#there are still so much story for them in this au
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Ferrari's Fairytale (1/3)
Summary: World Championships are the most important part of any Formula One team's history. Except perhaps, Ferrari's. Known for their rabid fans, filthy-rich investors, and pretty boy drivers it shouldn't be a surprise that the team has brought together Soulmates from across the globe. And fate, it seems, is working awfully hard to put all the pieces into place for Ferrari's perfect fairytale - one that's been in the works for decades now.
[Part 1 of Pretty Girls and Ferrari Boys]
Soulmate AU: Soulmates share injuries and pain.
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader (Eventual)
Word Count: 1650
Warnings: Swearing, no Charles in this first part sorry it's his epic love story and those take time ;)
Masterlist
There was something wrong with your soulmate.
Really there had been something wrong with them since you were eight years old. But right now, there was something particularly wrong with them.
“Just some bruising over the ribcage, but no actual damage internally.” The medic presses a latex covered hand gently against your ribs.
“They feel broken.” You suck in a pained breath and glare over her shoulder, at the little framed picture of her cat, Terror, on her desk. “You’re sure I’m not about to sneeze and puncture a lung?”
“Funny.” Though the look she gives you as she pulls off her gloves is less than amused. “Which one of us went to medical school again?”
“My best friend. You might know her. She’s stunning, generous, gives me free check-ups, did I say stunning? Goes by Sunny.”
“It’s Doctor Sunny to you.” She slingshots one of the gloves at you. “But it’s good to know you only keep me around for the free check-ups.”
“My soulmate would bankrupt me without you.”
Sunny taps at her computer, “The fee isn’t that high.”
“Sure,” You shrug. “If you aren’t in here every other week.”
“Have we ruled out hitman as their profession?”
“Since we were eight?”
“I don’t know much about hitmen, maybe they start them young.”
You lower yourself carefully from the observation table and move stiffly toward her desk. “Give it to me straight Doc. How much longer have I got?”
“I’m afraid you’ll live, ma’am.” Sunny doesn’t even look up. “A tragedy for all, I know. I can give you a moment if you need time to process– Ow! Bitch.”
She rubs at her shoulder and huffs.
“I’m going to have to log that in the database, you know.” She says.
“Good, maybe we can both find our soulmates and be done with it all.”
“Real romantic, dude.”
“Your soulmate hasn’t been terrorising you since you were a kid.”
“I had my fair share of scraped knees,” Sunny wrinkles her nose when you stick your tongue out. “You do know it won’t stop after the two of you meet, right? That’s a schoolyard myth.”
“After the talking to I’m going to give him, you bet your perky ass it’s going to stop.”
“That’s the second instance of workplace harassment I’ve coped from you in the last minute.”
“Fine. Your ass is not perky.”
“Mature.” She hums, “What time did you say the pain started?”
“Ten-thirty-ish?”
“All good then.” Sunny makes a few more clicks before powering down her computer. “Your chest and my arm, all nice and logged.”
“You know, sometimes I think you became a Match Medic specifically so you could put every little thing into the database to make it easier to find your soulmate.”
“Perks of the job.” She scoops up her handbag. “Come on, let’s bounce before the front desk starts scheduling over my lunch break.”
“You remember how I said you were stunning and generous and stunning?”
“I’m not buying you lunch.”
“Could this week get any worse?” You throw your head back dramatically.
Sunny cracks a smile at your antics, “Only a few more hours and we’re free for the weekend.”
“Are we still on for pamper-night tonight?”
“Always. Mine or yours?”
You end up spending the night in Sunny’s apartment, covered in different rejuvenating oils and masks until you look like low-budget horror movie villains. In your fluffy robes with The Princess Bride on in the background Sunny tries to teach you how to make Hainanese Chicken the way her mother did. Terror cries at your feet when you tell him he can’t have raw chicken. Sunny pops a bottle of cheap champagne that makes you both grimace and promise one another that you would find an excuse to get a nicer bottle soon. You take turns washing the excess from the face, foot, and hair masks off. Then curl up together on the couch, sipping broth, digging into rice and slathering chicken in Sunny’s family’s super-secret chilli sauce. You both fall asleep at a very respectable eleven o’clock.
So, it’s fucking strange when you wake up feeling like you had spent the night inside a paint mixer.
“Are you okay?” Sunny frowns as she stands over a pan of eggs. “You look ill.”
You squint over your coffee cup, “Soulmate is playing up.”
She plates the eggs next to a small stack of bacon before turning to put a hand to your forehead. “They shouldn’t be making you feel sick, illness doesn’t transfer like that. Are you sure it’s coming from them? Could you just be hung over?”
“It’s definitely him, third weekend in a row, like clockwork.” You take your plate gratefully, “It’s like I always tell you. It’s not nausea. It’s more like…”
“Impossible to explain for you and every medical practitioner you’ve ever seen?”
You groan, “It’s like my brain spent the night trying to escape my skull and the muscles in my neck were in on it.”
“It’s not unheard of for soulmates to feel the repercussions of an intense work out. There was this study from four years ago on high performance athletes and their partners that–”
You groan again, “Oh god and now there’s a nerd in my ear!”
She tosses a gelatinous bit of egg onto your plate. It lands with a splat that makes you fake gag. “Oh, grow up.”
“You should be nice to me,” You lament, “I’m wounded!”
“Your soulmate is wounded.”
“And I’m sure their best friend is taking very good care of them!”
She pulls a face at you but still takes your plate to the dishwasher for you. As she’s rinsing them, she asks, “What’s on for the rest of your weekend?”
“I got a call from my parents on Thursday and guess what?” You sipped at the cold dregs of your coffee, “The dentist finally figured out which one of them the toothache is coming from!”
“That’s great,” Sunny’s smile was genuine. “They’re going in to get it fixed?”
“Tomorrow morning, both going under local anaesthesia.”
You hip checked her lightly out of the way to rinse both your cups. “You want another coffee?”
Sunny propped herself up on the counter, “My caffeine addiction is rubbing off on you I fear.”
“Listen, we have to get through the day somehow.” You coaxed the machine back to life before leaning against the counter to look at Sunny. “Anyway, my parents were supposed to go to this race tomorrow. Dad is particularly devastated and has practically ordered me to represent the family ‘at our home race.’ It’s been tradition for him and mum since they got married. It’s kind of a big deal for him. The man is obsessive.”
“My parents had something similar to say about our family legacy and studying medicine.”
“Speaking of… You remember all the times I sat up with you studying, or brought you food when you forgot to eat, or ran errands for you, or made sure you took breaks, or–”
“Fine, I get it, I’ll go to the stupid race.”
“Oh, how kind of you to offer.” You passed her one of the cups. “It won’t be that bad. Motorsports are supposed to be fun live, right?”
Sunny snorted, “Thank God. Motorsports? I thought you meant like a horse race or a marathon. I was getting war-flashbacks to track-and-field.”
You put a hand to your heart, “You were willing to relive cross country for me?”
“I was willing to ogle fit, sweaty men for you, definitely.”
“Alright, first of all – fuck you. But also same,” You clinked mugs and nodded solemnly at one another, “Maybe we can find some fit, sweaty drivers to ogle instead.”
Sunny hummed, “What do I wear? Is it like sprint cars or more like V8s – ooh is it an illegal drag race?”
“Girl, no.” You swatted at her thigh, “It’s Formula 1, which is perfectly legal and safe and much faster than any of those options.”
“Alright, Miss Daddy’s-Girl, go off.”
“Shut up, I’ve had to hear him go on and on about it my whole life.” You pulled a face at your coffee. “The man has had a hard-on for Ferrari since before he met my mother, and then he met her in the Ferrari hospitality at an F1 race, and he’s fucking worshipped them ever since.”
“Oh my god, why am I only just hearing about this?” She grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and cooing. “You’re a little Ferrari baby.”
You blew a rather unladylike raspberry at her and knocked her hand away, “Because it’s embarrassing! Dad was only there because he and his friend won tickets. So, when Ferrari marketing caught wind that soulmates had met in their pavilion, they practically fell over themselves.”
“Holy shit!” Sunny practically howled in delight, “Is that where all those baby pictures of you in little Ferrari onesies came from?”
“Ferrari’s own little fairytale, Mr-won-his-way-in and Miss-heir-to-a-real-estate-monopoly. It's like Romeo and Juliet; if Romeo and Juliet survived, had a kid and decided to make it the poster child of their love story.”
“Don’t sound so disgusted, that’s cute as fuck.” Sunny snatches up your empty cup and stacks it next to hers in the dishwasher.
You frown, “Not everything has to be a love story.”
“I don’t know, girl, I’m pretty sure you just asked me to play out your parents first meeting with you tomorrow.” She winks at you over her shoulder as she heads toward her room.
“Oh, fuck off, Sunny.”
“I think this calls for new outfits!” She emerges from her room, towel over one shoulder. “What was your Mum wearing when she met your dad?”
“We are not reenacting my parents meet-cute.”
“Who knows, maybe you’ll have your own meet-cute with a certain pain-prone soulmate, hm?” In the moment it takes you to reorientate yourself after her comment, she’s breezing past you with a bright, “I’m having first shower!”
You squark in indignation. Like hell, you’ll let either of those things happen to you this weekend.
(Part 2 : Ferrari's Prince - 03.04.24)
#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1#formula one#f1#formula 1 x reader#formula one fanfiction
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helen ; chapter five
be seeing you
Si vis pacem, para bellum.
Or, the choice.
series masterlist | my masterlist
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship, sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tess cameo, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, bamf miller bros, smut, fingering, joel is an emotional munch, shower sex, unprotected PIV, handjob, male whimpering, conflicting emotions, orgasms aplenty, Big Angst and Big Sad but also Big Epiphanies, ambiguous ending, i'm getting emotional writing these tags, it feels so final, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika
word count: ~ 9.3k
a/n: hi, friends. i can't believe we're already at the end of the main story, and tbh if i think about it too much i'll probably cry. i want to thank @cavillscurls for beta reading this chapter as always and giving me the guidance and support i need. we'll have an epilogue after this chapter, so there's still more to look forward to, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy and thank you so so much for reading. xoxo
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Her eyes are so sad, you think, stepping back to take in the full scope of the canvas. It’s doused in paint from corner to corner, still wet to the touch, the woman and her lover intertwined so thoroughly that it’s difficult to tell where they both end. It’s in shades of glum blue and flecks of angry red and brown where his eye watches you. But it’s her eyes that cannot lift to meet yours. It’s her lashes that fan across her cheeks as she casts her gaze toward the bottom edge where the canvas is wrapped taut around the wood.
The sun will soon rise, but you haven’t slept. The contours of the sky are washed in a haze of greys and pale blues and light pink and the air smells warm, heavy—a storm about to roll in. The clouds on the horizon are thick with a blackening rage. You sit in the alcove by the window and put your temple to the cool glass. You yawn. Joel does not come back.
“Do you think it's true,” you asked him one night, your head on his chest, hand on his heart, “that art makes nothing happen?”
Joel, drawing shapes on your back, dozing off in the golden light of the sunrise, frowned. “Someone tell you that?”
“It's something my art teacher used to say,” you told him. “No matter how much it moves people, it doesn't do anything.”
“Your art teacher sounds like a fuckin’ downer.”
You laughed, hiking your thigh up over his hip and playfully biting his jaw. “So it's bullshit?”
“I think,” said Joel, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, “that your art makes people feel. It brings ‘em together. It's important because it's yours.”
You propped your head up on his chest and threaded your fingers through his too-long hair, overdue for a trim. A curl draped over his forehead, his beard patchy and soft under the pads of your fingers. “Sometimes I wonder why you chose me,” you said. “I wonder why the universe brought you to me.”
Joel shook his head, guiding his rough, callused fingers up your arm, curling them around your wrist, gently prodding your veins. “Wasn't the universe,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t a choice. I was yours the second I saw you. So, I guess it's your fault.”
You just rolled your eyes and kissed him, mouth to smiling mouth.
Your paintings may be yours, made with life and energy and colour, but when they are finished, they don’t move. They are stagnant as a heavy rock beneath a cliffside, washed over and over again by the cresting waves, its salt stolen for the water, eternal damnation to a fate of non-movement. And sometimes an artist will walk under the cliff, shove their easel into the fleshy ground the way a man erects his country’s flag in the earth he has stolen, and paint the rock. The artist is moved by the breathtaking colours of the shore and the way the wind flutters through the grass. But the rock does not budge. It never will.
Your art will never erupt from the boundaries of the canvas and tell you what it means. The lovers in your painting will not tear open their mouths like the seams holding a wound together. They will not tell you what they want, need, crave. They are you, and that is what you hate—because dimpled flesh and lustful fingers and the press of his mouth to her throat cannot tell you what you’re supposed to do.
You had become complacent in his love for you. You had let him press his worn hands to your body and pull your soul out through his mouth and you had been a wife, while all the time there was a stranger who occupied his heart, a spirit in an abandoned body. All the time, he'd been haunted. And although you had loved him, your love had not been enough to exorcise the guilt and trauma, pecking at him, an eagle at his liver.
Crossing the room and sitting back down in front of the easel, you press your fingers to the corner of the canvas. The paint is cool to the touch, and you leave behind fingerprints where your signature should be. Pulling your hand back, you examine the accumulation of colour, the blues and reds swirling into the deep purple of a bruise, the bodies on a canvas that may only ever mean something to you, and you wonder, Is this all I am? A cautionary tale, a love lost? A fucking footnote at the end of a clause that reads: “See, for example, the one who never loved deeply enough to make it count”?
You bring your hand to your face to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes and blink hard at the sting, realising you’ve smeared paint across your cheekbones.
In the bathroom, you scrub furiously, the cloying scent of it clinging to your throat and your tear ducts, washing away the evidence of their entwined bodies, their love, your pain.
Once, you tried to get Joel to paint. You sat behind him on your bench, your legs bracketing his hips, your paintbrush in his hand.
“I don’t know where to start,” he said.
Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. “There’s no rulebook.”
He tried to turn his head and kiss you, but you nipped his ear in reproach. “Remember when you took me out driving at the airstrip because you wanted me to feel the road? Think of this like feeling the canvas. Go on, cowboy. Make nothing happen.”
Joel’s painting still hangs over your shared bed. The intruders never found it, or never cared enough to destroy it. It’s a candle, just a candle, its lines imprecise, the paint unevenly applied in places, the shine of the flame more orange than yellow. But it’s a painting, so the candle always burns. He titled it Love.
The pain still sits low in your chest, pulling down your heart as if tied to it by a string. But Joel is still out there, fighting his way back to you, the way he always has, always will. You look down at your left hand, clutching the edge of the marble vanity, and decide to clean your wedding ring.
“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel.
“What the fuck are you doing?” growls Joel, struggling against his bonds. The clip rattles faintly in his brother’s hand as a tremor courses through him.
“He’s following my orders,” says Cabrera, clapping his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fascinating what a man will do when he must consider his family’s well-being.”
Joel sucks on his teeth, his eyes not once leaving his brother.
“It's my son,” Tommy says through his teeth. “It's Maria. If I don't do this—”
“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Tommy? Is that why your hand’s shakin’?”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” his brother snaps. “You think I want to do this? I gotta save my family, Joel. You know what that's like.”
“All I’ve done for you,” says Joel, his hands curling into fists behind his back, “and you put a bullet in my head?”
“Not just your head, Joel,” says Cabrera. “When we're done with you, we’ll take your pretty girl as payment for my son’s life.”
Joel growls like a dog, blood roaring in his ears. “Kill me yourself, you goddamned coward. Kill me yourself and don’t you mention my wife again, or I swear to Christ—”
“You take His name in vain a lot for a nonbeliever,” says Cabrera, pulling his sleeves through his coat and setting his teeth as he looks toward Tommy once more. “Do it.”
“Yeah, brother,” Joel says darkly, “do it.”
Tommy nods once, planting his foot and pivoting. Five distinct sounds of handguns cocking echo throughout the warehouse as Tommy points the barrel between Manuel Cabrera’s eyes.
“Now that I’ve got a gun to your head,” he says evenly, “you can go ahead and pull that contract.”
Joel at last twists his wrists free of the ropes that bind them and shucks down the sleeves of his jacket to rub the raw skin. Not one soul does a goddamn thing to stop him as he rises to his feet. His chest heaves, his open lungs coarse and wet with a brittle rage, his exposed heart throbbing red, transparent as the stained glass windows of the church.
God does not tolerate anger, said the Sisters, again and again, bringing down the whip across his back. Sinew and bone and skin peeling back to lay bare some tender part of him they sought to rot out. Put your energy into His worship.
Slowly, Cabrera lifts his hands, sneering. “Your wife,” he warns, “and your unborn son—”
“Are family,” says Tommy. “Just like my brother. Now tell your guys to put down their guns and I won't kill you where you stand.”
Joel joins Tommy at his side. “Took you long enough,” he says under his breath.
“Got held up,” he says. “Your wife’s a good artist.”
“Yeah, whatever. You bring me a gun?”
“I’m sure you can find one yourself.”
“Jesus, Tommy. I’m too old for this.” Joel turns to Cabrera and glares at the same stubborn arrogance that once gleamed in his son’s eye. “You pull the contract, and I’ll leave for good.”
Cabrera’s laugh weans out in the air like rings of smoke. “You think you can really leave, Joel? You think that there won't be consequences for what you've done to my son?”
“Yeah,” says Joel, “I think I’ll take my chances.”
“And you?” Cabrera’s lip curls up at Tommy, whose gun no longer wavers in his grasp. “I promised your wife and child security. You’re willing to throw that away?”
“My wife and child are safe because I don’t take deals from men like you,” says Tommy. “You trusted a Miller to turn on his own blood, Manuel. That was stupid. Now pull the contract.”
“So this is your great suicide mission.” Cabrera smiles, a man who knows he has lost or a man who still expects not to. “A man who has seen Hell does not willingly descend back into its depths—not unless he likes the taste.”
Joel feels the corner of his mouth twitch, a wound on his cheek reopening. “Maybe I do,” he says plainly. “Maybe it’ll taste even better when I take you down with me.”
The gleam in Cabrera’s eye shifts as his gaze flickers behind Tommy. Night has since descended, and yet the predator’s eye glints in anticipation of the hunt. Joel turns and shoves his brother out of the way—just as the shot rings out.
He hears Tommy’s breath punch out of him as they both hit the concrete hard. Joel tears the handgun from his brother’s grasp and puts a bullet between each of the two men behind them. He rolls behind one of the hulking bodies and holds up his weight as a shield against the incoming bullets. Tommy takes the dead man’s gun and fires at the remaining three assailants. Only one shot misses, but Joel sends his brother a look anyway and finishes the job.
“Rusty,” grunts Tommy, pushing himself to his feet.
Joel grimaces as he accepts his brother’s outstretched hand, his wrists bleeding from the relentless rub of the ropes. “He ran,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Goddamn coward. Just like his son.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” says Tommy, giving Joel the dead man’s gun and snatching back his own. “Saved your ass.”
“And he got away.” Joel kicks his chair, and the clattering echo of metal reverberates like a choir off the cavernous walls. His hands flex, open, closed, open, closed, until they make tight fists and he can see nothing but red and the silver moon mocking him through the broken windows high above.
“Joel…”
For a moment, he hears the young boy his brother once was, whispering across their shared bedroom to him in the middle of the night when they were both meant to be asleep.
Joel… Are we going to be okay?
“I gotta finish it, Tommy,” he says quietly, his hands shaking loose. Parts of him bite and sting, touched by new and old wounds alike, and he wants to come crawling home to you. He wants to curl into your side and wash away the blood in your cleansing pool, daisy and honeysuckle, some faraway field where you are the warden, where he knocks on the door to be let in, to be gathered, covered in white, buried, unearthed.
“Was he right?” asks Tommy. “Do you… enjoy this?”
Joel casts his eyes toward the ground, his trembling hand, the gleaming band on his ring finger, his skin speckled with blood but the metal pristine. “I don’t know,” he says.
This is who you are, Cabrera would tell him. The Sisters: Your place is here, under God, under His word. And God Himself, silent as the air, the ringing in his ears only ever quieted by the soft brush of your knuckle across his cheek, the whisper of My Joel in his ear.
“Think hard on it,” says Tommy, “because you may like it, but you’ve gotta consider if your revenge is worth more than what you’ve already got. And if you choose wrong, Joel, you’re gonna lose no matter what.”
A figure leans stone-still against the wall by the hotel room door, the gleam of a blade in the soft light the only indication that it is not a mere shadow.
“Hey, kid,” says the apparition.
Joel nods in greeting. “Tess. Could get in trouble with that knife out in the open.”
“You expect me to keep your girl safe with just my fists?”
“You make it sound like you couldn’t.” Tess snorts, and Joel places fifteen gold coins in her waiting palm. “I appreciate you doing this.”
Tess peels away from the wall. “You and your brother are paying me good money to babysit a door. I think I can live without the thanks.”
“Still,” he says, “you did us a solid.”
Tess, who itches at the prospect of gratitude as much as any other gun-for-hire, shrugs. “Everyone’s saying you’re coming back. That true?”
“Just visiting,” says Joel. “On my way out soon.”
Tess flips one of the coins and turns it over and over across her knuckles, evidence of a restless energy that’s always made Joel’s eye twitch. “One way or another, huh?” she says.
“One way or another.” He shakes her hand and watches her retreat down the hall, still twirling the godforsaken coin, before he turns toward the door. Joel presses his forehead briefly to the cool wood and turns the key to seek the field that awaits him.
A key rustles in the door and Joel steps through, closing it gently behind him. Judging by the quiet click of the lock, he expects you to be asleep, but you jolt upright from your seat in the alcove and cross the room toward him.
He meets you halfway, his right hand flexing at his side. You inspect him: the gash on his cheek, the bruise on his jaw, the blood splattered on his white shirt. He makes no footfalls as he walks but you can hear every stride like thunder between your ears. You feel his hand at the back of your neck, cool from the night air, rough as the underside of a shark’s belly.
The moment coils taut between you as your hand reaches up to grab the lapel of his jacket, and he smells of iron, cologne, Joel, some paint. Maybe that smell is you, stuck underneath your fingernails, embedded in your blood. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe you could never help but fall, maybe it never mattered anyway, and you’re already snipping the final thread, unwinding the spool, and kissing Joel Miller like it’s the first time.
He let out a small groan, tasting the first drop of water in a drought, steadying you with his arm around your waist, his hand cradling your head. He’s gentle, exploratory, careful not to jostle, to shock you out of it. You feel his heartbeat thud, strong, calm, steady behind his clothing and skin and muscle, and your body caves.
It’s coming home, you realise, your arms snaking around his neck, fingers tousling the messy curls on his head. It's the warm press of his hand to your spine where it begins to curve inward. It's a soft mouth, a plush lower lip, made for slow mornings and black coffee, for the aching release of a thumb pressing deep into a muscle knot, a wound. Old aches soothed in the space where bodies meet, beginning to colour the slate-grey world.
It’s the exchange of gasping breaths when you pull apart, his mouth still vaguely chasing yours, opposite charge.
You hold him tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat, your hands squeezing his shoulders. "Are you…"
Joel inclines his head. "Yeah."
"Did he..."
"Yeah."
Need pulses. Supernova. Bright as the moment of obliteration. "Can you—"
He nods vigorously. "Yeah."
Joel’s kisses are like raindrops: velvet-soft to the touch—his hands bringing the hem of your shirt up over your head, his fingertips scorching, branding, grazing the supple swells of your breasts—before the crescendo roars in your ears and he loses himself to the storm. He always does.
There is nothing reserved about the way he shows his love. Lightning crackles across your skin where he touches you, baring you to him, his lips making a map of you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat. You hear yourself hum at the press of his lips to the spot beneath your ear, detaching from your own body, absconding with the pleasure of being close to him and leaving the fucking world behind.
Joel staggers forward so he can press you to the wall and begins to sink to his knees. Your breath catches as he pulls down your ratty bottoms, your cotton panties, his mouth burning into your hips and your belly and the ring on your finger.
“Joel,” you say brokenly as he clutches your fingers. Tears prickle, pressure building behind your nose, and he shakes his head, unfurling your palm like a bud in bloom and kissing its heel. Wordlessly, you watch him, your eyes shuttering, blood singing.
Don't hurt me again.
He understands even though the words cannot come alive on your tongue. He squeezes your hips, his thumbs dumpling your flesh, his forehead falling to your belly.
“I’m yours,” he says. “I’m whatever you want.”
Your legs haven't forgotten the way they part so easily for him, one thigh on his shoulder, opening the core of you to his waiting mouth. His lips part, his tongue wetting them, glistening, and your stomach tightens at the sight of his eyes so black.
You could easily cower. His hands are stained with blood. His knuckles are split. But your terror has become an arid thing, no kindling to burn, no oil to ignite. Watching him now, as eager to please as he always has been or maybe more so, on his knees like a supplicant, the hairs on your arms do not rise in apprehension. Your body does not squirm in fear. You see a broad horizon, the sun outside spilling its golden blood over the city, and you see all of him in a way you never did before.
He’s Joel, who grew up in darkness, lashed and beaten for not believing in a false god. He’s a man who has lied and killed and yet he is no liar, no killer. He holds you as he always has, your body liquid in his hands, your mouth proclaiming the word he will follow. You're the truth he's always told.
It still unsettles you to see the dark eclipse that warm brown, to watch his desire consume the hypnotic shapes in his irises, and wonder if that cavernous black was the last thing so many men saw before he snuffed out their lives. But there's nothing of the death shudder in the way you guide your fingers through his hair and beg him—
“Please.”
He brings his mouth to your core and parts your folds with his thumbs, slowly gliding his warm, wet tongue through your slit. You die a hundred little deaths in the split-second of that first touch, that first agony.
You sigh, your head thudding against the wall as he licks through you, his hands holding your hips in place, keeping you from writhing. Joel flicks his tongue over the sensitive pearl of your clit, the pleasure searing, and you tug at his curls to push him away even as you cry out, More, please, please. God, I need more.
He obeys you as easily as breathing, though you suspect he can barely hear your pleas, opening his mouth and flattening his hot tongue to your clit. You gasp, your core pulling taut, your eyes locking with his as the muscle undulates over, over, and over again.
“Oh,” you whimper, your hips bucking to meet his face. He groans, his mouth working your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking. You cry out, your leg kicking, the sounds of the world muffled in his stifling closeness. Your thighs begin to ache, tensing and relaxing a hundred times over in the throes of his attention.
And his fingers are gliding across your hip, seeking the warmth between your legs. You gasp his name, your hips flexing, as he collects your wetness on two fingers.
“Let me in, baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit. It relaxes you enough to welcome the press of his fingers inside you, sinking to the knuckle, curling up against the spot he would know in his sleep.
You whine, your body keening toward him, tugging his face back toward your pussy. He obliges with a quiet moan, and you think he needs this just as badly.
The obscene squelch of his fingers inside you rings in your ears as he licks and sucks at your clit, his free hand grabbing desperately at your ass to keep you fixed to him. You’re crying, “Yesyesyes, Joel, please—fuck, that's it,” the pleasure stuck in the grooves of your brain. Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and clasp it tight, your engagement ring digging into his palm. He holds you with the same fervour as he coaxes you higher, his face buried in your pussy. He grunts and groans like it's his own pleasure he seeks, his battered knuckles stinging.
“Joel… Joel, oh, I’m…”
He knows, of course, from the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his head, the relentless crushing of his fingers in your own, your body tightening for him, cavitating, unwinding—
You come with a shout, your throat raw, writhing in his grasp as he keeps sucking, keeps licking, rubbing, pressing. You're dizzy by the time your head lolls to the side, your muscles twitching, eyes glazed, and Joel is there, pulling his fingers out just to place them on his tongue and swallow you down.
Your breath rattles through your lungs. Joel presses his lips to your inner thigh, beard soaked in your arousal, moustache glistening. His mouth soothes your sore muscles and your eyes begin to droop.
“You need a shower,” you say, your tongue like lead in your mouth. You gently pass your thumb over a cut on his cheek and frown. “You're all bloody.”
He nuzzles his face against your thigh, inhaling you. “I know.”
“You were gone so long.” Your voice quivers, pressure prickling behind the bridge of your nose. “I thought…”
Joel rises to his feet, his hands cradling your face. “I’m all right,” he says. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”
You shake your head, pressing your lips together so the sob will not escape. Tracing his face with your fingers, broken in places, healing in others, you see the echo of a boy who didn't know his place in the world. You see the haunt of days gone by. A ghost still occupies the cage of his ribs.
“I think you should tell the little boy that still lives here,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “Tell him he’s alive. Tell him that he made it.”
Joel lowers his head, watching the way your fingers splay over his heart. He puts his hand on yours and pushes, and you feel the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.
“He knows.”
You lean forward and put your mouth to his temple. “Shower, Joel,” comes your whisper in his ear.
He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the bathroom. The water hits you both true, scalding, the drain circled with red. He’s naked, his back to you as he sets his hair and lets his wounds bleed what they need to.
You lift your hands and trail them down his broad shoulders, your forehead dropping between his shoulder blades where your name is inked into his back. Joel’s muscles idly flex, his palm flat against the shower wall. His body shudders when you press your lips to the name on his back.
Wordlessly, you bring your arms around him, caressing his side, careful of the new bruises. Your other hand drops to his steel-hard cock and you begin to slowly stroke him. The noise that wrenches free from his throat is half pleasure, half agony, his hips bucking into your fist. You bump your nose against his back, your years-old sign to Just relax, and Joel hides his face in his bicep as you work your hand over him.
“G—fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn… honey, I—”
You squeeze him at the base and twist your hand up and down the length of him, the weight warm and heavy, your thumb coaxing out a bead of precum. Your cheek is warm on his back, your arm struggling to reach around the width of him, your chest humming at the sound of his gruff moans.
“Let me…” He cuts himself off as you speed up your strokes, and you can feel his abdomen tense. “Fuck, let me make you feel good. Shit… let me…”
“Joel,” you say, “for once, stop trying to be my hero.”
His head falls back and you press your lips to his throat, nibbling the sensitive spot behind his ear: the old scar, that tiny circle, that hairless patch. He groans your name, and you’re smiling despite yourself, your mouth curling against his warm, tender skin.
“Inside me,” you whisper, the pace of your fingers over his length slowing to a crawl. “Remind me how it feels.”
He turns his head to look into your eyes, his lashes dewy, blinking hard to flick away the water, brow furrowed. His moustache bristles as his lips part in a question he does not (or maybe cannot) articulate, and you’re fractured into pieces by the intricate curve of his nose, the freckles on his jaw, the silver strands in his beard. A rough hand cups the back of your neck and another takes you by the waist, and you’re flattened to the wall, your hand braced on the glass next to you as he kisses you deeply.
Consuming, heady, warm—you give in, your hands avoiding the delicate skin of his wrists where he’s been bound, helpless. Sighing softly into his mouth, you let his kiss humble the part of you that still needs the walls you’ve built from the marrow of your anger. It circles the drain, lead-filled paint, as you remember under his hands how it feels to live.
You reach between your bodies, your leg wrapping around his waist, and slide the head of his cock through your weeping slit. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, the water lashing his back like a whip, and he surges forward, grasping you by the waist and sinking his cock into your tight hole.
You cry out his name, burying your face in his throat and baring your teeth. Your name leaves his mouth in kind, an apparition, sounds you barely recognise anymore. As you take him inside you, the memory of who you were with him pounds at your ribcage, begging to be let out. And you covet them, selfish as you are now for fucking him this way, needy and impatient, your fingers tugging his wet locks.
You see no point in scooping out the marrow; there is still sweetness stuck to the bones of your old life with him. Instead, you coat your teeth in this, the slow drag of his cock, the depths he reaches so easily, so knowingly. His fingers prod the bruised flesh of your hurt and yet you still guide him inside. You still pull his hair and kiss his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs and you still let him hold you close enough to splinter.
He’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass and sucking on your throat, his thrusts sloppy as he tries to hold back, to make you come first, but you tighten, clenching down on him, making his groans pitch up into whines.
“Joel,” you gasp, your needy fingers prickling his scalp where you pull his hair. His teeth graze your throat and you want him to bite, you want him to sink in deep, you want his jaws to latch onto your skin. You want him never to leave again.
He comes hard. His hips buck, pushing so deep he disappears into your body, and you see the blues, browns, reds of your painting as he empties all he has left inside you.
Panting, he drops his head to your breast, his open mouth still scattering weak, worn kisses over your skin. Your lungs expand under his palms, fingers stuck in the grooves between your ribs, his body an offshoot of yours, not the other way around. In the ringing afterlife of your pleasure, you vaguely feel him mouthing words you cannot hear. You run your fingers through his hair and enjoy the battering of the scorching water as it melts you both into one.
Later, in the sticky, humid silence of the bathroom, steam still swirling around your heads, fogging the glass, you trim Joel’s hair.
"Do you ever get scared?" you ask him, the shhhick of the scissors gliding across a chunk of his hair. "Do you ever go out on a job and think to yourself, What if I slip? What if this is it?"
Joel huffs. "It's not so much about myself as making sure the other guy goes down first."
“I think I’d be scared.” You twirl a lock of hair around your finger and let it fall over his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to look into someone’s eyes and take their life.”
He casts his eyes to his lap, flicking off some hair from his thigh. “One time, I thought it was over. I wasn’t quite seventeen yet, runnin’ drugs for some gangster. He sent me to El Sauzal to discreetly transport a couple kilos out of the city; someone had snitched and he didn’t want any rival gangs to find his stash. But the people there, they… They didn’t know any better. There were mothers, kids. Innocent people, y’know? Just strays. I decided I’d come back for ‘em.”
Your stomach twists. “What happened?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was too late. By the time I got back, the whole goddamn city was on fire. The people were either dead in the streets or close to it. They didn’t do anythin’ wrong. They didn’t ask for any of it. But they were weaker, slower. I couldn’t walk ten feet without seein’ some kid wrapped up his mother’s arms, burned to a fucking crisp. So, I came back with weapons, marched into the gang’s territory, and I killed ‘em all.”
Days ago, you’d be afraid of the man whose back warms your belly where you stand just behind him. You would hesitate to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder the way you do now. But you curl your fingers over the muscled curve of his arm and his head falls back against you, spidering open, his gooey molten centre bared for you.
Joel. Just Joel.
“Did you see the painting?” you ask him quietly.
“I see everything you do,” he says. “It's beautiful, baby.”
You drop your gaze from his face in the mirror and set down the scissors on the vanity. “I can't pretend to understand what you've been through, Joel, and that makes things even harder. All I've ever wanted is to love you, to take your pain, and all this time there's been so much I never even knew about. And I’m sorry.”
Joel’s hand comes to cover yours, clasping your fingers. They’re warm, rough, but you do not sense the phantom blood. “If I’d told you from the beginning,” he says, “maybe I never would've hurt you in the first place. All those years I thought I was protecting you from myself, I was hurting you—the one thing I swore I would never fuckin’ do.”
“Joel…”
“Baby, don't apologise to me,” he says firmly, putting his lips to your knuckles. “Never apologise to me. And don't you let me off easy.”
“Have I ever?” you say with a halfhearted smile.
“Yeah,” he says, “the day you let me marry you.”
You scoff. “Oh, please. Wedding planning was hell on earth for you.”
“Just because I didn't like the photographer—”
“You didn't not like the photographer, Joel. You wanted to draw and quarter the photographer.”
He huffs like an angry dog, frowning at you in the mirror. “He kept puttin’ his goddamn hands on you.”
You laugh, brushing your thumb over the patch in his beard to indicate you're finished. “He was posing us, cowboy.”
Joel rises to his feet and closes the scissors away inside the drawer. “Posin’ you, sure.”
“He was afraid to touch you. Probably thought you’d take off his hand. And the pictures turned out great.”
“Yeah,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Way the sunlight caught in your hair, your eyes… I don't know. Beautiful.”
He was so shy the first time you kissed him. Cheeks flushed, eyes cast toward the ground, the wind ruffling his curls where it blew over the water. He was made in an artist’s image, you thought that night, the details pored over like paperwork, the sparkle in his eyes something the painter covets. But the portrait has never wilted in the years you've known him. It's grown older, sure, but it is not old. He's still shy sometimes; he still looks down when he smiles, and he still turns his cheek when you tell him he's beautiful.
“Do you…” He rubs his palms over his thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you wish you could go back?”
It's your turn to sit. You drop into his chair, your arms curling over the back of the seat, and watch him on his journey to his knees. “I don't know, Joel,” you tell him. “I think about that day and part of me wants the magic of it back. I want the breeze and the sun and the white canopy and I want you sliding this ring on my finger. But knowing what I know now…”
“You wouldn't have married me,” he says like it's the only answer. His eyes are wet and sad and they sparkle so bright in the day.
“I wish I’d known,” you say plainly, bringing his hand to your cheek and resting it over the cool wedding band. “I wish you would have told me everything. I wish you didn't make me question your love, even for a second. I wish you could have spared me all this anger I have—all this pain.”
He’s stone-still, a figure in a portrait, and you brush your fingers across his cheek. “But killing isn't what you are, Joel. It’s what you do. And I’m so tired of being angry.”
You say it fiercely, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth, your throat tightening. You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and meet your husband’s eye. “I love you more than my anger and my hurt have room for. And if I can love you this hard, if I can feel all this pain and still be that same girl who fell for the guy from the restaurant, then I can let myself get hurt all over again.”
Joel shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, baby…”
“I know it's never been an easy marriage,” you say, your voice breaking, “and I’m always travelling, and I know that I can get snippy and we bicker, but I wouldn't go back to that day, Joel, because I wouldn't change anything. Even if I have to feel all of this again, I wouldn't take it all back.”
His inhale shudders through him and your heart lurches out of your chest. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that falls. “I’ve hurt you too much to ever be worthy of what you've given me, sweetheart. I ain't a good man, or even a decent one. But fuck, if I can be good for you, I’ll pray to whatever God they want me to. I’ll scrape my knees and put my hands together and fake it ‘til I’m someone you want. I swear it, baby.”
“Joel.” You gently pry his hands away. “The life you've lived, the things you've been through… I can't change any of it. I can't be what you need all the time, and fuck, I want to be. I do, Joel. But this life is something you have to figure out yourself. Nobody should force you to believe in something that's only ever caused you pain.”
He never told you about the tattoo; you had to find it yourself. Shucking the hem of his shirt up over his head, two weeks separating the last time you’d been able to indulge in his body, you trailed your fingers up his back and paused at the sound of him hissing through his teeth.
“Easy, cowboy,” you cooed. “Are you all right?”
Wordlessly, he turned, taking your hand and lifting it to the reddish skin around the black ink. You gasped, your fingers jolting backward as if struck by a feeler of lightning.
“Joel,” you said tremulously, “please don't tell me you were drunk and this was an impulse decision.”
“Guys in the Marines would get tattoos that meant somethin’ to them. Easier to carry around with you when you're away.” Joel met your gaze again, your tearful eyes, and brought your knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me you want it gone, and it's gone.”
You shook your head, a laugh snaking past the lump in your throat. “Selfishly, I think it’s very sexy.”
He chuckled, kissing the breath from your lungs.
The memory is heavy in your stomach. It's something you'll have to roll around in your mouth a thousand times before the taste begins to dissolve.
“I need time, Joel,” you tell him. “I need to wrap my head around things. I… I can't be the girl you want right now.”
Joel brushes his thumb over your chin. “You have always been the girl I want,” he says. “If you need time, you have it. If you need a warm body, you have it. I’m whoever you want me to be. And if it ain't a husband, then… then that's okay. But I can’t promise you that I won't stop tryin’ to get my wife back. That’s not who I am.”
You sniffle, twirling the ring on his finger. “You’ll get sick of it. The waiting.”
He smiles so softly that you can feel a bud begin to bloom in the core of you, nourished by the way he keeps his hand on your thigh, absently rubbing the sore muscles there. “I waited my whole life for someone like you to come along—someone who could give me the purpose I’d been lookin’ for. I can wait another lifetime. I can wait a thousand.”
“You’ll resent me. You’ll start to hate me.” You don't know why it comes pouring out of you, but the gates are brittle wood and they snapped in the torrent. “I’m an angry drunk. I smell like paint half the time. I travel for work.”
Joel just studies your face, some inexplicable calm etching out the agony. “You take your coffee with milk and sugar and you can't stand it black, but you make it that way for me anyway. You sleep until noon when you're jet lagged and I sit up in bed just to watch you dream. You lie in my arms on the couch at home and ask me about my day even when you're noddin’ off. You dreamed about love when you were a little girl, the way it happens in books. You told me in your wedding vows that you'd found it with me. You think I could resent a girl like that?”
He smiles like it hurts and heals all at once, like it's a foregone conclusion, like you were meant to be loved by him.
“Time doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I know the girl I see in front of me now. Time won't change how much I love her.”
Flipping through the list of potential venues, Joel tucked into your side, you said, “We’ll have an outdoor ceremony. No churches.”
“Baby, I won't burst into flames if I step inside a church.” Joel playfully flicked his tongue over your nipple, obscured by his T-shirt. “Tommy, on the other hand… things he's done…”
You laughed, gently pushing at his head. “No churches,” you said again. “I don't care how much more we’ll have to pay or travel to get around it. You're my husband. You're my comfort, and I want to be what's comfortable for you. Understood?”
He looked up at you, his lips parted as if on the precipice of speech. You beamed, bringing his face to yours and kissing him deeply.
“But if the wind knocks over the gazebo, you're not getting your dick inside me on our wedding night,” you said against his mouth. Joel shook his head, yanking you on top of him and tearing the shirt from your body. Your binder landed with a flutter of loose pages to the floor.
“You didn't kill Cabrera.”
Joel lowers his eyes. “No. He got away.”
“So there's still a contract on your head.”
“For now.”
“So,” you say with a sigh, crossing the room and digging through your bag, “you have to go.”
“I have to go,” he echoes, following you like a shadow. “No matter what… I’m finishing it. Tonight.”
You pull the switchblade from your bag, open Joel’s fist, and place the cool wood hilt in his palm.
“Goddammit, Tommy,” he says under his breath. “He shouldn't have…”
“But he did,” you say. “He said I should be the one to have it. I think it should be yours.”
He curls his fingers over the hilt and flicks open the blade. It's light, but it seems to weigh him down. You rest your hand over his.
“Do what you need to do.”
He drops his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, soaking in this final breath exchanged between your silent bodies, dipping his fingers in the sanctified waters and coming out unscalded.
Bill calls Joel not a moment after he steps onto the street outside the Continental.
“That's a heavy price on your head.”
“Yeah, Bill, I know.” He breathes in the cool air, like cigarette smoke, his nostrils stinging. Trash and a new, fresh breeze carried into the city. Nothing that stays here ever thrives. “Stayed alive so far.”
“So I hear,” grunts the Manager, “and leaving behind a hell of a lot of cleanup.”
“I won't stick you with the check,” says Joel. “It's my business.”
“I don't conduct business inside this hotel,” says Bill, “which is why I won't tell you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is refuelling as we speak.”
Joel smirks, flicking out his cuff to check the time. “Any reason why you aren't tellin’ me this?”
“I like you, Joel. Despite myself.”
Silent, he waits for more.
“Besides,” Bill continues, “we live and die by honour. And you've saved my ass more than once.”
Joel snorts. “Which time are you thankin’ me for?”
“Just take my goddamn advice and leave this world. For good this time.”
“I will,” says Joel. “One way or another. Thanks, Bill.”
High above the ground, sitting in the alcove by the window, you watch storm clouds gather over the city, darkening the sky, the sun, and your Joel, so far away, slouching calmly toward whatever end he will choose.
It's raining.
The first time you kissed him, a downpour suddenly swept up the both of you and you'd scrambled underneath a bridge by the water. You both laughed until your ribs were sore, holding hands as you ran, a soaking wet playbill above each of your heads for cover.
“At least the show was good,” you shouted over the roar of the rainfall.
Joel was mesmerised into stillness by the colours of the traffic lights in your eyes, how they shifted over the planes of your face. Starting to think like an artist, you'd tease, and he'd lean into it, a planet circling its sun.
“It was all right,” he said, taking the playbill from your hand. “You could catch a cold. We should get a cab.”
“Always my hero.” You grinned up at him, your eyes scanning his face in that particular way they did, as if ingesting the sight of him to later put the lines to a canvas. “Did you have a good time, Joel? I mean, really. You won't offend me.”
He grimaced. “I, uh… well, see, I’m not the best judge, and… I guess—”
“Joel.”
There was a gleam in your eyes that could have been amusement or could have been hunger. He doesn't remember. He only saw you tilt your chin and lower your eyes to his mouth, to that one place the Sisters always called vulgar, obscene, a place meant only for His word—
“Can I kiss you, Joel Miller, or will you keep being all heroic?”
It was soft, gentle, exploratory. Your mouth opened his like a wound, setting the scorching blade of your lips to the gash, staunching the blood. You healed and burned him, one hand on his back beneath his jacket, the other cupping his face. It reminded him of the statue that lived in the theatre underneath the church where all the boys and girls trained. An angel cast in white marble, cradling the face of Saint Eustace. The statue was chipped where his eye was meant to be.
He remembers the way he shuddered when you touched him like that. He remembers the chill that started in his feet and crept up his spine. Something like coming alive, settling back into his own body—no longer a spirit haunting the shell of a home but a man.
You pulled back, but Joel curled his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you again, deeper, maybe a little too eager, too inexperienced—but you gasped, fingers curling in his hair, your body curving into his. Your noses bumped when you separated, and he remembers laughing.
The rain is nothing like that night. It's the lash of a whip across his face, seeping colour from the world instead of infusing it with light and movement. The water by the docks slaps against the concrete and boats rock and groan against their mooring. The lights of the city are distant now.
Joel steps out of the car.
He marches toward his target, cocking the pistol in his hand, and calls out a name. It gets lost in the roll of thunder across the sky and lodges in his chest.
Cabrera waits on the landing pad, looking wraithlike in a long black coat and a pair of leather gloves. His pilot fuels the helicopter nearby. Neither of them hear Joel’s voice in the air. The rising sun is what gives him away—or maybe the gunshot, as he lifts his arm and pulls the trigger.
It does not pierce flesh. It ricochets off one of the rotor blades. He had aimed slightly to the left.
The pilot scampers off into hiding, but the slash of the bullet through the rainfall is enough to get the attention Joel wants. Cabrera reaches inside the lining of his jacket and fires a single shot. Joel can feel it tear through skin and muscle, but it doesn't hurt.
“Joel,” greets Cabrera.
“Manuel.”
His chest heaves, his jacket soaked through, the cold sinking bone-deep.
“Let's finish this.”
The glimmer in those depthless black eyes is the panther at the hunt, relentless in its hunger, licking its chops at the sight of a challenge. For all the coward’s blood in his veins, it still pulses at the prospect of winning.
“Like men,” says Cabrera, tossing his gun aside at the same time Joel does. “With honour. No more guns.”
And it's laughable: the thought that there is any honour left in a world like this. A world where children are beaten and lashed and trained to hold a weapon too big for their hands. A world that burns villages, butchers families, and still claims that without rules, we live with the animals.
A world as unruly as this cannot be ruled. He never truly considered it until he saw the sad gleam in your eye, felt the empathetic touch of your hand on his face, and began to realise that maybe he should be furious.
But because he already knows he's going to win, Joel lets his opponent land the first blow.
The blood is tangy, near-sweet, as he swipes his forearm over his mouth and smears crimson on his shirtsleeve. It tingles faintly on his lips and crackles, warm as the melt from a late-winter snow. He feels it settle in the grooves of his palms, the hairs of his beard. He’s drowning in it.
Cabrera hits hard, but he’s slow. He’ll take five punches in the time it takes to wind up for one. Joel brings his arm up to block the next and delivers a blow to the sternum with his knee as his opponent’s guard drops. Wide open, Cabrera stumbles a few steps back, choking down the telltale wheeze of being winded. Joel marches forward, relentless in his crusade, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared like a mad wild dog, and bears his skull down on the side of the railing. Around them, the wind howls and lashes at his clothes, but he still hears the pained scream as if it were poured into his ears.
Cabrera drops to his knees, and Joel grabs him again, bashing his head repeatedly against the steel bar, the lapel of an Italian leather coat bunching between his fingers, tainted by rainwater and the fist of the man who's come to take his life.
And fuck, Joel wants to make it last.
But there's a knife in his opponent’s hand, conjured from the darkness of his coat pocket, and Joel must release him to avoid the lethal slash of the blade. Blinking blood and lashing rain from his eyes, the man lunges with a snarl, and Joel recovers from his lost victory, stopping him with his fingers curled around his opponent’s wrist. He brings his hand to the crook of Cabrera’s elbow and uses his leverage to snap the bone.
Yowling, Cabrera drops to his haunches, the knife clattering to the ground. Joel, chest heaving, stands over him, flexing his fingers as he readies his fist for the killing blow.
His name leaves Cabrera’s bloodied mouth, accompanied by a mouthful of crimson-tainted saliva spat on the ground at Joel’s feet.
“Joel…” He lifts his head, cradling his broken arm, and sneers. There’s a chilling glow of satisfaction in it. “Did you get your perfect life, Joel? Do you really think you’ve won? It won’t ever stop. Not after you’ve killed me, not after you’ve killed all of them. Is that what you’re going to do? Kill them all?”
He could. He has done far worse. He has spilled blood for gold coins and superficial alliances and someone else's revenge. He has stalked, stolen, lied, killed, and he could finish this now, so easily, with the flick of a blade.
But the song of death does not call to him now.
For so long he had trudged, unmoored, through heavy crimson blood. Like pulling at the seams of velvet, he'd sewn more lives into the sea of red and he never looked behind him to see the souls trying to pull him down at the ankles. He didn't know purpose until he saw the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes, until he tilted his head to the side and realised your smile was a new kind of beautiful from each angle.
The rain sticks to his lashes and he thinks of an old song of prayer the Sisters used to chant. He remembers curling his fingers around one of the rosaries that hung from the large cross in the cathedral and wincing in anticipation. He thought he would burn—that the metal would leave a red stain on his palm. It never did.
Maybe that's why he never believed. Surely, if there was a God, Joel Miller would have burned by now.
He thinks of shopping for furniture and date nights and lazy mornings, tangled in bedsheets. Your mouth, smiling against his, whispering I love you across the breakfast table. Dancing—or swaying, more like—under the kitchen light. Loving easily, never feeling as if he must grab hold of the cross and burn himself upon it just to feel.
Joel turns the switchblade in his hand, lurches forward, and plunges the knife into Cabrera’s chest.
There is no noise but a faint gurgle from his mouth, his hand weakly rising to grasp the hilt. Joel drops to his knees and fishes Cabrera’s cell phone from his pocket.
“The blade is stuck in your aorta,” he says. “If you pull it out, you’ll bleed out and die.” He puts the rain-slick screen in front of Cabrera’s face. “Pull the contract.”
A few feeble taps are all it takes, and Joel Miller is no longer a target. His name glares back at him on the screen, from two million to nothing, not the boogeyman any longer but something akin to a civilian. Joel tosses the phone into the water and turns to leave.
“See you in hell, Joel,” Cabrera chokes, still grasping the shiny wooden hilt of the blade.
He barely hauls himself into the car, which chokes to a rumbling start. There's blood seeping through his shirt where Cabrera shot him, and his fingers shake as they pull away from the wound, the red so bright, so alive. Joel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.
If there’s a God, he thinks, I hope you fucking hear me now.
Tell me that we don’t get what we deserve. Because there is nothing I deserve in this world if I cannot keep what I’ve found.
His fingers trembling, smearing blood across the screen, he makes a call.
And your voice on the line, soft, sticky with sleep, whispering his name—just his name: Joel?—is what wrenches the first sob from his throat.
Joel, you say, like it means something, like it's precious. A jewel pressed from dusty black coal. Come back to me. Come home.
So he does.
#fic: helen#kiwisbell's fics#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou fic#joel miller angst#joel miller au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#john wick au
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Can you make a fem reader whose is a martial artist with a yan bonten but she doesn’t let them get her easily
ik it's been a while y'all but don't worry bc i will be getting through your requests!!
idk much about martial arts so I’m just gonna do my best with the fighting scene. hope you enjoy!
also, why am i more inclined to write when i’m high 😩
ꨄFight For Your Lifeꨄ
Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Au
❦You’ve been on the run from your childhood friends❦
Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader
Not fully proofread
MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR & AO3 UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!
I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.
Notice:
✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.
✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.
✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.
✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.
✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable
✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.
Enjoy!
Fight For Your Life
The platforms of your shoes slap against the wet concrete, puddles of water splashing as you ignore the rain falling on your skin. Your bloody clothes hugging against your body uncomfortably as the street lights glow amongst the dark sky, the empty buildings sitting under as you run past with squinted eyes. Your lips are apart as you take in quick breaths, though you tried to keep the panting steady. The adrenaline running through your veins made it easier to ignore the goosebumps caused by the cold air hitting your dermis and the red liquid running down your nose.
You didn’t know how long it had been since you ran from your totaled car. It was amazing how you slipped away, not expecting the driver of the car to have died on impact. You knew exactly who sent the sheep, snarling as you remember the men you couldn’t seem to escape for long. Although you made it far enough to stay in a motel a great distance away from Japan, you still had a long way to go.
I’m so tired of this shit.
It’s frustrating having to travel from place to place, continuously spending a limited amount of money just to be free from the grasp of the yakuza. If you would’ve known that you would be abducted as an adult by your childhood friends who disappeared without any warning, you wouldn’t have become close to them in the first place. To have been so devoted to them and the rest of the gang, only for them to abandon you and reappear without warning, snatching you up and treating you as property rather than a person, murdering most of your loved ones without a care of how that could affect you. Not only is the situation painful but demeaning. How could they treat you like that? No explanation for the disappearance nor the behavior, not that you needed it. Who they are now explains everything you need to know.
Ignoring the tightness of your chest became harder as you slowed your pace, halting your movements before bending over, hands on your knees. You gripped the fabric of your pants as your eyes closed, head dropping as you struggled to steady your breathing. Your tears of frustration mix with the droplets of rain, finally lifting your body and rubbing your sleeve against your eyes, only for the moisture to return.
Your eyes widen as bright lights flash behind you before you swiftly turn your body to face the car speeding toward you. The loud engine roars as the vehicle darts down the hill through the fog. You search around your surroundings for a good hiding spot amongst the empty stores. You huff before running behind a structure closest to you. You find a dumpster, cursing as you open it and climb in, ignoring your discomfort for bacteria as you cover your nose and close yourself into the darkness, praying to not feel anything crawling on you as you rub your face with both hands, smearing the blood from your nose.
You breathe in through your nose and release from your mouth, ignoring the overwhelming stench as you listen for anyone close. The pouring rain made it difficult to hear any footsteps if someone were to walk near. You closed your eyes as you pant into your cupped hands quietly. You patiently stay in your spot for what feels like a while, planning to hide in the dumpster all night long if you have to. The phone you bought when you ran from Bonten was lost in the wreck, hidden behind the broken machinery and shattered glass so you had no way to contact anyone to help, not that you knew anyone. You also didn’t know if the police would help you anyway considering Bonten has some of them wrapped around their fingers.
The top of the dumpster is snatched open, rain pouring as the sound of your screaming covers the droplets landing on the full sacks of trash. You struggle against the hold on your wrist as you’re yanked out of the hiding place, feet meeting the ground.
“The more you struggle the harder this will be for you!” The man growled, attempting to hold you in place. When he pulls you toward him with his grip tightening, you straighten your posture before pulling your head back and slamming it against his forehead causing him to release you as he grabs his head in pain. Running on nothing but adrenaline, you dash away from the man as you ignore the throbbing ache of your head, only to run in the direction of two more men speeding towards you.
“Shit!” You hiss before turning back around.
“Get her idiot or it’ll be our asses!” One of the men exclaimed on his way toward you as he faced the original male whose face is still scrunched in pain.
Just as you were about to pass the man who attacked you, he reached for you in which you dodged before continuing to make your escape. Before you could succeed, you are snatched by the collar of your top and yanked back. You gasp as you feel the sting from the sudden pressure on your neck, though your shock doesn’t last long.
“Gotcha you bit-!” He grunts and bends over, releasing you in the process when you elbow his stomach with as much strength as you could muster, so much so you release your own throated shriek. Before you could run the next man comes forth, pulling his arm back before landing a punch on your cheek. Your face hangs to the side in reflex as your palm immediately meets your cheek, eyes wide as you wince in pain.
Before he could make another move, you use your fist to back hand the man’s face before landing a punch on his cheek with the same arm, his body wobbling back as he tries to keep balance. You shove him just as the third male comes to ambush you from the side, both of you landing painfully on the ground with you at the bottom. The puddle of water mixed with dirt and grime splashes as you thrash in his hold as he grasps your wrists and forces them next to your head, squeezing as you howl in agony.
Seeing an opening all the while your face is scrunched with fresh blood oozing down your cheek, you take the opportunity to knee the man’s midsection. His eyes widen as his grip loosens, mouth hanging open with a silent scream. You make eye contact before shoving him off of you. Before you can pick yourself up, the original man places the platform of his shoe on your stomach before pressing down hard. Your nails claw at his covered ankles as he glares down at you with a smirk.
“Oh? What is this?” You watch as the color drains from the man’s face. Your own eyes widen at the realization that you had just been caught.
Your head slowly turns to the side, your own eyes meeting two pairs of purple orbs. A certain mullet haired man tsked as he stood in place, flicking the cigarette butt from his fingers before lifting the black gun held by his other hand. A blaring shot echoed in the air, your eyelids met just in time before the red liquid could splatter in your eyes.
As a result, a weight was lifted off of your stomach as you opened your eyes, watching as the other two men had an expression of bewilderment, freezing in their spots as they watched the bloody corpse drop to the ground, pieces of the brain and skull lying all around the wet ground. You stare at the situation with wide eyes as you slowly sit up, leaning on your trembling arms as you watch both males take a step back with their hands in surrender.
“Come on boys, don’t cower on us now.” The tall man says, running his fingers through his short streaked hair, a sly smile on his face as his other hand holds the black umbrella both him and his brother stood under.
“Pathetic.” Rin states before he turns on his heel, slowly walking away from the scene, Ran follows alongside. They don’t give you another glance.
Escaping your trance, you went to jump up, only for your arms to be grabbed by the two men. You thrash as your feet lifts from the ground, your biceps slightly sliding against their wet hands as the rain continues pouring. You didn’t stop your struggle even when nearing the familiar black suv that caused your heart beat to accelerate. Sweat mixed with the droplets sliding against your forehead as the pressure in your chest became more prominent the closer you got to your entrapment. You pull your arms with all your might against the growling males’ holds, attempting to use your feet to kick them, only for them to dodge and grips tighten.
“Don’t do this.” You plead, bargaining for your freedom.
“We got no choice, lady.” The guy on your left responded.
“You have to have a wife or daughter or something, guys! Please!” Your eyes burn with moisture caused by frustration, your eyebrows furrow as you glance between the men who hold you.
“Shut up!” The guy on your right hissed. “We’re doing this to keep them safe. Your well being is worth nothing to us so just accept your fate.”
Your head hangs low as you’re dragged to the car, the tinted window rolling down as a blur of white reaches your peripheral, right before the men holding you halt in front of the vehicle. You hear footsteps before a tight grip reaches your chin, forcing you to meet golden eyes that seem to glow through the rainy night. A blonde strand hanging on the left side of his face, the rest of his black locks pulled back in a messy ponytail. His empty orbs bore into you as you seem to internally cower from the strange expression.
Your discomfort increases as time goes on, the sound of the rain hitting the pavement masking the silence as you continue to hold eye contact. The corners of his lips curve upward before you can comprehend his next move. The tight grip released on your left arm before you hear a thud against the ground. Your eyes widened as you eye the injured male, turning your gaze back to the man who gives a sheepish smile, rubbing his bruised knuckles as he chuckled.
“You really know how to make a guy angry, Y/n.” He scratched the back of his neck before looking to the side as his smile dropped. “Running off like that wasn’t cool.”
You scoff before shaking your head angrily. You couldn’t believe his deflecting. They treat you like a pet. It’s degrading and abusive. The lack of respect as close as they were before is disgusting. Before you could respond, the cocking of a gun snatched your attention away from the tiger tattooed male in front of you and towards a certain pink haired man who now stood outside of the car. The barrel of his gun aimed right at your torso, your body tightening as you lose your breath.
His scars stretch as he snarls shifting his aim quickly before pulling the trigger. A loud shot rings out, echoing throughout the empty street. Your breathing slows down as the pounding of your heart is the only sound you can hear, followed by a ringing in your ears as the final grip releases you to the ground. The water pellets fall on your face as you feel pressure on your front as you stare at the sky, a warm liquid forming under your torso as your lips hang slightly apart.
You barely hear the car doors opening as your hearing goes in and out, five figures hovering over you as they observe your figure. Crouching down closest to your face, the platinum haired male who gives you an expression of emptiness uses a hand to caress the left side of your face, thumb tracing your temple. He leans over, his warm breath connecting with your ear.
“If you won’t let me have you, death will.”
As your hearing comes back and vision clears you watch as the men with solemn gazes turn and leave your vicinity. Mikey pulls back before picking himself up and following his men. You listen as you hear footsteps fade and the car doors open and close. The engine roars before they speed away, leaving you on the wet street.
You were in slight shock considering you couldn’t believe you had just been shot. You knew they were capable of it but the thought of yourself being murdered is unsettling. You stay on the ground for a moment, relieving yourself of the panic attack you just had before you slowly sit up and eye your surroundings. Seeing nobody in the area, you look down and pull your shirt up, grabbing the busted sack that once held fake blood from your cushioned vest. Staring at the sack you took a deep breath before releasing.
This is perfect because now they think I’m dead.
Although you were surprised about the gunshot, you wore a bulletproof vest, along with the fake blood sacks since you had escaped because you knew that there was a chance you might die trying to leave them. Your hands couldn’t help the trembling as you eyed the bloody puddle under you. Seeming to escape the trance, you hopped up from your seat and began to walk in the opposite direction from where you came.
The car’s atmosphere was thick with tension and grief. Although all the men held the same stoic and zoned out expression, their emotions were going haywire with their decision to kill you. Do they regret it? No. They don’t regret it as your punishment nor as a blockage for you to be able to move on without them. Do they wish you had just listened so it wouldn’t come to this? Indeed. Kazutora wipes the stray tear as his head turns to the side, eyebrows furrowed as he leans back in his seat with crossed arms and a crossed leg. Sanzu slowly cleans the gun used to take your life, wiping in slow yet rough strokes, all the while trying to focus on everything but the memory of your body landing on the ground. Now that his anger was gone, he lacked the adrenaline he had originally.
The Haitani brothers sit next to each other in the back of the black suv, Ran smoking a cigar with a tired expression as well as Rin removing a flask from his suit’s jacket and throwing his head back for a good sip. Mikey sat in the passenger’s seat, eyeing through the windshield with nothing but an empty void filling the inside of his chest. He feels nothing and everything at the same time. You used to be so close to all of them. It was a shame but he knew that he couldn’t allow you to live without him. You chose this. This is your fault.
A sudden ringing interrupts everyone as Mikey grabs the phone and hands it to Kakucho who uses one hand to direct the wheel.
“Hello?”
“You what?!”
Everyone’s eyebrows furrow at his reaction. He lowers the phone before handing it to Mikey with a concerned expression. Mikey sets the phone on his ear as he listens to the other person.
“Boss, her body is gone. She’s nowhere to be found.” Kokonoi says as he crouches down to get a closer look at the busted sack. Using a gloved hand to pick it up before it hangs from his fingers and the remaining liquid leaks.
“I have a feeling she faked her death and has escaped.”
Mikey stares ahead with a more focused expression, his eyes slightly wider than usual as he narrows his gaze.
“Find her, now.”
You eye the two lines with wide eyes. Your hands tremble as your fingers barely hold up the test.
“I-I’m pregnant?!” You hiss. You hop from the toilet and slam open the stall door, tossing it into the trash before walking to the sink and recollecting your memory as you try to search for how this could’ve happened because you genuinely had no remembrance of any sexual encounter in the last few months.
“I-I can’t feel…” The tingling in your limbs causes them to limp as you attempt to move your body around, though hands around your wrists prevent you from budging. Legs sit in between yours as the person on top of you leans over to your ear.
“How much of a dosage did you give her this time, Sanzu?” Kazutora asks before he licks a slow trail from your neck to your ear. You squirm under him as you try to find an escape before your body slightly shuts down and you become still as your eyes become heavier.
“G-guys…” You whisper, trying to come back to reality as you feel him adjust on top of you. Your mouth hangs open in a silent grunt as you feel a firm pressure enter your vagina.
“Enough.” The blue eyed male responds while rubbing his thumb along your forehead, taking in your scrunched nosed expression as Kazutora slowly thrusts into you.
“Fuck.” He whispers as he pressed his cock against your cervix, holding it there as his hands snake to the back of your head and neck, squeezing before he pulls his hips back to repeat the same process.
You shut your eyes tight as the girth stretches you, a stinging sensation surrounding your core before your pussy engulfs his cock perfectly. The pain switched to a conflicting pleasure that your own drugged body couldn’t handle. Your head falls back as Sanzu leans over and pulls you into a heated kiss, while Kazutora holds you tightly, his head on the other side of your neck as he accelerates his pace, hips rocking in a steady rhythm purposefully aiming deep against your g-spot.
Ran watched the display to the side with his brother, enjoying the show as they patiently waited for their turn with Bonten’s signature doll. He man - spreads while sitting with his arms resting against the top of the sofa, one arm slightly behind Rin who has his arms crossed. Both brothers ignore their erections as their pants become tighter, listening to the sounds you make as well as the juices colliding.
Mikey sits in a chair, similar to a throne next to the sofa, eyeing the session with his legs spread, leaning over to where his arms rest on his legs. From this angle, you both make eye contact when Sanzu pulls back.
“P-please stop!” You whine out as tears fall, hoping for Mikey to take control of the situation. Unfortunately, the only response you get are Sanzu’s thumbs smearing your tears and groaning from Kazutora in your ear.
Suddenly, he stops his thrusting and pulls back. He sets your legs on his shoulders as he looks down at you with a glazed over expression, red covering his face along with sweat as he repositions himself before leaning over your thighs and thrusting hard. His pace accelerates once more as he brings you both closer to your release. His forehead rests on yours as he thrusts his hips rhythmically against you. His cock slides in and nearly out of your walls as the head kisses your g-spot repeatedly.
“You're taking his cock so well, sweet girl.” The pink haired male whispers against your ear before nibbling the lobe, his hand sliding on your chest towards your neck before circling his fingers around the surface and slightly squeezing. The stimulation becomes too much, the sensation overwhelming as it mixes with the effects of the drug. Your hips meet his deep thrusts as you cry out.
“So. *thrust* Fucking. *thrust* Good, baby.” Kazutora’s raspy soft spoken words meet your ear as his eyes bore into yours. Biting his lip, he watches as your hands meet his chest as his grip tightens on your legs, along with the thrusts forcing you into having a violent orgasm along with sending him into his own as he moans out your name and his hips move sloppily, riding out both of your orgasms as sweat drips from your skin.
Your hand shakily reached your mouth as you recall when they would drug you up and proceed with sexual acts against your will. You have no clue which of them would even be the father. You knew you had to figure something out but you just didn’t know what. You quickly leave the public restroom and ask to use the cashier’s phone. Once you dial the number, you set it to your ear.
“Draken? C-can you please help me?”
“Ugh, girl come here!” You sigh as you eye the mess left from the little devil.
“What is this?” You question your child, eyeing her golden eyes as you point at the red paint that spilled all over your carpet.
“U-uh, I don’t know mama.” The eight year old responds with a cheeky smile. You shake your head, irritated because of the mess but you breathe out a sigh considering the paint is washable and will be able to be cleaned.
“Yeah, okay. You’re gonna help me clean this up.” You shake your head as your daughter nods. You chuckle to yourself before stating, “And don’t try to lie to me anymore, I can see right through you.”
Your daughter shrugs before leaving to grab some of the supplies. You couldn’t believe how much she grew to look like Kazutora. It was haunting and hard to deal with at times but she had nothing to do with it so the love for your child was enough distraction from how she was created. Before you could follow and help her, you heard a knock on your door. Your eyebrows furrow, not expecting anyone to have appeared so you ignore it.
Once the knocks stop, the ringing of your phone catches your attention. You snatch the device from your pocket and lift it to your ear.
“Hello?” You say to the unknown number.
“You have something of mine, and I’ve come to get it.” Before you could react, your windows were shattered as you crouched down and covered yourself. Immediately going into action, you run to the storage closet in the hallway to grab your child.
“Mama?” She cries out in surprise at the commotion.
“We have to go now!” You snatched her with one hand and pressed a contact with another.
“D-Draken! They broke i-!” Before you could finish, the phone was knocked out of your hand and you were forced to the ground, releasing your child in the process as she’s snatched by a person you hadn’t wanted to see.
“Awe, you really do have my eyes.” Kazutora says warmly with a smile as he holds your child in his arms, the poor girl crying in confusion and fear.
You're cuffed before you’re forced to stand up and face five of the men you never wanted to see.
“M-Mikey, please! She needs me! Don’t t-take her from me!” You yell in hopelessness, the tears falling uncontrollably as you watch Kazutora caress your daughter’s hair. The leader only stares down at you before turning on his heel and walking away, motioning for the other men to snatch you and follow.
“Wow, Y/n. You know, you really had us fooled.” Rin says as he grabs one arm. Ran stands on the other side and mimics his brother’s hold on the opposite arm.
“It’s silly really. We knew only an hour after you escaped and followed you up until this point.”
“You should be thanking the king for not killing you on the spot.” Sanzu growls with his head turned slightly back to make eye contact with you.
“On the bright side we can all be a family, now.” Kazutora beamed.
Truth be told though they would never say it out loud, they were all thankful that you hadn’t actually died. They found it humorous that you thought you could escape their radar at all. Now having been caught, you could only stare ahead, in hopes that if you comply, you could possibly come up with a plan to safely take your child and completely leave your past behind.
#yandere tokyo revengers#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo rev smut#bonten#bonten x reader#bonten x you#yandere bonten#bonten trio#sano mikey manjiro#sano manjiro x reader#kazutora hanemiya#kazutora x reader#sanzu haruchiyo#sanzu x reader#ran haitani#ran x reader#rin haitani#rin x reader#manjiro x reader#manjiro x you#kazutora x you#sanzu x you#ran x you#rin x you
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Saw some ppl talking about Reverse Robins and i had thoughts
Talking abt u guys @eldritchdreamss @brucewaynehater101
Why kill Tim when you could kill baby Jason? What I want is for all of them to keep their own backstories and personalities (Developed in line with the story of course) So ofc i had to write a 1,000 word brainrot abt it.
(Also i'll only be going over the main 4 batbros for now i will add more later but these guys are the ones im most passionate about so here we go)
Damian
Let Damian come in, desperate to be of use and be worthy of his father, only for a softer, less jaded bruce (since jason hasnt died yet) to help him open up his heart and let him act as a kid. With no competition for so long, I imagine he and Bruce get along very well while he works with him. Yeah, they need to work on the no killing deal and Damian's... i guess impulse control? But i think it would be easier with very intensely focused reparenting; no distractions of other kids you know? No favoring or anything.
I see Damian growing up as a stoic, jaded adult. He's had a rough life. Maybe he sticks with the vigilante business. but I really love headcanons where he gets out of it, and focuses on something calmer, like his art. (I do appreciate and love the veterinarian Damian AUs, but im going for FULL calmness, you know? And doctor/vet work is Not calm lol)
So yeah, maybe he grows a real passion for heroism, maybe he doesn't? Maybe he goes on to be an artist and that's just what he does. Bro is ready to settle down as a scarred, veteran trophy husband and i adore him for that.
(Sorry lol i just love Damian and i love the idea of him growing out of both of his parent's legacies. Let him live his own life!!! He fights so so hard for at least 15 years. ALL 15 years of his life. He deserves to have some peace.)
Tim
Tim i think would need a much different story to join the Batfam. He still starts out as a stalker who follows batman and. . . . . . . Redimar (meaning Redemption iykyk (I just spend 17min researching names rip)) at night, takes photos, etc... Since Damian doesn't die, maybe he finds Tim? and like, tim is like 11 and Damian is 17 or 18. He's started going out as Redimar less and less, not that B really minds? In fact hes probably happy for his son so...
But then Damian finds Tim, and now he has to keep going out because he can't let this kid get himself killed like this. He would hold himself accountable since hes the only reason Tim keeps going out so much- also i imagine Tim follows Redimar more than Batman.
Cue a classic Tim Joining The Batfam plotline. They get to know each other better, get a grasp on Tim's situation, Damian finally introduces Tim to Bruce... (Probably something like Dami: "Father, this is my new brother. Timothy, say hello to Father," Tim: "Hello, Father," Dami: "Perfect." Bruce: "*falls off the batchair*)
Anyway, so, Tim ends up kinda just merging with the Waynes. They start training him, its all good and nice, and Tim makes his own little hero team unlike Damian, which is actually pretty interesting here; its Tim who made the first young hero team. Damian only ever had Jon (Superboy 1 in this!!) and he finds Young Just Us and becomes a great leader and its all fine and dandy.
Tim and Damian get along well. Damian is the sage older brother whos kinda distant, but only because he has such high emotional walls (but secretly a softy). He is very much like Bruce- nope, nevermind, hes definitely worse than Bruce in this AU, since Bruce is depicted as being much more agreeable before Jason's death, you know? So yeah, Damian is the emotionally constipated bitch in the fam and we love him for that. But hey!! Tim does manage to get through his walls! And Bruce does sometimes too!! (Tho i imagine Bruce and Damian's relationship to be very.. idk let me try to expalain. Dami: "Father." Bruce: "Son :)" Dami: "Tt." Bruce: *nods* "Hrn." Dami: "Hmph." Bruce: "Hm.") DO U PICK UP WHAT IM PUTTING DOWN--- lmfao. They hardly need words.
Tim ends up growing up very very capable. Once his parents die, he gets a little jaded, but hes still Tim. He and Damian become kind of an... ice prince duo? If you get what I mean. But Tim is the one whos actually the ice prince, Damian is secretly a HUGE softie. He is Delicate and Tim protects him lmfao.
Jason
Jason comes along like he does in canon. Has the same backstory. Tries to steal the Batmobile's wheels. Tim is sleeping over at Damian's flat for the night, so its just Bruce. They bond. Shit happens. Jason joins the fam.
I don't imagine them not getting along, but they don't immediately hit it off either. Jason is wary of all of them for a time, but he ends up warming up to Damian pretty fast after realizing what a softie he is. He pokes fun at Damian and Damian just freaking takes it lmao. Hes an adult he cannot be disturbed. Bro has seen too much and he finds Jason adorable. (Dami: "You were never this cute, Timothy." <- he is lying. Tim: *offended* "What the fu- flip!?" Jason: "Lmao Tim just say fuck." Dami: *deadpan stare* Tim: "JASON NO DONT SAY THE FUCK WORD-") ahem.
anywho and then Jason dies rip skill issue ratio.
The whole batfam is heartbroken. Genuinely shattered. Jason was a light in their lives. Not that they were WITHOUT any light, but Jason was the epitome of a sunshine child.
It's been too long since Damian has killed someone. Bro's god oodles and oodles of trauma. He can't bring himself to kill the Joker.
but Tim can.
It's a whole dramatic thing; Damian feels awful that he made his- now only- little brother kill. Bruce is hella upset but feels responsible for not seeing how badly both of his kids were handling the death of their brother. Tim goes a little off the deep end.
Things turn out.... okay. sort of. but not really. Tim changes his hero name to Red Cardinal. He feels pretty lost. Maybe he stumbles into Ra's al Ghul or smthn idk maybe smthn happens there perhaps. Maybe Damian has to put on Redimar again and rescue him? But its less of a rescue and more of a "Stop joining the dark side Tim jesus christ-" (and it does work).
They go home. Tim gets a boyfriend or two. Damian falls into his art. Bruce is throwing himself into work. They're all kind of a mess, but they keep moving.
and then
Dick
(lmao that sounded wrong)
ahem; and then the circus comes to town. The batfam- well, Tim, Damian, and Bruce- all decide to get together to do something fun. Take the opportunities given, yk? So they go to the circus together.
Wham bam rip the falling Flying Graysons.
They see Dick, breaking apart, and they know they have to do something. Bruce is the first to move. Then Tim. Damian is the last.
It's pretty quick getting Dick home, since Bruce is already a foster parent cuz of Tim yk. So Dick doesn't have to suffer in Juvie at all really. But that doesn't change the fact that he is ANGRY.
Dick is SO angry. he wants to kill the person who murdered his parents. He knows what he saw.
The fam of course do their best to investigate. Mostly Tim, who feels unworthy of being around an innocent little kid after his whole.... villain era, i suppose lol. (ofc Dick thinks Tim doesnt like him lol misunderstanding arc GO)
The whole "Dick accepts that justice is better than murder kinda maybe FOR NOW" storyline happens, and Dick becomes the conniving, bright, little Robin we all know and love. (Thinking of the Young Justice Cartoon Robin (but not the characters- just Dick's character) aaaand
Womp womp GUESS WHOS BACK
Jason's Back
but i'll leave that for later.
#my writing#personal#batfam#reverse robins#batman#damian wayne#jason todd#tim drake#bruce wayne#dick grayson#batbros#batkids#batfam fanfic
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Insert Your Name (12)
Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader
Link to part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven!
Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!
Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi
7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY
I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”
I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.
It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.
You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?
The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.
“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”
You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.
“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”
He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.
“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”
The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.
“The previous one failed, though.”
“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”
You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.
“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”
“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”
You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”
The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.
“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”
“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”
“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”
His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.
My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.
Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.
Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.
Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.
Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.
“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”
“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”
“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”
Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”
“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.
“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.
He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.
“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”
“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”
He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”
You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.
“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”
It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.
It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.
You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.
“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”
“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”
“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”
“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”
Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.
“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”
“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”
You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.
“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”
“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”
“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”
His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.
“Jade? I was joking—”
He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.
“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”
“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”
“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”
Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .
“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”
Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#jade leech#twst jade#twst x reader#jade leech x reader#twst fanfic#mafia au#floyd leech#multi chap fic#slow burn has burned#thanks for reading so far!
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Do you have any Gabriel salt fics? I sometimes feel like you salt more on Adrien than him
Of course I salt on Adrien. It's like adding a bit of salt to a bland dish to give it flavor because it's still worth the time and effort even if you don't particularly like it otherwise.
Gabriel is just shit. There's no point trying to add salt to make it appetizing. I've written entire essays on how much of an idiot he is. I expect nothing from this character.
But if you want to know my stories that make fun of Gabriel or call out his stupidity or horribleness...
Gabriel's Lament - where Gabriel makes the Wish and it doesn't go well for him. Plagg manages to take some revenge, however little he can get.
Take Out The Trash - Dolls AU where Gabriel tries to throw Littlebug away and she does not take kindly to this.
My-Crack-Ulous: The Movie Trailer - Just crack that pokes fun at the setup and Gabriel in general.
Papa's Day - Another Dolls AU where Gabriel sucks as a Dad and Adrien realizes he's a better one.
My-Crack-Ulous: Akumaid - More crack and Gabriel suffers.
Dolls at Play - More Dolls and more callout specifically at Gabriel.
Guardian Assistant Kevin - Where Villain Assistant Kevin takes Marinette as a client and calls out a lot of things including Hawk Moth.
Banned Movie List - More Dolls where they watch movies and get ideas.
Akuma-ed - More Dolls where Gabriel tries to akumatize the Dolls and it does not work out for him.
Oneshot where Gabriel messes with human-turned-Chaton and Adrien does NOT approve
The Hero of Paris - a one shot pointing out how stupid it was for Gabriel to transform on a TRAIN.
...
So yeah, a number of them are Dolls AU, but they really don't like him and he deserves it.
I've also got Gabriel essays and a tag I've often used literally called "Gabriel Is An Idiot"/"Hawk Moth Is An Idiot", but not sure if you want those.
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𝚙𝚝.𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆
⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡
synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?
warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby, domsub!abby, sexual themes, jealousy, fluff, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.
an: guys. this has been such a crazy ride, thanks for the support on both of my stories. it means so much to me. sorry for the wait... lets get it.
CLICK HERE.
(no y/n)
Abby watched from the row behind you, observing how you chewed on the end of that neon #2 pencil. She could tell by the bobbing of your leg that you were nervous and stuck on a specific question. It was the same during studying — chew, bob, sigh. Almost on cue, a frustrated sigh left your throat. She knew it was her fault that this was happening.
She knew neither of you studied long enough for you to feel confident on this exam. Well, that’s what she kept trying to convince herself, she was already finishing up the last page. Although her pencil glided on the paper effortlessly, she couldn’t help but be distracted by your indecisiveness on the math equations and multiple-choice questions. The once full eraser had been subsided to pure metal scrapping into the pages.
The time on her watch read ten minutes left until the end of the exam and you were only on page two. Studying had become harder for you with Abby around. It wasn’t only the dating component it was mostly the difference in your skills. Her ability to memorize vocabulary and complete math problems without thinking twice about them made you academically insecure. While you averaged low B’s and high C’s, she had a 4.0 and made it look easy. The clock's ticking distracts you from the problem you are trying to solve. It was one you and Abby worked on multiple times, yet you’re frozen, unsure how to solve it. As everyone flicks their pages to finish, you just … froze.
“Okay. Pencils down.” Your professor said just moments after you started a new equation. Your jaw dropped slightly and you squeezed your eyes shut. Abby shook her head, not at you specifically, but herself. You had practically moved in and the nights that would typically be spent studying were now used to learn more about each other beyond your friendship. Realistically, Abby understood that those moments would be worth more than a grade in the long run. But a part of her also resented getting this comfortable, ultimately impacting you. The feelings clashed within her. The heat forming inside of you could only be described as embarrassment. Why was it like your brain suddenly lost all power to its systems? It wasn’t unusual for you to skip a few questions but this was completely unlike you.
You chew on your cuticles and fold the mostly blank pages and pass them down to the front, doing the same for your classmates. Their pages crumbled with computation answers and confidently filled bubbles exposed your shortcomings. You should feel relieved that the test is over but you don’t. A heavy anchor grounded you but you were still floating. Abby met you down in your row where you saw her concealing another A-plus smirk. Once you both exited into the hall Abby’s hand finds the center of your back and she begins to pet it slowly. You shrug her away gently.
“Don’t.” You sigh.
Abby knew it would set you off but she did it anyway to show you she sees you. The blonde’s brain was moving at a rapid pace. She so deeply wanted to ask you about the challenging problems and the scenarios on the quiz. Her translucent lashes tapped frantically as she imagined the sheet of paper behind her eyes.
“I feel good about this one.” She finally says.
“Good. I really did not do well. It’s — whatever. Right?”
Abby looks to you and she couldn’t lie and tell you that it’s not just whatever. It’s your future. Both of your futures — together — it was important to Abby that her partner was just as successful as her.
“You should be happy that you did your best but understand that if you did do as bad as you think, it’s worth asking for a makeup to understand the material.” She suggested.
You hated when she got like this, rigid. Her posture was straight, her mouth set hard, and no softness found anywhere on her face. The regime her father instilled in her stayed and it was evident in moments like this.
“Abby, sometimes I really need you to just listen to me and be rational later.”
A chill followed down her spine following your sharp comment.
“Maybe we shouldn’t study together anymore.” She muttered.
Part of you wanted that to be a joke but knew it wasn’t. The night before proved itself to be deeply uneventful for the both of you.
“You’re distracting me.” You groan as you’re reviewing flashcards on Abby’s bed, the first mistake. She was wearing a thin, white tank top and a pair of loose black sweats, untied, on her hips. Her hair was drying from the shower you two just took and so was her body. The outline of her features was accentuated by the water being absorbed by the cotton. She was so casually beautiful and simply yours. The bed shifted behind you, her weight bending the mattress inwards, as she crawled towards you.
“Am I?” She asks, using the tip of her tongue to playfully lick a stripe of slick up towards your lobe. An instant bubble of relief popped inside of you. “Okay. Okay.”
Abby couldn’t take her eyes away from you. She had seen you in this robe every night now but it was something about how it was gliding with you. As well as your skin's glint from your body oil makes you look regal. You sat at the base of the bed while Abby retreated towards the headboard, leg tucked under her butt. She took off three inches of hair and it looked so fresh, carving out her face perfectly, and highlighting her stiff jawline. “How about we make a deal?” She said brazenly.
“What?”
“For each answer I get right you remove something?”
“Abby,” you chuckle, not denying her advances.
You thumb the index cards in your hand and turn to tie your eyes with hers.
“First question, the section is Anatomy and Physio. What best describes endocrine glands?” You ask.
Abby taps her chin as if she’s searching for the answer. “They secrete chemicals into the blood, growth, metabolism, sexual development and function.”
She raises her eyebrows and shoots her eyes towards your robe. A deal is a deal so you remove the silk, leaving you in your two-piece pajama set. Abby notices the goosebumps lining the outsides of your shoulders and can’t help but desire to rub them warm.
“Question number two. Anaerobic respiration can lead to a burning sensation caused by which molecule?”
“Easy,” she scuffed. “Lactic Acid.”
Her teeth appeared behind her Cheshire grin as your top found its way onto her floor.
“Good job.”
Your words made her cunt pulse.
“The mediastinum is located within which cavity?” You ask.
Abby’s face fell instantly. The outline of your nipples looked delicious and icy, she needed them in her palms immediately. “Fuck. I don’t know.”
You lift yourself off the bed and bend right in front of her to retrieve your shirt, Abby’s shadow overcame you and her hips thrust into your ass in one motion. She spins you around to face her, mouths inches away. “Do you think you’re going to actually put that back on?”
Her index finger traced the outline of your lips with her eyes following. You grip her wrist, halting her movements, “And if I do?”
Abby gently places the index cards neatly on her bedside table and presses you into the wall behind you. Usually, Abby is submissive but the stalking woman imposed her strength on you, like she’s been wanting to do from the first time she saw you in clinicals.
“I’ll just rip it off you.” She giggles.
“Would that be so bad?” You reply, bringing her finger into your mouth, sucking it then adding another. Abby huffed a keen groan as she bent down onto her knees, immediately pressing her mouth into your cunt. She lapped at the fabric separating her from you and didn’t even ask for you to remove them.
You insisted by beginning to take them off but she tore them off you and hoisting up one leg onto her shoulder following the other one.
“Abby.” You gasp.
“I got you, hold onto me.”
She was flexing her skill by fine-tuning your pussy with her tongue while she slowly hoisted you up towards the ceiling. Not only did you feel as if you were floating, you actually were. She was a show off but you fucking loved it.
After that, there was no more studying done.
“Do you think we should cut down on the time we're spending together?” You question, as the night replays in your mind.
Abby’s face scrunched up in immediate disapproval without hesitation at the suggestion. She pulled her bottom lip slightly in her mouth and looked around as if the walls suddenly grew eyes. Abby wanted to tell you no but she knew what had to be done.
“We can.” She grimaced with a shrug.
Despite all the time you spent together the girlfriend conversation had yet to come up. She thought about it the most when you were in her presence. She didn’t comprehend how you liked her so much and yet, you refused to make it official. She truly believed that once you ditched Ellie she’d be over the moon, but right now it’s feeling the same and Abby doesn’t do stagnant.
“Abby, we can still study together, in the library, several feet away from each other.”
She forced a smile. “Fine. Does this mean you’ll still sleepover?”
Before your crush on Abby developed you were denying yourself the fact that it was possible. But during this time, before the dating, your grades had been the best when you were alone, and you know for a fact, that it was because of her. You may not be as smart as Abby but you do want to come out on the other end with a degree too.
“Why don’t we come up with a schedule?” She suggests.
“That would be perfect.” You said.
The schedule consisted of dinners at Abby’s during the week, sleepovers on non-clinical days which were Wednesdays and Fridays, and studying every day at the library. Abby liked the organization but her body had gotten so used to you beside her. A week into implementing the new schedule Abby felt an immense amount of anxiety without you around. She didn’t know how to break down the feeling and why it was so persistent. Although you two were next door to each other, text messages still provided a temporary cushion for her sadness, but it wasn’t enough.
Abby clicked the icon that was the home for your name and called but there was no answer. Dinner was stewing on the stove, and in the middle of mixing a cocktail, Abby called to find out if you could taste what was missing. Another call led to another one and soon Abby was sitting with a candle flickering silently in front of her. Your plate sat untouched and she just picked at the remnants of hers.
Little did she know you were closed off in your room after studying, panicking. You knew yourself more than you wanted to. The schedule was needed for you to clear your brain on the feelings you had for Abby. With upcoming exams and graduation where would that leave you? She'd move across the world while you were huddled up in your small town's hospital circulation? It was coming in so fast and before you could mix in a girlfriend you had to know what you wanted. The pages of your journal turned soft as you tore your pen through the book.
A part of you wanted to hear the rapping of her fist against your door, ready to envelop you and reassure you that you would figure it out. She never came and because of that, a piece of you died. Conversations with her have turned short and passive since the last exam. It wasn’t just the exam it was a culmination of multiple things that either of you were ready to talk about.
Abby put your dinner into a glass container and waited outside your door trying to gain the sense to knock. One of the many nights you spent together gave her a reason to knock instead of sulk in her bed, thinking about all of her shortcomings in the relationship. You were both lying down and Abby lit a candle that night that you bought her. The sweet scent of peaches and cream cut through the bitter smell of her pine products. She loved it. Between the sheets were your naked bodies damp and lazy. Abby had brought a glass of cold ice water and set it on the nightstand beside the candle. You took turns taking sips.
“Thank you for the water.” You smiled.
“Don’t mention it,” She nudged you.
You twist your body onto your stomach and look up to her glimmering, post-sex face.
“Abby?”
“Yes, beautiful?”
“You still make me nervous.”
She cackles and brings her hand to your cheek and massages away your imperfections. With the roll of her eyes she licks her lips before curating a snarky response. But she quickly realizes you’re being serious. “Why?”
“I care so much about you and that’s something I haven’t felt before. With anyone.”
A kind pause swells between you both.
“I care about you too. I don’t want that to make you nervous.” She said.
“I know you see me differently but I am a little insecure.”
She leans down and kisses your forehead tenderly without a breath.
“That’s normal.”
“But I burrow. I distance myself when I get like that and I don’t want to subject you to that. I don’t want to hurt your feelings again. If I do that, get distant, don’t hesitate to just tell me to get out of my own head. It’s not your fault or your responsibility.”
Abby’s fist banged on the door with your words echoing in her mind. The thuds startled you out of the sleepy daze you fell under. You shuffle to the door to see the goofy blonde in her pajamas and slippers holding what was supposed to be tonights shared dinner.
“You didn’t come to dinner,” Her voice was more welcoming than usual. “I was worried. Are you okay?”
Shoving her way past you and nearly tossed the container on the kitchen counter. Without hesitation she opened her arms and you couldn’t help but to run into them. Although she didn’t say anything the affirmation from her presence was enough.
“All too much in your head again aren’t you?”
A sob escaped into her chest and she gripped you tighter. These past few days have been a blunder of confusing thoughts. A part of you knew getting together with Abby would make things unclear in your life. But if she was willing to get uncomfortable and support you, you were obligated to do the same to her.
“Abby, I should’ve answered your calls.” You pull away to notice how unswayed she is of your state.
“You should have but that doesn’t matter right now. We need to talk.”
You nod your head seldomly and she grips your hand and takes you to your bedroom. Abby pats beside herself to welcome you.
“I’m so scared.” You blurt out.
“Me too,”
Abby was scared for the complete opposite reason. When she was with you it seemed like all the decorative things such as school didn’t matter. She wasn’t familiar with how that felt. To have an identity outside of her accomplishments or care about someone. With you, she could flunk out of nursing school, move back to her home town, and still be satisfied. That scared her — that one person could allow her to have such a paradigm shift.
Hearing Abby say those words made your heart settle.
“I care so much about you. I didn’t think I would, this much. I should’ve known because on orientation when I saw you I thought, ‘I need to know who she is’ and I am grateful for that thought blossoming into my mind.”
You couldn’t muster any other word but her name. She picked up your hands to bring them into her lap. She leaned in to place a soft kiss on your mouth and lingered there with her forehead pressed against yours.
“When you moved next door, I just thought maybe this is the sign I need to do something different. To not let my ambitions lead me but instead my heart. And my heart loves you, Dummy.”
#abby anderson smut#abby smut#abby anderson x you#abby x reader#abby anderson tlou2#abby the last of us#lesbian#abby anderson#abby tlou
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🗒️ 24.04.2024 ⋅⋅⋅ 🥀
some notes for 20.09.2023 post and a separate cut out for utena because i spent a very long time rendering her ...
the original concept i had in my head for this art was very different. it was just supposed to be a style study of this an official anime prop design art, and i'd thought to draw anthy in a similar pose across from her like in the shown version, but with her wearing her prince outfit from the manga. something something another form of female competition under the patriarchyyy stop pitting 2 girlprinces against each other omg etc
(side note, how sick would it have been in an AU where akio made anthy fight against utena in the ring? like i dont think it would hav added more to the story or made it better really ... probably would've diluted the message to be honest ... but everytime i see that manga art of prince anthy i imagine some convoluted black rose arc AU where utenas dodging anthy getting her hair hacked off left and right like himemiyaaa nooo snap out of it this isnt uuu while anthys silent and dead eyed hahaha)
but then after i drew prince anthy, the picture looked rather empty ... so i thought to add a few decals or borders in the style of the show & official arts but aaahh ... there was still too much negative space. i had to scrap anthy's prince outfit and put her back in her rose bride dress 😭 man !!! he cant keep getting away this !!! [blames akio the figurehead of patriarchy instead of taking responsibility of my own actions] which made me sad because i was pretty satisfied with the way i drew her pose and legs ! but i had to cover it up 🥲 ...
the composition overall looked better though. and then after that it kept spiraling. i just kept adding more and more things until i lost control of this drawing and it plagued my WIP folder for months ... i dont want to try and connect all of it in words so ill just lay out all the pieces for you so you can connect them yourself. and you can experience my art thought process in fraction of erraticity and frustration as i experience it myself. this is a lot neater than what happened in my head though because i bothered to put it in order. honestly if i can make you feel a little bit insane trying to scroll through and read all this than i can make you understand how annoying my brain is when all i wanted to draw was utenanthy girlprinces fighting
starting references & inspiration: utena prop reference sheet & manga prince!anthy
the tower & the lovers tarot
above: the lovers as depicted in the tarot of marseilles deck, tarocco bolognese deck, & tarocco piemontese deck
the lovers (tarot card) wikipedia:
The Lovers is associated with the star sign Gemini, and indeed is also known as The Twins in some decks. Other associations are with Air, Mercury, and the Hebrew letter ז (Zayin).
In the Rider Waite deck, the imagery for this card is changed significantly from the traditional depiction.
Instead of a couple receiving a blessing from a noble or cleric, the Rider–Waite deck depicts Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.
a.e. waite, the pictorial key to the tarot, part III, section 3, no.6:
UPRIGHT: Attraction, love, beauty, trials overcome
REVERSED: Failure, foolish designs. Another account speaks of marriage frustrated and contrarieties of all kinds
a.e. waite, the pictorial key to tarot, part II, VI. the lovers:
In the foreground are two human figures, male and female, unveiled before each other, as if Adam and Eve when they first occupied the paradise of the earthly body. Behind the man is the Tree of Life, bearing twelve fruits, and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil is behind the woman; the serpent is twining round it. The figures suggest youth, virginity, innocence and love before it is contaminated by gross material desire. This is in all simplicity the card of human love, here exhibited as part of the way, the truth and the life. It replaces, by recourse to first principles, the old card of marriage, which I have described previously, and the later follies which depicted man between vice and virtue. In a very high sense, the card is a mystery of the Covenant and Sabbath.
The suggestion in respect of the woman is that she signifies that attraction towards the sensitive life which carries within it the idea of the Fall of Man, but she is rather the working of a Secret Law of Providence than a willing and conscious temptress. It is through her imputed lapse that man shall arise ultimately, and only by her can he complete himself. The card is therefore in its way another intimation concerning the great mystery of womanhood.
going off of the rider-waite tarot deck: the pictorial key to the tarot—biddytarot's interpretation of the lovers:
UPRIGHT: Love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices
REVERSED: Self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values
In its purest form, The Lovers card represents conscious connections and meaningful relationships. The arrival of this card in a Tarot reading shows that you have a beautiful, soul-honoring connection with a loved one.
[...] The Lovers is a card of open communication and raw honesty. Given that the man and woman are naked, they are both willing to be in their most vulnerable states and have learned to open their hearts to one another and share their truest feelings.
[...] On a more personal level, The Lovers card represents getting clear about your values and beliefs. You are figuring out what you stand for and your philosophy. Having gone through the indoctrination of The Hierophant, you are now ready to establish your belief system and decide what is and what is not essential to you. It’s time to go into the big wide world and make choices for yourself, staying true to who you are and being authentic and genuine in all your endeavors.
At its heart, The Lovers is about choice. The choice about who you want to be in this lifetime, how you connect with others and on what level, and about what you will and won’t stand for. To make good choices, you need to be clear about your personal beliefs and values – and stay true to them. Not all decisions will be easy either. The Lovers card is often a sign that you are facing a moral dilemma and must consider all consequences before acting. Your values system is being challenged, and you are being called to take the higher path, even if it is difficult. Do not carry out a decision based on fear or worry or guilt or shame. Now, more than ever, you must choose love – love for yourself, love for others and love for the Universe. Choose the best version of yourself.
Finally, The Lovers card encourages you to unify dual forces. You can bring together two parts that are seemingly in opposition to one another and create something that is ‘whole’, unified and harmonious. In every choice, there is an equal amount of advantage and disadvantage, opportunity and challenge, positive and negative. When you accept these dualities, you build the unity from which love flows.
the tower (tarot card) wikipedia:
The Tower is widely associated to danger, crisis, sudden change, destruction, higher learning, and liberation. In the Rider–Waite deck, the top of The Tower is a crown, which symbolizes materialistic thought being bought cheap, downcast.
a.e. waite, the pictorial key to the tarot, part III, section 3, no.16:
UPRIGHT: Misery, distress, indigence, adversity, calamity, disgrace, deception, ruin. It is a card in particular of unforeseen catastrophe
REVERSED: According to one account, the same in a lesser degree also oppression, imprisonment, tyranny
(the wikipedia included a.e. waite's upright meanings, but i have no idea where they got the reversed meanings)
going off of the rider-waite tarot deck: the pictorial key to the tarot—biddytarot's interpretation of the tower:
UPRIGHT: Sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening
REVERSED: Personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster
The Tower shows a tall tower perched on the top of a rocky mountain. Lightning strikes set the building alight, and two people leap from the windows, head first and arms outstretched. It is a scene of chaos and destruction.
The Tower itself is a solid structure, but because it has been built on shaky foundations, it only takes one bolt of lightning to bring it down. It represents ambitions and goals made on false premises.
The lightning represents a sudden surge of energy and insight that leads to a break-through or revelation. It enters via the top of the building and knocks off the crown, symbolizing energy flowing down from the Universe, through the crown chakra. The people are desperate to escape from the burning building, not knowing what awaits them as they fall.
[...] The best way forward is to let this structure self-destruct so you can re-build and re-focus. [...] with a card like The Tower, you have no choice but to surrender to the destruction and chaos, no matter how unwanted or painful
[...] After a Tower experience, you will grow stronger, wiser and more resilient as you develop a new perspective on life you did not even know existed.
infant stars taken by NASA hubble
used in the background overlay of akio's tower
star birth | cool cosmos:
Stars form from the simplest of building blocks - huge clouds of gas and dust that permeate the Galaxy.
[...] While these big clouds of dust and gas lay dormant for many millions and perhaps billions of years, eventually some of them are disturbed. This can happen gradually, maybe caused by the approach of one of the Milky Way's spiral arms as it slowly sweeps around the center of the galaxy, or it can be a sudden event, like a nearby supernova explosion that blasts a shockwave through the cloud. Either way, a small increase in the pressure and density of the cloud forms knots in the gas and dust that eventually collapse under their own gravity, pulling more and more of the surrounding material in, and forming the stellar "seeds" known as protostars.
From Protostar to Star: As the clouds collapse, they start to rotate, and, like a spinning skater pulling in her arms, each of these seed protostars begins to spin faster the more it collapses. The material falling towards the protostar flattens out into a rotating disk of dust and gas encircling the central core. The protostar warms up, as the potential energy of the material falling in is converted into kinetic energy, but it has not yet ignited to form a fully-fledged star.
For the next few million years, the protostar's gravity pulls in more material from the surrounding cloud into its disk. That disk transports the gas and dust onto the protostar, causing the protostar to grow. The increase in mass causes the gravitational field of the protostar to increase and so even more material is pulled into the disk. The addition of more material, in turn, increases the gravitational field even further, pulling in more material, and so on, creating a feedback loop that keeps the whole process going.
[...] The density and temperature of the protostar keep climbing higher and higher, until eventually the core grows to about one tenth the size of our Sun, and becomes hot and dense enough for hydrogen nuclei to spontaneously stick together to form helium, in a process called nuclear fusion. At that instant, the core ignites, and the new star is born. Meanwhile, in the disk, clumps of material have been forming, which are the seeds of new planets. These seeds sweep up material in the disk in a process called accretion, forming the planets of a new solar system.
Once the star has started nuclear fusion, the heat and wind from the infant star begin to blast the gas and dust away, creating a cavity in the cloud. As more and more matter gets funneled onto the star from the disk, the star gets larger and larger, causing it to push harder and harder against the cloud and the disk, enlarging the cavity, vaporizing the disk, and halting the growth of planets.
deadheading (flowers) wikipedia:
Deadheading is the horticultural practice of removing spent flowers from ornamental plants.
Deadheading is a widespread form of pruning, since fading flowers are not as appealing and direct a lot of energy into seed development if pollinated. The goal of deadheading is thus to preserve the attractiveness of the plants in beds, borders, containers and hanging baskets, as well as to encourage further blooming. Deadheading flowers with many petals, such as roses, peonies, and camellias prevents them from littering.
[...] Ornamental plants that do not require deadheading are those that do not produce a lot of seed or tend to deadhead themselves [...] if the plant bears attractive seeds or fruits, deadheading is normally avoided
ladybird, ladybug, lady beetle: scientific name "coccinellidae" wikipedia:
Etymology: [...] The common English name ladybird originated in Britain where the insects became known as "Our Lady's birds". Mary ("Our Lady") was often depicted wearing a red cloak in early art, and the seven spots of the species Coccinella septempunctata (the most common in Europe) were said to represent her seven joys and seven sorrows.
Trophic Roles: Coccinellids act both as predators, prey and parasitic hosts in food webs. The majority of coccinellids are carnivorous and predatory. [...] Cannibalism has been recorded in several species; which includes larvae eating eggs or other larvae, and adults feeding on individuals of any life stage.
Defense: The bright warning colouration of many coccinellids discourage potential predators, warning of their toxicity [...] Species with more contrast with the background environment tended to be more toxic. Coccinellid haemolymph (blood) contains toxic alkaloids, azamacrolides and polyamines, as well as foul-smelling pyrazines. Coccinellids can produce at least 50 types of alkaloids. When disturbed, ladybirds further defend themselves with reflex bleeding, exuding drops from their tibio-femoral (knee) joints, effectively presenting predators with a sample of their toxic and bitter body fluid.
despite said being named after the lady virgin mary they are known to be promiscuous breeders, who's habits have been documented to result in epidemics of sexually transmitted infection in large populations, subject to various academic studies
lyric from lady oscar's theme song "the rose perishes beautifully"
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ok there was more but its been like 8 hours it turns out trying to put my thoughts into words even if its just a bunch of copy pasting is even more annoying than just thinking them im ending this post 😭
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Designed by pain (7)
Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?
Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, language, past break-up, arguments, daddy Dean
A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.
Designed by pain masterlist
Designed by pain (6)
“Dean, a word,“ you square your jaw watching your son show Dean all the cars on his shelves. Dean doesn’t hear you, engrossed in listening to his son’s explanations. “DEAN!”
“Mommy, we are busy here. We are talking about manly cars,” your son huffs and turns his attention toward the stranger he let inside your house.
“Bud, you shouldn’t talk like that to your mom,” Dean sternly says. “We can talk about your cars later.”
“Promised?” Your son sniffles when Dean turns around to walk out of his room.
“Promised, bud,” Dean looks over his shoulder and nods. “We will talk about your cars as long as you want to.”
“COOL!” Your son clasps his hands together and grins. “You’re so cool, Mr. Dean!”
Dean chuckles, and you get even madder. How dare he come here and play the cool guy. Of course, your son is all over Dean. He has no clue that the very same man left you and his son when things got complicated.
“There you are,” Sam joins you and Dean. He still holds the toad in his hands, helplessly lifting the poor thing. “What do we do with that toad now?”
“TOADIE!” Your son shoves you out of his way to snatch the toad out of Sam’s hands, but Sam lifts the toad so Michael can't reach it. “I’ll show you my room now.”
“Great,” you glare at Sam. “Why didn’t you put it in the garden, Samuel Winchester? Now I’ll never get rid of that thing!” You jerk your head toward Dean. “And there is the toad.”
Sam snorts. “I can bring the toad in the garden. My brother is another story,” he sighs deeply. “Again. I’m sorry, Y/N.”
“HEY! Sasquatch,” your son grunts and tugs at Sam’s jacket, “give me back my toad. Toadie is my friend, and you can’t have him.” Michael purses his lips and holds out his hand. “Give him back!”
“Michael, stop that,” you tut. “We don’t yell at guests. Sam will bring the toad back into the garden. Toadie wants to go home. Our home isn’t their home.”
Your son pouts. His lips wobble, and he sniffles silently. “I wanna keep Toadie!” He grasps Dean’s hand, tugging lightly. “Mr. Dean, please tell Mommy that a man must have a toad. All the cool guys have toads.”
Dean looks at your son holding his hand. A smile crosses his face, and he holds his hand a little tighter. “Sammy will bring the toad to the garden. If Toadie wants to stay, he’ll wait for you in the garden. But maybe he’s got a family and wants to go home.”
“You think so?” Michael sniffs. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and sniffles. “But…I’ll miss him. He’s my friend.”
“He’ll always be your friend, bud,” Dean crouches down in front of your son. “Sometimes we must let people go, even if we love them very much. And sometimes, people we love leave us.”
“O-kay,” your son nods and gives Dean a cracked smile. “Maybe he comes back to me. OH!” He gasps loudly. “What if he brings his family too?”
“No way,” you shudder at the thought of the toad coming back with the whole family. “Toadie will go back home and be a good toad.”
“How about I show you pictures of my Baby? I got them on my phone,” before you can take his son away from him, Dean wants to make sure to get to know the little boy better.
“He’s got thousands of pictures of his car,” Sam snickers behind his brother’s back. “You’ll get tired looking at all of them.”
“YES!” Michael grins. “I love cars, mister. I bet Mr. Dean has the coolest pictures of the coolest car in the world.”
You purse your lips and clench your fists. Dean already snaked his way into your son’s heart, and you don’t know how to undo the damage he did within not half an hour.
While Michael guides his father out of his room, you stare at the toad in Sam’s hands. You’re unsure what to do now that Dean came here to get to know his son.
“I should bring the toad out, and … uh… maybe I can distract Michael so you can talk to Dean. I know you’re mad at my brother, but please at least talk things out. If you need a clean cut, do it. I’ll bring him back home and make sure he’ll leave you alone.”
“He broke my heart,” you don’t look at Sam. “Not only because he didn’t contact me or stopped me from leaving. He flirted with that woman, and let your mother walk all over me. We were so in love with each other and suddenly everything was different.”
You sniff and wipe your eyes. “I only thought about the life growing inside of me. The baby he didn’t know about. The whole day I tried to find the perfect moment to tell him. It never came, though…”
“I know this doesn’t mean anything to you,” Sam softly says, “but Dean never was happier than with you. After you left, he wasn’t the same. He had some affairs, but I think he was never in love with any of the women he dated. Dean only ever loved you.”
“Sure,” you snort. “He loved me so much that he left me…”
You storm out of the room, determined to get Dean out of your house. Even if it means making a scene in front of your son.
“You!” You stop in your tracks when you see Dean and your son on the couch. Your son is looking at pictures on Dean’s phone, grinning from ear to ear.
“MOMMY! There are pictures with you in Mr. Dean’s car,” Michael runs toward you, Dean’s phone in his hands. “You look so cool.”
He grins and shows you the image on Dean’s phone. You’re sitting on the hood of his car, winking at Dean. It’s one of the last pictures Dean took of you.
“Uh…that was a long time ago, baby boy. Mr. Dean and his brother want to go now. It’s almost dinner time, and you still need to bathe and brush your teeth after dinner.”
“Mr. Dean must stay!” Michael purses his lips. “I want him to stay in our guest room and we can eat pizza and pie.”
“Michael, I—” you swallow thickly when your son starts to sniffle. It breaks your heart watching him bond with the man breaking your heart.
“Pizza and pie. Pizza and pie,” your son chants. “Please, mommy. He’s cool and nice. Mr. Dean wants to show me more pictures of his car, and you!”
“What…no…he can’t…” Your voice cracks. “What about his brother? We can’t send his brother Sam away.”
“Hmm…” Your son nods thoughtfully. “Mr. Dean can sleep in your room, and his brother at the guest room.” Michael grins. “Right? You got a big bed all for yourself.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” Sam hastily says. “Or maybe…uh…there is a hotel nearby. I can get me and Dean a room. We can leave after dinner.”
“I can stay for dinner,” Dean finally says. “But you can’t ask your mom to share her bed with me, okay.”
“But…” Michael sniffles. “You will come back tomorrow for breakfast. Right? We can make pancakes and … oh! You must try mommy’s pancakes. You’ll marry her if you taste them!”
Your son’s words hit you right in the chest. Daggers sent to your fragile heart. If only… you think while your son plans a wedding and to keep Dean around.
“I’ll call a hotel and,” Sam gives you an apologetic smile and pats your shoulder, “I promise to get him out of your house. At least for tonight…”
Tags in reblog.
#dean winchester#dean x reader#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#au!dean winchester#au!dean winchester x reader#Designed by pain (7)
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First of all, LOVE YOUR ART AND AU AND HEADCANONS, seriously, sometimes i feel that, at least the premise, is better than the original. Anyway, I have questions:
God's design when??????
Are the ars goetia still in your sinner's symphony au?
Do the archangels like lilith? What do they think of her and Luci's relationship?
did Constantine and Charlie go to some sort of university or have any kind of diploma or career?
How did serenity got her luck magic? Like, did she just appeared with it or...someone else?
What was Husk and Serenity's reaction meeting each other again at the hotel?
What is Serenity's job at the hotel?
Where do sinner appear in hell? Is there like a pit where they fall or what?
How are u? I wanna know how u doin in life
Sorry for too many questions
I AM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY AU AND MY HEADCANONS!
I don't have a design idea for the god yet but even if I show him I plan to show only his hands and clothes.
2. they are in my AU and they're even a race created by Paimon and Lilith
3. Uriel and Jophiel was friends with Lilith and the others had a respectful relationship with her. frankly, most of them were not so sure about this relationship. yes, they knew that Lilith really loved their brother, but they sometimes think that if Lucifer and Lilith had not been together, maybe their brother would never have fallen.
4. Both of them were educated in the palace by the most knowledgeable teachers in hell, they didn't need to go to school. but even so, Lilith and Lucifer sent them to private school for some periods to socialize them.
5. I'm putting here a part of the story of Serenity.
(She is Half Sheep Half Wolf now I changed it)
6. obviously their first encounter was awkward, the last time Husk met Serenity was when she was making a deal with him, and Serenity's last words to him
It was "your ego and arrogance will make you someone's pet, Husk, but maybe only then you will overcome these flaws and reveal the old person inside you, goodbye old friend." Seriously, there was a strange coldness between them at first, but they solved it over time
7.Serenity came as a guest at first, but in the future she became someone who helped Charlie's plans a lot, a kind of advisor.
8.the sinners are born in a pit of mud, at first they are reborn in hell from something made of blood and mud on the ground and they try to get out of the pit and reach the city (a place similar to the place where Markus woke up in Detroit Become Human)
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9.I'm fine! Thank you very much for asking! How are you?
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Some thoughts I have on cute story line/au
Wally and dick are dating took them forever to actually admit they got feeling for each other even if everyone else alrighty knew.
Wally is the flash berry is still alive and the flash. They kind of both are at the same time. No it's not confusing unless your arent from key stone or central city. If your from bludhaven you are to scared to ask due to seeing Nightwing and flash kissing. If your from anywhere else then you are probably confused.
Bruce gets lost in the time line
Dick unfortunately has to take up the mantle of Batman
Wally doesn't like that but support his boyfriend in any and everyway he can.
Dick moved back into the manner makes Damian Robin and works closely with him. Wally just about spends every night there even if he isn't living there technically. Since his name is on their old apartment and they don't fully want to lose it yet.
Dick and Damian become close. And thus Wally and Damian become close.
Damian starts seeing them as his parents. Calling them dad in different languages they don't know
Dick has an idea of what's Damian is doing. He knows his Damian even if they don't say it. Dick and wally refers to Damian as their kid.
Wally and Dick go to all meet the parents and Damian art shows and just every and anything they can. Damian will not say it but he is glad to have them there. He gets so upset if anything wrong happens cause he doesn't want them to think he not good enough anymore.
Wally and Dick get engaged Damian knew it was happening. He when with Dick to help pick out the rings. Well he when with Dick to help look at rings and get an idea of style. then waited as Wayne enterprises made something that would work for a speedster. He also inspected the ring very closely to make sure the people who made it didn't mess up.
Bruce comes back
Damian thinks he has to go back with Bruce and Wally and Dick won't want him anymore. Bruce of course thinks he is entitled to Damian. Wally and Dick are heart broken but think its best if Damian stays with Bruce.
Everyone but Bruce cry
Bruce is a bad parent and doesn't see Damian as anything but the killing machine he was trian to be and how he was right when he was dropping off at Bruce door step a few years ago.
Damian is the ring bearer for the wedding of course and hoes with them on wedding planning.
Alfred hates how Bruce is not showing love and how excited Damian is when Dick and wally come over. And how sad he gets as soon as they leave.
Alfred prints out adoption paperwork for what feels like the millionth time and instead of giving to Bruce puts in Dick pile of papers.
Wally and Dick almost cry when they find it and fill out what is their part. They take Damian out for ice cream. And ask Damian if he wants to be with them. Damian of course says yes and how their his dads and please don't leave him again.
They go back and start packing up stuff and go to the bat cave to get Bruce to sign the papers.
Bruce says no he will not and that they baby Damian and he needs to be watched carefully. Dick and Wally are going to get killed if they trust Damian so easily. And he will not let them take him.
Dick and wally are so upset dick gets mad. And yells at Bruce about how he been gone and Damian been hurt so much by him. Wally ends up being like Bruce you have 3 days otherwise we are taking this to court and taking our child back the hard way.
Damian doesnt understand why he can't go with them now. Wally unfortunately understands that it looks worse if they kidnap Damian by taking him now. They promised it only going to be a little bit and they get him very soon.
Damian spends the next three days packing up everything when he not busy. Alfred brings him boxes. Bruce tried to unpack things saying he not going anywhere. Alfred starts moving the boxes to a safe space that Bruce can't get to. But isn't Dick and Wally's place.
Bruce doesn't sign the papers
They go to court Dick and Wally get a lawyer for themselves and one for Damian. Bruce says it stupid for Damian to have his own one. And it's actually Dick and wally having two.
The judge ends up picking Damian a new lawyer and whoever wins have to pay for Damian's.
A lot of Damian's teachers are called in. Damian art teacher is one of the ones who help a lot. She brings up a project about their family tree and how Bruce and Talia are on there. But also Wally and Dick are on it. And Damian has put himself under them but arrows to Bruce and Talia with blood parents.
Talia ends up showing up. Which no one really knows how she knew what was happening. She says wants her son with Bruce that's why she drop him off at his place. (To train with the Batman)
I need to go to bed about 40 minute ago I'll come back and finish my thoughts
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xxtc-96xx Callout post
To start I want you to know I didn't want things to have to come to this but after recent developments and discussions from others I cannot ignore what's been going on for years now. This is a problem revolving around the user @xxtc-96xx , the comic Endertale, and the Undertale fandom. I will try to explain what I know and offer proof when I can, but there might be some sloppiness as this is my first real post on Tumblr. If there is any technical issues about this post, please let me know so I can fix it.
Let me start from the beginning. I have been a long time fan of xxtc-96xx since about 2016 (I will refer to them as TC to make it easier). I have enjoyed looking at the art they create for many years, mainly the ones revolving around Endertale.
Endertale is a fan comic that TC made of the game Undertale. It's a very decent story with a pleasant art style. I would recommend it but I cannot and I will get to why. You see TC has suffered from something that just about any creator can relate to, burnout. The most recent comic page being posted in 2021 though there was already a hiatus established before that.
While they made it long clear that they needed to go on break for personal reasons, people wanted to ask for when they will continue it. Some of them calm and reasonable and other's were very much not nice. TC answered them honestly at first.
Then it started to devolve into troll responses or just not answering.
Not just on Tumblr but people kept asking on Deviantart as well. In fact people are still asking today in 2024. It has gotten so frequent that TC felt it necessary to change their profile header to this:
And it has stayed that way for so long I lost track of when it started. To be fair, even I found the frequent questions to be overwhelming and they just like every artist who makes stuff for free is entitled to take a break from their work. However this post isn't a complaint about how long it takes to finish a comic, it's about something that started because of the wait.
See, their original reason to take a break was because they were too busy with personal matters for them to commit to an actual comic. But as their history up to today has shown that's no longer a valid excuse. As time went on they started to show an interest in the Pokemon fandom. specifically the pokemon known as Mewtwo. To make a long story short, what started as small doodles grew into a whole bunch of fancomics and animations. To compare, they have drawn nearly four times as many Pokemon drawings compared to Undertale. Now, it is perfectly fair and acceptable to find an interest in a different fandom. And while I personally prefer Undertale over Pokemon I completely supported their decision to focus on other fandoms and enjoyed what they made. I also understood their issues with the fandom at the time, some people were rather aggressive, rude, or demanding the comic to be completed, a comic that's completely free that they make no profit out of. I even recall one point they tried to unsuccessfully drag a different content creator into this issue as if it would somehow work.
However I started to notice they had a warped perception on the fandom. Rather than blame the few people that harassed them online with constant asks, they believed that the entire fandom as a whole is to blame as declared it all toxic. Something they insist on repeating to all their fans and making them believe their opinion as fact.
Now for the record I am very aware of how toxic this fandom was and can be at times. I was around since the beginning and have seen just about every drama that has come. From the fans harassing you for not doing the pacifist route in the first time playing, people arguing if either Frisk or Chara is a really bad person, arguing over Frisk's and Chara's gender, is genocide the right choice, is Toriel the bad guy or Asgore, and a controversy revolving around a certain creator of the au Glitchtale (the last one TC coincidentally emulates their "Delay work for one week for every ask" and finds it amusing). I know this fandom is not the best but I love it all the same, it's as much a part of my life as it is for TC. I know I am not perfect at showing my interest for Undertale, as this image of a private ask shows.
Or this time I made a obviously joke ask and apparently I didn't realize a lot of people don't understand sarcasm.
Or when I tried to ask this sincere and nonaggressive question, one of the few times TC isn't putting up some kind of attitude.
Or this other ask from me.
At the end of the day this is just a comic. No one has any right to demand them to continue it or make death threats, this is completely unacceptable. However, at the same time this doesn't mean the creator should dehumanize the entire fandom or punish the few that are being respectful. They wait and what do they get, people mocking them and bullying them. That's what I realized in the past week when I engaged in the comments of a few posts. TC allow their fans to bully the fandom.
I tried to be as calm and reasonable as I can and yet I get called out as a toxic fan. And in the end did TC scold everyone else, no, they basically told me to shut up. I overestimated the fans intelligence and if they could handle basic logic, read the comments for yourself to see my point. As someone with Asperger and anger issues, it's a god given miracle I am still trying to maintain my composure within this insanity that has been going on for years. I have spoken with several content creators who asked to remain anonymous about this entire fiasco and we have similar conclusions about TC.
TC has been through a lot of painful and hurtful comments over the years that they did not deserve in the slightest. They are entitled to do whatever they want with their comic and works. Saying a fandom is or isn't toxic is unhelpful as you fundamentally miss the mark on how fandom culture works. As a creator, it is not right to hang this hiatus over people's heads and string them along. TC does not respect their Undertale fans in the slightest and mocks those who is still waiting. They indirectly encourage their other fans to bully and dehumanize the rest.
I held back on making a comment about all this for two reasons. One, TC's fandom terrifies me. They are complete smug hypocrites who spend way too much time on the internet that they don't realize that if they use their words in real life they will get punched in the face for it. Two, despite everything I still believe that TC can change. I like to believe the best in everyone and that there is hope that maybe this time TC will realize they have become the very thing they hate. That hope has faded to cinders. I'm done with TC, my only concern is the people remaining to wait for the comic.
To everyone who is waiting for Endertale and/or following TC because you like their Undertale stuff, leave them and never come back. They do not respect you, they look down on you, they laugh watching you wait, you deserve better than them. Even if they do finish the comic eventually it will not be made out of love or passion.
DO NOT harass and bully them because of my words. I will not tolerate any attempt to do so.
My final words are for TC if they even decide to read this:
TC, I know we are not friends, you made that clear long ago but I was hoping we could've been. You were a huge inspiration for me in the past and was what pushed me to attempt learning about art. I looked up to you and tried to support you when you were feeling down. You are no longer that person.
You do not have the right to condemn an entire fandom as toxic and declare it as a fact of life. It's people like you that keep the fandoms so divided to this day. It's because of people like you I am scared for my life if I ever mention Undertale in public. Your fixation on the sins of the past prevents us from moving forward. I do not excuse what happened but the past is in the past, get over it and grow up, you are an adult so act like it.
You say you don't owe us any comic or works, well at the same time if you want to mistreat the fandom I care about then I or anybody don't owe you any respect yet I did for nearly five years.
Why? Because I cared about how this all made you feel. What do you see when you look at me, another obsessed toxic fan who should keep their mouth shut or a PERSON with their own thoughts feelings and beliefs?
One of your problems is that you think nothing ever seems to be your fault, just the fans who keep asking. Well maybe they wouldn't have asked if you didn't leave them hanging for almost five years. To me, it no longer matters if you finish Endertale or not.
Maybe you still think it isn't your fault, then that makes me the idiot for hoping you can be better. You hurt me, really hurt me. I don't think I can ever trust someone like you again.
Do you know what I really want?
Your apology. I want you to make a genuine apology to me and the fandom at your actions over the years. I won't block you because being the idiot I am I hope my words mean something to you and you'll want to chat.
But until you wise up ask yourself this familiar question,
Do you really think you are above consequences?
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Some scenes for that marvel au where Leo gets abducted by aliens like in guardians of the galaxy:
I think it'd be funny if Leo doesn't show up until the absolute last second, like the beginning of Mark of Athena and his crash landing is basically what kicks starts the war.
He'd have to have some contact with the rest of the seven for this to work, and Octavian probably spins it as the quest group harboring an enemy of the state or something.
Also this means that Annabeth would have taken his spot on the Lost Hero quest, which is kind of funny, because she'd be stuck with a emotionally and logically confused Piper and Jason, and we'd actually get some conflict stemming from the differences in Roman and Greek leadership.
They're all angry- Piper because he dad is in trouble, Annabeth because Percy's still missing and Jason because he can't remember a goddamn thing- and easily irritated and about one second away from exploding and eventually they all do.
-
The Greeks probably make some generic ship for them to travel on, and maybe Leo upgrades it with alien stuff.
It's like. Glaringly obvious that Leo does not know anything about the mythical world.
He's actually been raised on stories of the Norse gods, so his knowledge base is inaccurate and misplaced, because like, the Norse gods on Earth are not the same as the Norse gods that he's heard about. But since none of the others know that there are terrestrial Norse gods, that doesn't come up.
So, they're trying to explain that no, the gods he's heard about aren't a thing, and Leo's like… squinting and fiddling with his fork before gesturing back and forth between the Romans and Greeks. "Okay, but y'all thought the Greeks didn't exist and the Roman's didn't exist until now so…"
No one wants to think about this on top of everything else, so they just let Leo believe what he believes. (He's right, sort of, anyway. Annabeth is not going to want to admit as much when she learns about what Magnus is up to lol)
-
When they're discussing rescuing Nico from the jar, Leo looks side to side and asks, "Are they trying to pickle him or something?"
Hazel's about ready to kill him, but Frank is just like. very confused. "Like cucumbers?"
Leo shrugs. He's had a childhood of threatening to be eaten, so it isn't the largest jump in logic for him.
Anyway, since he's got no opinion about either camp, he isn't opposed to going after Nico, though he does pull out a holographic battle map and starts suggesting some strategies.
Annabeth and Frank are very reluctantly fascinated.
-
Hazel and Leo are always commiserating or fighting over the bathrooms because Hazel's always sea sick and Leo's always throwing up from food poisoning because he's not used to earth germs.
He doesn't realize this is the issue and there's an unfortunate mishap where he tried to bond with Frank by offering him some of his snacks from space and... yeah, that was a bit of a setback on the making nice thing.
-
Percy took one look at Leo's leather outfit and went "Ares."
He tries to let go of this prejudice.
-
All the monsters they have to deal with are like, nothing compared to what's out there in the rest of the universe and Leo is deeply unimpressed by the creatures attacking them.
He doesn't have a bronze of gold weapons (and at least here that oversight makes sense).
At some point, they're fending off some beast and Leo just glances between it and the way the other demigods are fighting it with knives and swords and pulls a gun from his jacket.
It probably shouldn't work, but it's not bullets as ammo, instead some kind of energy beam doodad and the monster careens over a cliff side. Leo just leans forward to watch it fall and then goes "…cool." and walks off.
-
Festus has still been running wild at camp this whole time and now he's like, sensing his future buddy and waylays the quest group before they leave the States. Maybe it happens when the Romans catch up with them and Festus unintentionally saves them/ buys them time to escape.
THIS GUY, Leo is impressed with.
-
They don't realize what the storm or fire line means for the LONGEST just because Leo just never thinks about his fire. Like, he didn't tell any of them about it, he kind of came to think he had some kind of alien ancestry over the years and so it doesn't have anything to do with this mythic stuff in his mind yet.
Anyway, that means that Jason and Frank think it's about them (ayyy frason ) and that's just a whole big thing when Leo realizes what's going on. It would have been pretty interesting if the final outcome of the prophecy had come down to a decision made by both a Greek and Roman actually. Hm.
Anyway, with all of this in play, it might actually come down to Frank dying to stop Gaea instead of Leo, simply because the expectations were different, and that Leo doesn't have as strong of connection to this world or the rest of the seven. Which is an interesting take/explanation for Nemesis's warning to him about never finding a place with his brethren. Hm...
Anyway, either Leo dies, or Frank dies and Leo has to like. Actually, face reality because he's lost someone again and he blames himself for that death and he can't keep running, but it's not so simple because he doesn't know where or what home is.
He'd probably end up going back to space, but eventually he'd have to come back for his own peace of mind.
#leo valdez#jason grace#hazel levesque#frank zhang#percy jackson#piper mclean#annabeth chase#nico di angelo#heroes of olympus#pjo#hoo#the seven pjo#the seven#mark of athena#blood of olympus#gotg au#frason#? maybe#i told myself to just focus on the light hearted aspects of this#i almost succeeded but damn frank and his compelling potential for tragedy#also i've had that pickling joke in a draft for years but idk when i'll ever finish it so might as well use it here
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P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 13/?
STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 14
Luci is the older sib among the Sins but he's the youngest among the Archangels.
I guess technically, he's the suffering middle child.
If y'all see a mention baby bro or little brother in the Prequel, pretend like you didn't see it ;laksldakl;
-----------------------------------------------
Perhaps Lucifer should've requested a 1 visitor per visit rule just like he should've expected that he's going to get tackled and suffocated in physical affection by the Sins and Charlie as soon as Belphegor opened the door.
Not that he doesn't like the hugs but he's just one tiny guy and he's pretty sure he's about to be buried alive under these giants.
Thank fuck for Belphegor for prying them off of him before he actually suffocated.
Belphegor: What did I say?! What did I just say?! What are you all? Children?!
A gasp and a coughing fit later, he finally calmed down enough to get his breathing steady. He thanks Alastor for the water, taking huge sips to fix his throat.
'Not to self: don't get buried alive. It's not a fun experience.'
He looks over at the now kneeling Charlie and Sins, head bowed as the Sin of Sloth relentlessly scolds them.
Belphegor: -powers in Hell and you can't follow one simple rule? May I remind you all what happens if I'm disobeyed while I'm treating someone?
All: Visiting rights will be stripped off.
Belphegor: That's right. And I am not above putting a ward on any of you to make it stay that way.
Never mess with Dr. Belphegor. As much as Lucifer is amused, he takes pity on his kids (his kids!) and speaks up to save them from the doctor's wrath.
Lucifer: I think they get it, Bel.
The kneeling demons cower as Belphegor sends them one last glare before huffing and went to typing something in her tablet again.
Beelzebub: Sorry for getting carried away, babe. We just got scared.
Asmodeus: Charlie's call really scared us. Did something happen in Heaven?
Satan: Tell me if that bastard Michael did this, I'll go to Heaven myself and beat his ass! In fact, I'm going over there right now. Open a portal.
Leviathan: Christ, Satan. Can you do one minute without thinking of doing something impulsive?
Satan: Don't say that name here! And fuck you! You're one to talk. Which one of us almost obliterated their ring in anger earlier, huh??
Lucifer: Wha- Levi??
Leviathan: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Mammon: Wait, is that why the elevator took so fuckin long to work? I thought I was gonna be stuck there foreva!
Charlie: At least you're all here now!
Charlie's wholesome sentiment made her aunts and uncles coo, wholeheartedly agreeing with her.
Lucifer: My duckie is right. Even though I said I was fine, you all still came for me. I'm starting to feel bad about making you all rush here every time I get hurt.
Satan: Don't you dare. No one is forcing us to be here.
Beelzebub: Right! Plus you always did the same for us.
He remembers those moments. When the rings formed and the Sins grew enough to move and handle them on their own, he was pretty lonely. Sure, he had Lilith, but children brought a different kind of joy with their company.
Plus, he loved indulging in others and all the children wanted was his attention, which he was always so happy to give.
The last person he would've thought to call him for help first was, believe it or not, Leviathan.
Levi had always presented himself as independent, acting like he's not as young as he was. Lucifer saw the aquatic demon's admiration for him, often mimicking how he talks, walks, and even dresses.
Lilith says it's envy (Because what else could it be, Luci? Isn't he the Sin of Envy?) but Lucifer knows better. He knows that Leviathan only looks at him in admiration. He looks at him like he hung the stars. Like Lucifer means something. Like he deserves to be looked at that way.
He doesn't but he's not going to tell young Leviathan that.
Anyway, Levi couldn't get the raging storms of Envy under control despite trying so hard. He was crying, begging Lucifer to believe that he did everything he could but nothing was working.
So he did what every good sibling/pseudo-father wouldo.
He drops everything and headed straight to Envy. In fact, he ran so fast he forgot to tell Lilith he was leaving.
Instead of fixing the situation himself, Lucifer chose that moment to teach Leviathan. He stayed in Envy until the other got it and not once did he berate Levi for not knowing something that wasn't even taught. It was his fault after all that Levi couldn't control it as he should've known that it doesn't come to everyone that easily.
The little scolding he got from Lilith when he came home super late was worth seeing a proud face on little Levi.
Lucifer: And I always will.
When it doesn't look like they're leaving him anytime soon, he figures he could just tell them now. He sat up a little straighter and internally braces himself for the expected uproar.
Lucifer: Heaven is on the verge of a civil war.
He winces. 'Way to rip off the bandaid, Lucifer.'
The room halted. They stared at him as they try to comprehend what he said just said. Then all at once, everyone bursts into screaming and panic, asking questions at him, at each other, at no one, at everyone. It was chaos and Lucifer can feel something rumble inside him. He figures Roo is enjoying all this unfold.
To be fair, he should've thought better than to say something like that out of the blue.
Lucifer: Sorry from dropping a bomb like that suddenly.
Satan: A bomb???
Mammon: Mate, that's a fuckin' nuclear one if I know one! The fuck you mean a war??
Lucifer: A civil war.
Charlie: What? How are we roped in it?? It's not because of the last extermination right?
Belphegor: You couldn't have told us this the moment you arrived?
Satan: Are we involved? Is that why Michael shot a freakin' laser through the sky??
Lucifer: No but-
Beelzebub: Oh god.
Lucifer: Guys, if you just-
Leviathan: Ozzie, how is our forces? Do you think we have enough manpower?
Lucifer: Guys-
Asmodeus: If it's only our fighting forces, then no. I'm sure a lot of demons would be willing to fight. Plus we have the firepower.
Lucifer: I-
Belphegor: Do we even know if angelic weapons would harm a higher ranked angel?
Oh for fucks-
Lucifer: Ê̵̡̟͔͉̱͓͓̪̝̫͙͇̞͛̓͐͒͒̎͒̋͘Ǹ̶̛͙̲̮͓͈̳̗̟̣̊̍͋́̇̀̋̐́̚̕͜O̷͇͔̒̇͋́͋́̓́͂́͆͋̅͘U̴̡̙̫͕̞̩͎̭̤̤͙̠̓̐̊̚͜G̵͖͇̘̘̩̟̗̠̬̐̈́͛́̾̈́̾̍́̈́̏͠͝H̶̢̬͉̯̞͇̯͈͙̜̬͚̟͙̊̈́͋͂̂̾̒̅̈́̆͊͗͂̚͝.̷̧͇͔͖̜̳̲̪̤͇̇͊͑̋͛̾̓͜͜
.
.
.
The room rattles from his voice. He stop his horns and halo from coming out. Lucifer can't see it but everyone else is staring at him in abject horror as his skin turned into a dark, glitchy mess.
He calms himself by taking in deep breathes until the fire in his mouth extinguishes.
Lucifer: Can I speak now?
#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin charlie#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#hazbin lilith#hazbin husk#hazbin vaggie#hazbin sir pentious#hazbin cherri bomb#hazbin nifty#hazbin michael#hazbin sera#hazbin adam#hazbin lute#hazbin satan#hazbin belphegor#hazbin leviathan#frederick von eldritch#helluva boss mammon#helluva mammon#helluva beelzebub#helluva asmodeus#helluva boss beelzebub#helluva boss asmodeus#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel lilith#hazbin hotel angel dust
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BOYNEXTDOOR! As love tropes <3
Pairing ot6 x gn!reader; genre fluff; warnings none; wc 0.1k
Sungho as soulmates au!
• Looking into his eyes and knowing that he’s the one!
• “I don’t see myself loving someone else.”
• The world fading away when it’s just the two of you.
• The stars align every time you’re together.
Jaehyun as boy next door!
• casually going out of your house at the same time.
• coincidentally taking out the trash at the same time and staying for a while longer just to have a small conversation.
• going on walks together at night.
• “I’m so glad you live next door.”
Leehan as brother’s best friend!
• Knowing him since forever, crushing on him since forever.
• spending time at your place and sneaking away from your brother to be together.
• “He’s going to hear us!” “Oops!”
• Goodbye kisses when your brother’s not watching
Taesan as opposites attract!
• constant bickering, soft kisses to solve problems.
• “I hate you.” “No you don’t.”
• Rolling your eyes at each other but smiling when you turn around.
• falling for each other more and more everyday.
Woonhak as childhood best friends to lovers!
• sleepovers are now cuddling sessions.
• knowing each other like the palm of your hand.
• laughing at embarrassing stories of your childhood
• “I’ve always been in love with you.”
Riwoo as Fake Dating!
• Was the flutter in your hearts normal when you were together?
• Being alone but still act as a couple.
• “I think I might actually be in love with you.”
• End up dating for real, in the end, feeling were never really fake.
Lua’s note: hello everyone! This is my first bonedo drabble, and I honestly wasn’t planning on writing this, but here it is. I’ll try to write more for them bc I love them so much. Hope you liked it :)
#Boynextdoor#bnd sungho#bnd taesan#woonhak#bnd x reader#bnd fluff#bnd scenarios#bnd imagines#Boynextdoor fluff#leehan#bnd leehan#bnd jaehyun#lualuabestningdungie#bnd riwoo#boynextdoor riwoo#riwoo
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TVOGXART corporation, what the heck is it (a master post)
(reblogs help my posts be seen :)
TVOGXART (The Vice Overruling Guardian Axis of Alliance Reverant Territories) corp. are globally known as being the best of the best when it comes to world development milestones that uses funds generated from each ministry's operations to make the world a better place. Most notable are its progress towards enviromental/land conservation. Even it's offices within the areas are built to accomodate for the land.
This however, is all a front. TVOG corp is a THE largest underground crime syndicate that currently rules over a majority of the entire world's fair trade market and societal operations.
They control the whole crime world, kind of like a pyramid of shady business chains, it all links back to The TVOG. They are a crime organization that literally organizes crime.
The Ministry of Order, ruled by Captain Bailfalse, is located where the GOVT (in the orignal thsc universe) stationed their army. Only this time, there are huge office buildings and foundations are built around the landscape of the tropical forest. Capt. Bailfalse may be a crime lord but he was very honest about actually conserving the enviroment. Though that virtue isn't shared amongst the other chairmen.
Btw on top of being a politely cold evil man ceo he is also VERY SILLY when being with his personal henchman, Charles Rebelivin... Who wishes his boss would act more serious whenever they're together
(More bios for each chairman (and Charles) below read more) (with art!!!)(cw. blood n eyes)
🎧Charles Rebelivin - Director in management (Ministry of Order)
"The first thing a new recruit at The Ministry of Order is told by other TVOG employees that they can always ask Mr. Rebelivin for help. The second thing theyre told is that they cannot always ask Mr. Rebelivin for bathroom breaks"
Color Motif: Primarily Red, with bits of The TVOG's turquoise green
To me, an opposite Charles Calvin is someone who just hates their fucking job lmao. This guy is not at all laid back, or enjoys jokes, or buffoonery. He has to be the one who schedules and organizes everything in the Ministry of Order so that operations run smoothly and cleanly as possible.
He genuinely WANTS to be a good director for the employees. They know that too. Its just that he's learned to be better at controlling people rather than connecting with them. At the start of the hv au story, he's "content" being alone.
Charles R is 30 years old by the time the hv au takes place. He USED to be the youngest employee at the TVOGXART, but that was a title given to him like. 5+ years ago. He's been working here for a while, he doesn't care for it anymore and finds the title insulting.
He expects the best from his employees. And expects the best from himself. Very loyal to his position as The Captain's henchman, and a complete workaholic. Could kill a guy if The Captain told him too, and his only form of questioning is asking how he shall do it. Acts as his guard dog that The Captain smothers, much to his annoyance. Je protects his boss regardless and scares the other chairmen.
Is also very formal with titles, usually referring to people by their surname and position of power. Is prone to using terms such as "The Captain, captain, sir" when talking to Bailfalse. Has used words such as "Greatest" sarcastically, and "buddy, pal" passive agressively, usually on Henry V (though eventually, the whole buddy thing becomes genuine as they develop their friendship. Still going to be grump no matter what though but affectionate ok).
Also expect to see less of greatest plan inverses, and more just so Charles learning how to be a decent friend within the Trio-V. It's awesome ghrhrg I can't wait to share them :)
👑Captain Hubert Bailfalse (Ministry of Order)
"A smooth talking salesman that has climbed up the social economic ladder to take control over all operations in the whole world. He believes in the value of good work ethic and polite ettiquettes."
Hedonist.
Plant motif: venus flytrap
He's a silly guy I love him. He inverses Galeforce being serious but considerate and honest general, with Bailfalse being a relaxed but devious and convicing CEO. Though take note: he is the only chairman amongst the rest to not have come from a well-off or rich family.
He also doesn't carry Galeforce's trope of being a "father to his men." Sees his employees as expendable numbers. But not to the level of mistreatment like with the other charimen. He pays them, hes pateint, offers them dental plans, and makes sure they'll be able to perform efficiently for the whole period they work for him. And that's as much care as he's willing to put for anybody else other than pleassure for himself.
...Except for Charles. He cares alot for Charles. And he's not subtle about it too. As his personal henchman for the longest time, he's prone to using titles such as "My boy, Charlie, sport" when talking to him. Much to Charles' own annoyance. They're literally competent henchman + silly hammy villain (with a dose of terrifying if the situation came down to it). He likes to spoil the director with riches and gifts for all the work he's done for The TVOG, even though Charles doesn't want them.
He is married to Hans Nonayme and they are literalllyyyy evil old man yaoi. augh im obsessed with them. They nuzzle eachothers mustaches and it makes them smile :) Even in public. Which adds to Charles' embarrasment to have them as his bosses.
He is also DIVORCED To Dr. Dimitri J. Pavlov. But I'll talk abt that another time.
👁️Chairman Hans Nonayme (Ministry of Privacy)
All-watching.
Plant motif: Oriental Bittersweet
He manages the cameras. All of them. Everywhere, and all at once. He's very giddy about it and enjoys the surveliance he has over every part of the world. The Ministry of Privacy was meant to protect people's identities and personal information, and yet Hans knows a little too much about everybody, no matter who you ask about. I'm sure he has employees that also monitor the cameras, but rn I've mainly just been visualizing him doing it lone.
His cameras are meant to look like both flowers and the berries on a Orteinal Bittersweet vine, a type of invasive plant. These things are creeping EVERYWHERE in the hv au universe if you look for them. The Cowwoy Posse take great meassures to destroy the cameras if spotted.
They don't make themselves known. However, if any TVOG employee (mainly Charles) sees them, their lenses blink rapidly in sucession. Which is Hans' own cheeky way of giggling at them. He does this in real life too with his own eyes. He's so weird, I love him alot.
He's actually based off this guy from the original THSC legacy edition. I always thought it was creepy how the GOVT had a whole spy camera inside of Stickmin's computer just watching his activity, and then had the guy stationed outside his home. I thought that was kinda interesting and just exaggerated his character from there. And made him gay and evil, cuz I can
💥Chairman Victoria Grin (Ministry of Peace)
Violent.
Plant motif: Lily of The Valley
Oh she's messed up in the head. I like to believe that Victoria Grit is, while rough and tempered, is at least not malevolent and going out of her way to cause pure violence like Victoria Grin does. So there's that. Grin is also completely unreasoanble and pretty immature.
The chairman also dreses very fancy but isn't afraid to throw herself into a fight if she's bored with all the meeting and agreements and treaties she has to do amongst the other crime syndicates and blah blah blah SHES BOREDD she wants to pull out her Peacemaker (A giant Fucking bazooka) and threaten people to sign their names on the forms already so she can go back to the more action stuff like beating up those pesky goody two-shoes cowboys getting on her nerves.
Hubert can't stand how immpatient and unnessarily blood thirsty she can be, though admires her for at least being able to establish the connections The TVOG has with other factions, both in crime related operations or just regular business stuff. It helps to strengthen the grasp they have over the world.
Known as "Vicky" amongst the other chairmen. She likes to kiss Hydia Stash, and are evil little girlfriends together. She makes jokes about swinging with Hershell Proctor's wife Mrs. Proctor to peeve him. And she loves bullying HJ Carterbunny
🐇Chairman H.J Carterbunny (Ministry of Security)
Cowardly.
Plant motif: Jumping Cactus
To say he's in charge of the Ministry of Security would be putting his leadership skills too high of a pedestal.
Hj is so pathetic. so very very pathetic. He is scared at the slightest things and his immediate instinct is to run away as far from the danger and wait until its gone. Or barricade himself somewhere. Which is why he's so efficient at the Ministry of Security, he's really just listing all the worst case scenario someone could break in. And his employees, while very tired and skeptical, add it anyways. Most of the time he doesnt trust that they did it well enough and try to add MORE security protocols, which only make them weaker as a whole.
If their defences are breached, Hj just ditches his employees to self-preserve himself, and puts the failure on them before taking responsibility as their chairman. He never considers himself as a a factor for his hubris. And so they all hate Hj in their own little ways <3 because he self sabotages their work and also because he regularly abandons them if they get attacked.
Just to ramble: One time Regal Bronzeage, local superhero, managed to fight all five of the employees all at once. And when he was ready to fight their chairman, he found that the guy had already left. not even in like a vechile he's just hiding in a tiny supply closet hoping nobody finds him
He has a brother who works in the Police Force Enforcement Force, Warden Roland Carterbunny. Roland is probably the one who made Hj so paranoid in the first place, and his psyche just got worse from there. He got bullied alot by him when they were kids, and Hj is the eldest one here. He might not even be that old, it's just that he was stressed so fucking much that all his hair turned grey when he turned 20.
Just to ramble: Dr Dimitri honestly pities the guy, even though he's literally a TVOG chairman. He just wants to sit this guy down and go into detail on how to properly handle his over abundance of anxiety. Cuz all day all the time none of the chairmen or most of his own employees (Aside form Gordon) care enough to actually handle his stress in a healthy sort of way. But he'll never get the chance because they're on opposing sides, and Hj doesn't trust anyone enough to let them do anything to him.
He could have turned out pretty fine, if still riddled with anxiety like everybody else. If it weren't for the literal fact that all his colleages are TERRIBLE and his own brother being absolutely terrible to him, whether enabling or belitting him.
💸Chairman Hydia Stash (Ministry of Wealth)
Greedy.
Plant motif: Sun Pitcher Plant
She loves being rich. That's it. That's the whole bio.
Jk, she takes it to the extreme. It doesn't matter what she has in her vaults, whether it be dollars, gold coins, gems even. It's not enough. She needs, MORE valauble things. And I'm talking the most insanely scalped items. Beanie babies, Funko pops, houses, land. She needs EVERYTHING.
The Ministry of Wealth is actually meant to help distribute funds across all operations, both inside The TVOG and to other affilated factions. They also work to account for funds and general ledging of their budget. Her plant motif of a pitcher plant symbolizes how ever consuming she can be.
Hydia is the worst to have as a chairman honestly. Cannot be expected to always pay her employees. She's quick to irritate and quicker to throw a tantrum about it. She also likes kissing Victoria.
In the hv au lore, Reginald Bronzepants is a journalist for the Cowwoy Posse who worked with Lt. HRM to help publish their investigations together, busting various crime syndicates. And well, everything links back to The TVOG. Hydia HATED this drop in revenue she was losing (it was 15 dollars) from her billion dollar generating Ministry. And so, without The Captain's permission, she enacts an unauthorized assassination of Reginald Bronzepants. Just to ease her worries. Surely this won't bite her in the ass later. Surely he won't come back as an electricity-wielding, local superhero, will he?
🧠Chairman Hershell Proctor (Ministry of Education)
Dismissive.
Plant motif: Psilocybin mushrooms
Ok to explain real quick, I inversed Hershell Panzer's roll of being a brute so that Hershell Proctor could be the brains. He has thrown himself into every field of study imaginable and has excelled in every course, which in his (super huge) mind, makes him a well respectable genius. He's firm in his belief that his intelligence makes him better than everybody else. He doesn't do anything to share his knowledge or teach them to others, he wants to hoard it for himself. No one else is allowed to be as smart as him
Oh, but don't think that being an iverse for physical strength automatically makes him weaker. What he lacks in any arm and torso muscles, he has an inner working system in his brain full of so many studies and so many wrinkles. I won't explain the full extent of his mental powers, but just know that it does involve psychic abilities :)
The Ministry of Education controls the information that's permitted to be shared across the world. There's some information that The TVOG keep hidden (sometimes their own secrets or an external entity) inside the Ministry of Education's archives, guarded by Dave Pampalooza. They front as an education system that protects the sacrecy of accessible knowledge.
Does not have the best relationship with his family. And has so much seething rage towards what Hubert has and what he doesn't. Caused a certain.....incident, to prove he's the smartest of all.
HONORABLE MENTIONS:
Jefferson Mythsonian
"No one really knows if he exists"
Rules Division 17 of the TVOG, has some really terrible handwriting
Carterbunny's bodyguards - and only employees (Ministry of Security)
Chrm. Carterbunny only has 5 employees cuz if he has to maange more than 5 he Gets Scared. They ensure all TVOG owned and affiliated security protocals are working as intended.
Current members are: John Skimmilk (codename: The Fly), Gordon Debunks (codename: The Urchin), Amelia Estefort (codename: The Jellyfish), Amelia Estefort (codename: The Jellyfish), Cece Teevee (codename: The Lizard), & Kayn East (codename: The Rat)
- Will be talked about in seperate post
(They are the HV AU equivalent ot the squad Stickmin has in MBH)
Scott McCoolsvile - Tax accountant (Ministry of Wealth)
Coolest fucking guy here. He's so awesome and the best at his job. He helps his fellow colleages in his office and the employees over at Ministry of Order whenever he visits. Everyone cheers and claps when he visits. They all love him and says he has the best name (Not Charles R though, he hates that guy. Totally). He works in accounting
--BTW girl pictured with ponytail and cardigan judging Hydia is my friend's oc Jynx (more art) @digital-roots (they/them) GO EHM check it out too Jynx is sooo swag i love her concept and I love her character alot.
The scene is based off this interaction we had.
Capt. Bailfalse's personal henchmen (The Trio-V: Ministry of Order)
"Consisting of one puppeteer, one emo, and one grump, these three are usually sent for very important missions only. And depending on how well they cooperate, may be able to finish them."
The Trio-V of: Henry Ventriloquest, Rose Ellisha, and Charles Rebelivin.
- Will be talked about in seperate post
Johnny Proctor (Police Force Enforcement Force)
Has seen better days when his friends Dave Pampalooza and Rupert Phred were still around. After Dave was sent to the Ministry of Education to work as a TVOG employee, and Rupert quitting a week later, a certain.....Incident. Happened. The Pampalooza Incident involving new re-education methods with Hershell Proctor. Johnny has cut off all contact with his father after that.
- Will be talked about in seperate post
If you have questions uhm. feel free to leave them in my ask box :) i love talking about my hv au. Thank you for reading
#berenmon art#my art#henry ventriloquest au#charles rebelivin#hubert bailfalse#hans nonayme#victoria grin#hj carterbunny#hydia stash#hershell proctor#scott mccoolsvile#henry ventriloquest#rose ellisha#//AUGHHHHHH that was alot of tags. they wont even mean much. cuz theyre not the canon names. but they deserve to be tagged. for me#thsc au#charles calvin au#charles calvin#hubert galeforce#victoria grit#hj canterbury#hershell panzer#thsc oc#thsc fanart#henry stickmin collection#henry stickmin fanart#henry stickmin#thsc fandom#thsc fanfic#opposite au#mirror au
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