had carelessly unearthed.

As he knelt there, Docm's mind was a maelstrom of regret and self-recrimination. He had wanted to create, to build, to bring his friends together through his projects. Instead, his anger had destroyed not just his work, but a part of Grian's trust in him. The realization was almost too much to bear.

"I-I'm so sorry, Grian," Docm whispered into the empty chamber, his voice thick with emotion. He knew his apology couldn't undo the damage, couldn't erase the fear he'd seen in Grian's eyes. But he had to say it, had to start somewhere.

Docm resolved to make amends, to earn back the trust he had shattered. He would work tirelessly, not just to rebuild his tunnel bore, but to rebuild his relationship with Grian. He had to show Grian that he was not like Sam, that he was someone who could be trusted, someone who valued their friendship above all else.

Hours passed as Docm worked, his hands moving on autopilot while his mind remained fixated on Grian. Each brick he laid, each piece of Redstone he placed, was a step toward redemption in his eyes. He would not let this mistake define him. He would learn, he would grow, and he would make sure that Grian never had to fear him again.

As dawn broke over the horizon, casting its golden light upon the world below, Docm made a solemn promise to himself. He would always strive to be better, to learn from his mistakes, and to never again let his anger drive him to such reckless actions. He owed it to Grian, to himself, and to the friendships he held dear.

#hermitfic #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitblr #grian #hermitcraft #docm77 #goodtimeswithscar

[gay-dorito-dust]

How about a jealous reader when George spends more time with Flo and one night he comes home late to a smoky kitchen with reader sleeping on the table with a plate of burnt cookies in front of her because he missed their cooking date night, just something angsty to very fluffly!

“Hey babe, are still up for-“

“Sorry to cut you off sweetheart,” George said as he rushed to shrug on his puffer jacket over his shoulders, “but I’ve got to help Flo out with a few things but I should be back before noon so we can have our date.” He then presses a kiss to your forehead before legging it out of the door faster then you’ve ever seen during the duration of your relationship as the sour feeling within your stomach you’ve had for a while began to feel like corrosive acid. Eating you from the inside out.

You could only watch helplessly as the door shut behind him and you were left to your own devices in mending the fractures of your heart. At first you didn’t think much of it but the more George chose to cut your time together short to help Flo, it only worsened the thoughts within your head that your relationship with the speckled male was coming to an abrupt end and there was nothing you could do about it. You adored Flo, you truly did, and you couldn’t blame her for something that wasn’t any of her fault; You couldn’t blame her for how George seemed to act like a excited puppy dog every time she visited for it wasn’t her doing.

Flo wasn’t responsible for George’s emotions and neither were you and you knew that that you were in no position to tell George what he’s meant to feel purely because you were suffering from the effects of a certain green eyed monster. George was his own responsibility and you were certain he was more then smart enough to understand himself better then anyone for he had to live with himself.

However what you were allowed to do was be human and feel out your emotions as and when they decided to come. You knew it was unhealthy to keep them withheld within yourself, to repress your feelings as it would only prove to be increasingly difficult task to upkeep without suffering the consequences in the form of a breakdown. Yet somewhere deep down inside you seemed to find the appeal of repressing your emotions, feeling as though it were the better route then to be an adult and sit down with George to talk about this in a civil manner.

You knew this course of action would only end up hurting you both even further, to the point where your abilities to trust one another with your most vulnerable selves would cause rifts in your relationship until it capsizes and fall into the abyss. You really don’t want to loose George, you really don’t, he means so much to you and you weren’t about to loose him because you were too scared of the possibility of what would be said in that situation which would only reinvigorate your insecurities, your fears and your nightmares of loosing him; like he was the sand slipping through your fingers.

‘I can’t keep doing this to myself every time he goes to Flo. It’s not healthy! None of this is!’ You thought to yourself as you lifted yourself from the staircase that you’ve blockaded with your body from the moment George left earlier that morning, suddenly thankful of the fact that Lockwood and Lucy had left prior to finding a simple case, leaving the responsibility of holding down the fort to you. One of the many things you’ve noted in your relationship with George was that whilst he has the habit of stress cleaning, you developed an offset habit of stress baking.

You hadn’t noticed that you were doing it until Lucy pointed it out one day and from then on you became more aware of how some of George’s habits had became your own. At the time you found to sweet that you were developing the habits of your loved one but as you placed the baking tray of vanilla and raspberry cookies into the oven, you found yourself hurting even more. It seemed that no matter what you did, George was somewhat apart of your every action and it only made the ache in your heart grow bigger at the fact that he was spending the time he used to spend with you with someone else.

Which was ironic and a tad silly considering the fact that you never felt this way whenever Lucy and George were in the same room. Maybe because you didn’t feel threatened by her in due to the heart eyes Lockwood had been throwing her way, that seemed to be more then reciprocated. If that was the case, then that only made you feel even more worse for ever thinking like that towards Flo, you’d never wish these thoughts on her, never. Yet humans were a weirdly complex species and every emotion ever felt by mankind was some of the times tied to subconscious or conscious thinking.

Whilst you were waiting for the cookies to finish, you sat yourself down in one of the chairs at the table, where you gradually found yourself coming down with a heavy dosage of fatigue and within minutes, your asleep on the thinking cloth.

George cursed under his breath when he checked the time, only to see that he was incredibly late for your date by the time he had gotten back from helping Flo. He knew it was bad to keep stuff from you but he was doing this for a reason, the anniversary of your first date was coming up, and he wanted to do something nice for you for putting up with him after all this time. So as he unlocked the door, he was greeted by a wave of smoke that burned at his eyes along with the ear piercing sound of the smoke alarm blaring all the way from the kitchen.

Worried and concerned of your well-being, George rushed to the kitchen only to see you fast asleep on the table with a plate of burnt cookies in front of you, smoke emerging from the charcoal treats, which he was right to assume must’ve set off the alarms; of which he was quick to grab a tea towel to disperse of the smoke whilst also having a couple of windows open. “Oh sweetheart,” George said in a hush voice, “I’m so sorry for being late.” He then looks over at the burnt cookies and couldn’t be but chuckle.

“An attempt was made but next time let me deal with the baking, the cooking and well…everything,” he then proceeded to sit himself in the chair next to you, rubbing your back gingerly before pulling you to his chest, “because I promised the moment we started dating that I’d treat you like royalty. Yet you refused because you wanted to treat me like royalty also. God your a fucking handful.” George chuckled as he reached a hand to rub up and down your back soothingly, his heart melting when you snuggled deeper into him as though you weren’t close enough for your liking. “Yet your my handful and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I promise my disappearing acts recently will make sense but for now, let me get you to bed before you get a crocked neck.”

Unknown to him, you had awoke the moment you felt his warmth against you, silently hearing him out and suddenly you weren’t jealous anymore. George Karim was truly a godsend and you weren’t about to loose him, not if you could always end up back in his arms as he whispered sweetly into your hair. You’ll have to save that talk you feared for tomorrow as for right now, his arms were all you ever wanted to be within right now.

#lockwood imagines #lockwood imagine #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood and Co imagines #lockwood and Co imagine #lockwood and Co x reader #lockwood and Co x you #George karim x reader #George karim x you #George karim imagines #George karim imagine

[an-angel-in-the-garden]

Hiiiiii!

So, this might be a specific request, but Naraku from Inuyasha has been doing somethinnnng to me lately lol.

Basically, could I request a hurt/comfort thing with a reader that was emotionally abused as a child where Naraku fucks up, emotionally hurts his s/o, and they break down begging him to “not do this to them” saying that they “can’t do this again”?

Basically a thing where Naraku realizes that his actions have CONSEQUENCES, and sees how his words can destroy the person he actually gives a fuck about, and that they can’t be tossed around if he wants to keep them in his life.

Coming off of a rather long fic I went for my normal style with some headcanons. I hope you don't mind. TW for past child abuse. It's not really mentioned in detail but it's there. Arguments and yelling, threats of violence aimed at others,mentions of death and murder A somewhat toxic relationship. This is hurt comfort but the writing at the start is only hurt! If fighting is something that bothers you please skip it. Undercut is all comfort. 

Naraku doesn't really know how to hold back in anything, be it a fight for his life or a mere argument with you

When the two of you fight it normally ends in him storming off before it can really blow up

You're the one person he really doesn't want to hurt but sometimes it happens, this is one such time

It might start small but fights can spiral out of control quicky and since Naraku never seems to realizes how painful his words can be it just builds

His voice is raised and at some point it becomes a one sided battle where all you can do is try and breath

" I truly shouldn't have expected much from some lowly human. No matter what I try to do it's like you just can't understand anything! Is it really too much to ask of someone like you?

it just goes on and on until you can't take it anymore, Naraku is ruthless when he gets like this and no matter how strong you are you can only bend so much

The breaking point is sudden and the tears just come rushing out soon sobs and the need to gasp for air follow

It's only then that Naraku falls silent, sharp eyes turn to you and freeze now unsure what to say or do

For the first time in many years Naraku feels a sense of guilt and doubt well up

However he's doesn't know what to say or do so when the silence only makes things worse and you start babbling out apologies while begging for forgiveness it hurts him in an unexpected way

It takes hours before either of you can properly talk and even longer before you can say you trust him again it leave Naraku feeling empty and uncomfortable, he'll do anything to fix it

It starts the moment you stop crying, he's still angry but now more at himself and the people of your past then anything else

At the start he won't want to apologizes it feels unnatural to him to bow down to anyone or admit he was wrong

This doesn't really last for long, a couple of hours at most before your silence and fear becomes unbearable to him

He's nearly begging for forgiveness now wanting nothing more then for you to look at him without fear

Gentle touches and soft whispers Naraku takes this chance to promise you the world and then some swearing silently to himself to rip apart those have hurt you before

He wants to wipe away the remains of everything bad that had happened but as a man somewhat stuck in the past he understand that's impossible so he opts for just trying to make it better

In the coming weeks Naraku will make sure all of his servants learn some new rules, no yelling, no fighting within view of you and no asking questions

Of course he plans to follow simple rules to show how dedicated he is to you

Gifts will be given when he can't find the right words and any names you gave him will be dealt with

Naraku will never fully change and you don't expect him to but he does learn to hold back

In the arguments still bound to happen he wills himself to keep his voice down, he no longer uses threats unless he's truly out of control ect

It's a rough start yes and something even after years of dating he would need to work but Naraku is nothing if not dedicated and for you he is willing to do anything 

It's been a while since I wrote for Naraku but there's something about him I really love and love to hate. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoyed my attempt at hurt comfort. ~ Lilly

#reader imagine #x reader #reader insert #reader x #naraku x reader #inuyasha imagines #inuyasha x reader #x gn reader