#whose existence and presence hurts others

[davosmymaster]

No Time To Die

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no explicit smut but sexual themes, whump, a lot of angst, blood, graphic wounds and procedures (?) probably not medically accurate, could be almost gore if you squint, hurt/comfort, two dorks in love, canon-typical violence, near-death experiences. Not based on the game, I don’t know anything about the game and I don’t want spoilers please.

PAIRINGS - Joel Miller x fem!reader

WORD COUNT -  9.6k.

SUMMARY - The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

A/N - I honestly don’t know what this is. I tried to look for angsty and whumpy fics and couldn’t find any that hit the spot just right; so I wrote my own. This story is set in some time between 2010 and 2020, or so. Bill and Frank are still very much alive. The only warning apart the amount of blood in this, it’s my own knowledge of the English language.

'Breathe'

 With a shiver, you try to comply with your own command. The action itself confuses you, and you don't know where exactly in your mind that thought came from; or why. All you know is that a moment ago you were nothing, absolutely nothing, not even human. You forgot your own existence in a still ocean made of black thick ink. The ink is now backtracking, though, but the remnants of it stay in your foggy mind, clouding it as your consciousness comes back in waves.

 Waking up from a dream is easy, you just come back into yourself from a nice trip to your own imagination. Regaining consciousness, however, is a little more difficult. Instead of going somewhere, you go inwards into yourself. Your overworked mind, already tired and busy with keeping you alive, doesn't care much about bringing you to any other place so you can die peacefully. No. And the awakening is not as it should be either.

Coming back into yourself is your body crawling its way to the land of the living, with your flesh drenched in tears, blood and sweat; and nails digging firmly into the dirt. At least that's how it feels as you go back and forth between the two worlds, rocked violently by the waves threatening to drown you in its heavy never-ending dream.

 You wake up tired, and cold. The first sense that returns is touch; and with it, a pulsing pain radiates from under the right side of your collarbone and all the way down to your chest and back. The —obvious— wound is warmer than the rest of your body. It's like you've grown a second heart right at the borders of the wound; it throbs relentlessly. The second is taste. Your mouth tastes like salt and melted butter; despite not having eaten either in at least three days. Around the dryness of your tongue you feel a sticky liquid swirling around in your mouth, plastered to your gums.

 Whatever it is, you cough it out of your mouth. The old blackened blood splatters on the wooden planks below your mouth. Then, a second later, you feel a sprawled hand on your back; and the rest of your consciousness returns with it.

 He calls your name. And he, whose presence you'd have recognized even blindfolded, even miles away from there, doesn't appear in your mind for a few seconds. But even half-conscious and at death's gates, his name leaves your mouth with a sigh of relief.

 Joel.

 "I'm here," he says, his palm now pressing a bit harder into your back, trying to comfort you somehow. If you had been fully aware, you'd have been embarrassed at the relieved groan that had escaped your lips while saying his name. "How are you feeling?"

 His voice sounds less muffled now, but the pulsing pain intensifies the closer you are to the surface. A second groan escapes your mouth as the warmth under your collarbone becomes impossible to ignore.

 "I know, I know" he says.

 Your eyes flutter open. From your point of view there's not much to see except torn wallpaper, your blood stains, and the shadow of a window. You're on the floor, your cheek pressed against the dusty carpet, your body very still laying on them, and Joel rubbing your back.

 The room is dark. His fingers enter your field of vision, they dip on the wet blood stains and turn around so Joel can see the sticky fluid staining his fingers. He takes a breath, a gasp, really.

 "Goddamnit," he mutters under his breath. His hand stops rubbing your back, and as black stains crawl from the corners of your vision, trying to take you under the waves again, he talks to you:

 "I need to turn you around..." he says with a gentle voice. It's like the icing on top of a sour and burnt cake; he's trying to sound caring, but that doesn't change the fact that it's going to hurt like a bitch. "You hear me?" he says, and his voice breaks for a second. Your ears ring, the next thing he says your brain doesn't process it, your vision has been clouded by darkness again...

 A scream tores your throat as a shooting pain lights your body on fire. It feels like lightning going through your backbone. Suddenly, the waves are very far away and you're feeling way too conscious for your liking. Despite your pain, Joel is still as careful as he can as he lays you on the floor, now facing the ceiling instead.

 The throbbing pain continues, and you blink to get rid of the tears that distort Joel's face. His hand wipes the tears from your face.

 "I know," he says. He has a crease between his seemingly angry eyebrows that you had never seen before.

 Both hands are roaming your ribs now, before you can even say anything. His warm hands give you shivers as he touches your naked skin. The pain is so unbearable that all you can do to mitigate it is hold your breath. If you could move, you'd be right now curled on the floor like a pretzel. You are not crying anymore, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't close.

 "Can you breathe?" he asks then, when he doesn't find any cracks in your ribs by touch alone. You don't respond because you can't find your own voice, and he sounds desperate at this point. "You coughed blood, I need to know if any of your lungs are collapsing."

 "It-it hurts..." you wheeze, your eyes tightly shut. For a split second, you wish you were back to being nothing. Being nothing sounds way better than having a gunshot wound in your chest. The bandages, tight over your bones and shoulder, don't mitigate the pain either. If anything, they worsen it. It feels like a tight sock over a painful pustule on your heel.

 Worst part is you know all this pain is for nothing; you know you won't make it. If you go back to the QZ, you will be executed. If not, there's nobody to help you except Joel. But even if there were doctors or hospitals, you highly doubted you could find the necessary tools to extract a bullet and stitch the wound. That is, if you manage not to die of blood loss.

 "Where?" Joel asks. Even beyond all this concern and well-hidden panic, he seems to cling to an ounce of hope. "Tell me where it hurts."

 Your fingers gently trace your skin until they reach the area under your collarbone, and you sign to your back too. There's a bandage there, but nothing else, and that's when you notice you don't have a shirt on, just your blood-soaked bra.

 "Is it bad?"

 "Not that bad. The bullet went through," he said. That explains the pain on both sides of your body; you have a literal hole in your chest. "And it clotted soon enough to stop the bleeding, but you lost too much blood anyway... Anywhere else?"

 Your whole body hurts and this abandoned house suddenly feels like penance, but you don't want to scare him further, so you shake your head no very slowly.

 "Alright," he mumbles. Joel nods once, and it looks like he is reassuring himself. His eyes betray him, he looks like he is very far away from here, very buried under all the scenes playing on his mind; but despite his stillness, his lower lip quivers.

 You can't move your right arm at all, but with the other hand, your fingers lightly touch his knuckles still resting on your stomach. He winces, and your fingers are wet with his blood too. He must have beaten to death whoever shot you, that you are certain about.

 Your voice, little more than a weak breath, whispers:

 "I-I want you to do it."

 The crease between his eyebrows deepens. He seems confused rather than angry; the reaction you were hoping for. You take a breath to repeat your own words, but he squeezes your hand.

 "Don't," he says.

 "Joel..."

 "Don't even think about it," he snarls. "You are perfectly fine, don't be dramatic."

 You don't know what hurts more; his pain or yours, but his denial makes your eyes wet with tears again. This is already hard, but he is making it even harder. All he will achieve by trying to keep you alive is either prolonging his pain or getting himself killed. You both know this is no world for the injured and the sick, not out of the QZ, at least. And in most cases, not inside either.

 All you ask of him is to not leave you for the infected to find. Is that too much to ask?

 You want to insist, but you know he won't have it. Joel has lost so much already that the thought of losing what little left he has is not even going to cross his mind. Not until it's too late, at least. Also, you don't want your last moments with him to be a fight. You are tired of fighting, of swimming against the current. You just want to let go for once, give in to the external forces, close your eyes and peacefully breathe.

 What's more, you should have already known that he wouldn't do you that favor. He is too selfish for that.

 He pats your cheeks gently with his large hands, and your eyes, already rolling back into your skull, get focused on him again with a few blinks. You breathe slowly, trying to focus on him, on the world around you slowly twisting and turning.

 "...that's it," he says, it doesn't sound like his first sentence, so you guess he's been talking to you before. When you look back at him, his breathing is shallow, and you know he is trying to take a hold of himself too, trying not to give in to panic. "Good girl, that's it. Keep your eyes on me."

 Exhausted and hurting as you are, keeping your eyes open it's like asking you not to drop a weight that you cannot, in fact, handle; but you try nonetheless. It's your fault, really, for letting yourself go, for trying to give up on your fight earlier than you should. Joel is here trying to keep you alive, mending all your broken ends and stitching them together —he has always been good at that— while you're just trying to give up on him —you are really good at that too—.

 Giving up on Joel has been one of the hardest things you've ever had to do; and now you're letting him go for the last time. Part of you is glad you don't have to keep watching how he chooses Theresa over and over again. You are even relieved that fate —or whatever there is out there— is forcing you out of the equation. After all, you would never have given up fully on him.

 He refuses to kill you, what he doesn't know is that you've been dead for a long while now. Him being your executioner would be the kindest act he could have with you, the most intimate thing you'd ever share; your last moments. You want it to be him, you want him to free you from this torment.

 He refuses, though; and it feels like a punch to the pit of your stomach. You shiver.

 He gets up from his place on the floor, where you are lying just over the carpet. You follow him with your eyes and see a fire cracking up in a fucked-up chimney. He stokes the fire, throws some more wood on it and then comes back to you, covering you with his jacket, the very same jacket you had on before he turned you around. It's warm, his, and you have to stop yourself from sinking your nose into the collar.

 "I had to take off your shirt to patch you up," he says, but he doesn't say sorry. Ever. So you guess it's his way of apologizing.

 You simply nod, aware that you had wished for this very moment to happen many times before. You had dreamt of his rough hands over your naked flesh, caressing the sides of your body. You had dreamt of him watching you with those chocolate eyes as you took your shirt off, deep black pupils spreading over the brown as he watched the lace fall like a helpless witness.

 But now the bra was covered in blood and he was watching you anywhere but the lace. He had a frightened and concerned look on his face, rather than aroused. A look that would have made you feel guilty and ashamed if it had happened in the other scenario. And instead of undressing you, he was covering your body with his jacket as if you were his child.

 "What's wrong?" he is asking now, instead of whispering 'I want you' and it hurts all the same to know he's not ever going to say it, and that Tess now will have all those words for however long their lives are.

 You guess they were made for each other. And it makes all the sense, really, no one like Joel would ever look at you twice. You were grateful that he even allowed you to be his friend.

 "Nothing," you respond.

 It's always 'nothing' when it comes to Joel. It's always that nothing whenever he notices you are under the weather. It's always nothing when you are hurt, when someone tries to rob you and they leave an angry black eye on your face. It's always nothing; and he never believes you.

 "I don't make promises, you know that," he says, taking your left hand in his. "but you will be fine, I swear."

 You don't know what to say, how to explain that you are not scared of death, that you are just scared of not seeing him again. But you can't, so you say nothing and just nod.

 Does he want to hurt himself? Okay. You can't do much while lying on the floor anyway.

 After that, both of you stay silent. Joel seems to be avoiding looking at you. His eyes are stuck in the fire creaking in the chimney, but they are too restless to be present and conscious of the yellow and orange haze.

 Your palm lands on his thigh, your fingers gently brushing the denim. You want to comfort him somehow, but, at the same time, you are scared he will reject your touch and reassurance. That's all you can do for him: no words, no further touching, just a featherlight touch that indicates you are still present. There, with him.

 "I thought we couldn't make a fire."

 "Don't be dumb. The windows are all broken, it's winter and you are in shock. How else would you heat up?"

 "Got it. You're not in a talking mood," you huff. "Alright."

 Silence settles between both of you. However, one of his big, rough hands travels to where your fingertips are gently brushing his thigh. At the touch, even if you don't want to let go, your fingers begin to back off. He's not in a good mood, and you seem to be pushing his boundaries a little too much. Except that, instead of letting you go, he catches your hand in his and puts it back over his jean. This time, it's him who brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

 For a minute, the only sound in the living room are both your breathing patterns, the flames licking the air and the wind rushing through the broken windows.

 "I'm sorry..." you start. And immediately, his brown eyes are all over you again. Your voice sounds exhausted, more than you'd have liked. "...I fucked up the mission. I know-"

 "You haven't fucked up anything," he interrupts. That's Joel, all stoic, swallowing his feelings and denying everything that it is not up to his standards. "Would you mind to just rest-"

 Your eyes well with tears.

 "Joel, for once... Just for once, don't lecture me, don't ignore what I'm trying to say just because you don't want to hear it," you tell him. Then, he thankfully presses his lips together in a pained grimace, but stays silent nonetheless. "I fucked up the mission getting injured. I know it isn't my fault, but it doesn't matter whose fault it is. If you wanna go on without me, I won't blame you."

 His fingers are now squeezing yours, but you know he is not even conscious of that. He leans in a little, his cheeks now reddened in anger. He looks like he is about to spit on your face.

 "I'm not leaving you anywhere," he says. He looks offended that you even thought he was capable of that. "You and I are gonna get to Lincoln, either if you like it or not. There, Bill and Frank will help you. We have traded all kinds of things with them, and I know they are very well supplied."

 "Why would they help me?"

 "They are not just people we trade with," he says. His fingertips brush a strand of hair out of your face. "I know they will."

 "What if they changed their minds?"

 His pupils lock into your own, his jawline swells as he grits his teeth.

 "I'm persistent."

 The mission was supposed to be an easy one. Walk out of the QZ undetected, walk fifteen miles to the town of Lincoln, just outside Boston, get our things and come back. Our cargo were the two last spools of aluminum that Joel had promised to trade with them and two packets of seeds. Theirs? Two pounds of rolling tobacco and a gun. Tess couldn't make it, she had appointments with other smugglers, probably the ones who snuck the drugs in; which was more than half of their business. If it wasn't that important, she wouldn't have stayed in the QZ for anything in the world. But Bill and Frank were also important, and Joel couldn't go alone.

 The two of you should be home by now, and you wondered if Tess was regretting her decision of asking you to go with him. Last night you had both snuck out of the Boston QZ; and it usually didn't take more than six hours to get to Lincoln. But just outside the city you had bumped into raiders; and a stray bullet had hit you. Now you were stranded in a small cabin lost in the woods, about seven miles away from Lincoln; and unable to walk a single step.

 And to top it all off, Joel was enraged and neurotic.

 Still with the same expression, he takes your wrist and squeezes two fingers into it. Even if you had preferred him not to, knowing that your heartbeat got wild whenever he was around. You let him check on you, hoping that if your symptoms got better he would let you have a quick nap. Your nervousness, however, doesn't improve despite your efforts of trying to calm yourself down.

 "Since when are you a doctor?"

 He lets your wrist go, then gets back on his feet and gets his rifle.

 "You should rest. You'lll need it," he says, now heading to the entrance. He's gonna be standing on guard all night, you are sure of that. "We're leaving tomorrow morning."

 That is when you lose it. You can't believe he is that blind, that caught up in his own world.

 "I know in your perfect fantasy this is just a scratch, but I truly can't move, Joel. Even laying here awake is hard. How am I supposed to follow...? Joel!"

 But he's out of the house before you even finish the sentence.

  [***]

  Joel doesn't keep his word.

 A few hours later, not even near dawn yet, you get pulled back from a dream. Your eyes take a few minutes to register your surroundings; again. And the memories gallop back to your mind in a rush; accompanied by the burning and piercing pain on the upper right side of your chest. Your eyes shut tight, and you inhale a shallow breath. Even breathing hurts.

 "We need to go," Joel whispers. His voice sounds muffled, especially over the sound of your beating heart. "C'mon, wake up."

 He is once again rocking you rather than shaking you awake. Just to be able to fall asleep you had rolled back into your chest, cheek once again firmly pressed against that twenty-year-old dusty carpet. When he came back from checking the perimeter, not even five minutes after your argument, he placed his backpack right under your stomach so your right side was elevated. You wouldn't have been able to fall asleep if it wasn't for that. The pain was maddening, atrociously painful. Joel had found you gritting your teeth even in your sleep.

 He had said you'd leave the next day, but you felt like not even minutes had passed.

 "Morning," you complained, half a grunt accompanying your words. Joel shook you gently again when he saw you relax a second time, and your voice came back. "Y-you said...mor-"

 "I know what I said but we can't wait any longer," he answered. "I'm gonna sit you up."

 Fear pumped enough adrenaline into your system to wake you up. The ache from before rushed back into your mind, and your 'please' and 'wait' left your mouth like a prayer.

 "I can do it," you said, but it sounded more like begging than an affirmation.

 "I know you can," he lied. As your eyes opened and you saw his expression —eyes focused on you, trembling hands, half of his face hidden in the shadows, the other half gently licked by the orange-like haze of the dying fire— you understood that you had to be in a really bad condition for him to look at you that way, and feel the need to lie to make you feel better. But then, a second right after that, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes fluttered between your face and the surface of his jacket over your shoulders. His stoic mask was back on. "I'm just gonna help you, okay? But you do it."

 He did not, in fact, let you do it.

 You had managed to lift yourself barely an inch over the carpet, using all the strength left in your healthy arm, when both his hands curled around your side and pulled you up to his chest. Clenching your jaw, you allowed him to drag you a few feet back and into a seating position against the wall; your whole weight over the left side of your body.

 "Don't lean on the other side, your shoulder blade is broken."

 "Oh..." you almost chuckled. "Great."

 For a second, Joel looks at you as if you were completely insane. He reaches for his backpack, crouching on the place where you were lying just seconds prior. Then takes his flask and doubts when passing it on.

 "I'm not that desperate for water," you respond, reaching for the flask and drinking a gulp of the liquid. You swallow despite the soreness in your throat. "Next thing you'll do is spit food into my mouth."

 "Not even getting shot shuts your fucking mouth, does it?" he says, grossed out at your comment. However, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Relaxing him has a calming effect on you too.

 You try to pass him the flask again, but he refuses.

 "No," he says. "Drink it all. You'll need it."

 You look at him with narrowed eyes, confused. It's hard to keep a single thought in your head other than the throbbing pain in your chest and back, but you still try. Rather than asking him how you are supposed to walk seven miles, with the aluminum and his pack, you try to approach the matter another way.

 "What's the plan?"

 He takes a deep breath.

 "You're not gonna like it," he says, his deep voice almost slurring the words. It's barely a whisper. He looks into your eyes, then. "I'm gonna carry you."

 "What?"

 "You heard me."

 There's not an ounce of doubt in his eyes. Joel has that look of determination, the one you only really see when he has his eyes set on something really fucking important for him; most times that includes his own brother or not talking about the times before the outbreak. And with that look on his face, you know there's nothing you could possibly say or do to make him reconsider his own words. He's stubborn like that.

 You still try.

 "It's seven miles, Joel..." you tell him on a thready voice, a whisper. And Joel sighs through his nose —as if he had forgotten. "And we have to carry..."

 "We leave everything here," he says. "Come back for it later."

 "They won't let us in empty-handed."

 "You don't know them."

 For Joel to be so certain about it, certain enough as to put both your life and his on the hands of strangers; you understand that their relationship goes beyond trading. Joel had told you about them, about their situation and the first time Tess and him had shared dinner with Bill and Frank. Still, you were suspicious of them, and you thought that he was too; up until now, at least.

 "It's still seven miles," you tell him, and you know him, you know he's about to stop talking to you and leave the room if you don't, at least, partly give in to his reasoning. "...are you sure you wanna do it?"

 His pleading brown eyes engulf you, then, with an emotion he had never showed before. His gaze diverts for a second to your wound, to the bandages that, as you look at them, you find they are once again covered in blood. They are soaked in it, the skin surrounding it has a large black bruise —internal bleeding, you guess. And when you try to take a full deep breath, you find yourself unable to, at least not at full capacity.

 The understanding hits you, then. You don't have much time left.

 "I don't have any other choice," Joel says, but what he means is 'I don't want to lose you'.

 "Okay."

 Not even a full second has passed from your reluctant acceptance, but he is already on his feet. Joel walks to the only table in the room, takes your gun and puts it in his hip, right inside the jean. The only other thing he takes apart from ammo is another set of bandages —and he silently thanks whatever it is out there that he put those there a month ago—. He doesn't have anything to clean the wound, though; and one of his biggest fears is that it might already be infected. Even bandaged it looks bad.

 He approaches you, crouches down so he is facing the wound.

 "I'm going to tighten the bandage, and I have to keep the pressure," he says, loosening the knot. His fingers are once again stained with you blood, and he has to fight the images of him pressing on your wound from a few hours ago, when he had found you and, with trembling hands, had tried to stop the bleeding coming out in waves. He looks at you, trying to forget the awful picture of your eyes closed, your body limp on the ground. "Bite something."

 You reach for the sleeve of his jacket, the one hanging from your shoulders; and put the padded cuff of his jacket into your mouth.

 Joel doesn't give you a warning; and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing, either. He presses the heel of his hand right over the covered hole in your chest, with such strength that you wonder if he will end up breaking your clavicle in half. As he presses your body against the wall, you can almost feel the cracked bones in your back smashing against each other.

 Needless to say, the pain is blinding. The view of the room, the feeling of his heat around you, the scent of him under your nose... all gone in a matter of seconds. Your vision turns white, all your senses stop functioning. Over the scream that falls from your lips, muffled by the jacket, you hear him say:

 "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

 He lets go, and your vision immediately darkens, the shadows flowing from the corners of the room quick to reach you. With your last grip on reality you feel yourself melting against the wall, slowly slipping to the side. Joel catches you before you hit the floor.

 Cold water is what brings you back. Your breathing quickens at the coldness of it, and the next thing you feel are his wet hands palming your cheeks, throwing water from his flask all over your face.

 "C'mon," he mumbles. "I need you awake."

 Your eyes flutter open, your whole body relaxed now that he's not applying pressure; but alert enough that your unfocused eyes make a single shape out of him.

 While coming back into yourself, Joel does not have any time to lose. He takes his jacket over your shoulders and slips your left arm inside the sleeve, the other, where the wound is, he decides to leave it as it is; and buttons it over your chest so you're not exposed.

 "You good?"

 In any other situation you'd have said some joke, or just something to piss him off. But as of right now, nothing comes to your clouded mind; and even if something did come, you're too exhausted to even do the mental effort to say it. So you just nod.

 "Okay," he nods too, talking to himself inside his head, then takes your face in his hands and looks into your eyes. "You're fine, you hear me? I'm gonna carry you and you're gonna be on my back; so I need you talking all the damn time, alright?

 You nod again.

 "Starting now."

 "Y-yes... okay."

 "Good," he says. His hand crawls to the back of your neck, and he joins both your foreheads. He takes quick breaths. He's terrified when he whispers. "You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you."

 "Y-you... are?"

 "Mm-hmm," he says. And as his words settle into your brain, you feel your chest warm. When you open your eyes and he separates, there's a tear on his cheek, but he's quick to wipe it off. "I'm gonna open the front door."

 It's just an excuse, you both know it, but neither dares to say anything. None of you wants to talk about the elephant in the room, the fact that your chances are slim even if this works.

 Joel returns quickly, with his lashes wet and reddened eyes. It makes you speechless, to know that all this effort and tears are for you. You'd have never, in a million years, thought you'd ever see Joel Miller cry; let alone for you. He had always been so quiet, so detached from everyone, even from Tess.

 Without a word, his hands get hooked on the underside of your thighs. He lifts you up, seemingly effortlessly, and your inner thighs surround his hips. You take a deep breath, again —or at least try to— as you try not to blush and show those feelings you buried long ago. This is not the time, nor the place; so you allow your head to follow his range of motion; forwards. Soon, your nose is pressed against the lapels of his denim shirt. With your good arm, you grab one of his broad shoulders. The other falls limp, and even that little movement hurts like hell.

 He freezes, his shoulders now stiff under your hand. His beard grazes your jaw as he tries to look at you, so still in his arms.

 "You okay?"

 "Yeah..."

 Better than okay, you want to respond. Better than I've been in a long time. But you don't.

 He leaves you on the table, on the edge, with your legs dangling.  His eyes waver for a second as he leaves you there, his hands squeeze your knees in such a brief movement that you wonder if he was even conscious of that. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can't think of what, so he turns around and bends his knees a little to get you to a good height.

 "I need you to push yourself up with your good arm," he instructs. "and keep the other still, okay?"

 "Okay," you respond, fighting the urge to just nod instead.

 Not even following his instructions to a t saves you from the pain. The effort, even with your arm limp in the air, makes your body shudder and an agonizing stab runs through your whole spine. The scream that tores from the depths of your throat is so intense that Joel hesitates to put you back on the table, his back trembles for a second as his body shivers in distress. But, in the end, he has you in the air with a good hold.

 He waits, but doesn't hear anything except shallow breaths, doesn't feel anything but the weight of your head over his shoulder.

 "You with me?" he asks. He is seconds away from aborting the mission.

 "Y-yeah..."

 Your arm surrounds his neck loosely. Your fist is closed tightly, grabbing the other shoulder, and he wishes he could touch you, give you some kind of comfort, but he can't let go from his grip under your knees.

 Joel does not have the privilege of time, every second is precious, so not even giving it a try, he starts walking as if you weighted nothing. He crosses the front door and the freezing cold wind of the East Coast cuts your cheeks. If he notices —and you know that he has, wearing just his shirt in the middle of the night— he doesn't react.

 "Remember what I told you?" he asks.

 In less than a minute he has crossed the space from the cabin to the highway, where you were surprised by raiders. You look around, see the bodies of five men sprawled on the floor; lifeless, drowning in a pool of their own blood. One of them has his face mauled to nothing. The sight is so sickening —or maybe you are getting so ill— that a sudden dizziness takes hold of your shivering body.

 "Hey..."

 "I'm sorry..." you start, teeth chattering from the cold. "I'm sorry I screamed into your ear earlier."

 A sound, half a relieved sigh and half a chuckle, leaves his mouth.

 "I'm half deaf from that ear anyway."

 A light chuckle falls from your lips too. Joel keeps walking west through the highway, and you keep yourself desperately clinging to him for dear life. The moon is your only other companion; without her, you both would be completely blind in the darkness of the night.

  [***]

  Joel probably hadn't thought about the possibility of taking breaks along the way. That's why, fourty-five minutes later, and under a beautiful sunrise of orange tones, he's struggling to keep going. His knees are screaming for him to stop, his biceps and hands tired of walking with a person's weight over his shoulders. And for the first time in years he remembers the times before the outbreak, when he was capable of lifting and moving huge pieces of furniture; often times on his own, other times with just Tommy.

 He might have overestimated his own strength, assuming he was as strong as before. But it seems that not only his mental health has deteriorated after Sarah's death, no. All of him has become older and darker and more broken since then. He hardly recognizes himself in the mirror anymore.

 "Joel?"

 "Yeah..." he gasps, out of air. "Sorry, I got distracted. You were saying...?"

 It is in moments like this that he hates not to be that same person he was before. He wonders if he is, finally, paying for his past sins, for all the people, infected or not, that he has killed.

It is unfair, the fact that you're paying for his piper.

 "You should stop for a while," you tell him, your voice low like a whisper. The warm air from your mouth slithers across his skin, up his neck, over his ear, and almost sends a shiver down his spine.

 "No."

 "Joel..." you huff. Before speaking again, you take a big gulp of air. "We are not getting anywhere if you don't take breaks. You'll just wear yourself off before we reach the halfway mark."

 His mind refuses to agree, but it's as if his body takes a relieved breath when he hears the words. Little by little, his body starts to listen to you before his mind does. His thighs are screaming, sore from the pain of exertion; and before he acknowledges, even, his body has stopped moving.

 "Okay," he gasps, quick tired breaths quickly entering and leaving his lungs. "...but just a minute, we don't have time for this bullshit."

 "Okay," you say, in the same tone he used earlier with you; when he lied and said he knew you could sit up on your own. "Just a minute."

 He pulls to the side of the road, and with the last of his strength he kneels down and tries to lay you on the ground as carefully as possible. You fall on your ass on the wet ground, but at least you don't hurt yourself on the spot. He asks you for the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours if you are okay.

 "I think I'm doing better than you," you respond, but your voice is so exhausted that Joel would love to just lay next to you and lull you to sleep.

 He turns around, his whole weight sitting on the grass as he takes gulps of oxygen. His eyes shut tightly, he wipes off a tear of sweat from his temple and looks at you.

 Wide-open eyes stare back at you, but just for a split second. He gets closer, his thumb brushing the shoulder of the brown jacket, his brown jacket. His eyes pierce yours.

 "Are you sure?"

 "That bad do I look?"

 Joel doesn't look at you, not at your face getting paler by the second or the dark circles under your eyes, or your hair now dishevelled. He sees you on his memories and can barely recognize you; your skin and eyes always glowing under the sun, your hair always perfectly done. Your job was often to act as an HR for their clients, and very rarely took actual FEDRA jobs that stained your hands; you weren't like Joel, you didn't care about rations or money or whatever.

 Expert fingers gently tug at the buttons, unbuttoning them so he could take a look to the wound. He had barely a glimpse of it when your fingers stopped his hands. Joel looks at you with those puppy eyes, as if you were about to faint in the next second.

 "If you wanted to see me naked you didn't have to wait until I got shot, you know?"

 You had said it in a playful manner, kidding, as a joke; but he saw beyond that. Part of you had only expected him to laugh, the other was dying —not pun intended— for him to kiss you. You'd have never said it if you weren't in this position, you'd have never gotten in between Joel and Tess.

 However, he didn't laugh, didn't make any funny remark. The way he looked at you, from under his eyebrows, lit a spark of hope somewhere inside you. Deep, deeper than your conscious mind would have ever reached. Joel didn't say anything, not even chuckled. His eyes came back to the wound, and uncovered the full sight of it.

 He had to fight a shocked gasp. His eyes fluttered, while holding his breath, between your own face and the wound. The bandage was still soaked in blood, that he had expected, but not the large bruise growing into your neck; or your right hand slightly paler than the other. He lifted, with trembling fingers, a corner of the bandage, and his action caused a trickle of dark blood to gush out, as if he had crushed a piece of watermelon between his fingers and it was now running down his arm. He looked below, inside his jacket, and saw a trail of blood that landed right into your navel.

 This time, it was impossible for him not to react. Not only his face, but also his body. He tried to get back on his two feet again, but before he finished the action, your fist closed around his wrist.

 "Joel..." he heard you call.

 "We need to go, now."

 Pressing your lips in a sad smile, you pulled him to the ground and he sat, mesmerised on that face he had only yet seen once; that time when he got too drunk on a Friday night and told you about Sarah at three in the morning. He felt his pulse quicken, his heart beating at the ends of his fingertips.

 "It's okay," you told him. Your gentle touch brushed his palm, danced around over his tan skin. "You can rest."

 Joel felt like he was in a fever dream. The setting certainly felt like it. You hadn't left the Boston QZ in a long while, and he had never pictured you out of those big silver walls either. He had not agreed to Tess' idea either, the dangers beyond the walls were almost impossible to escape. Still, Tess and him knew the city, they could get out fairly easily, had done that for a couple years to share stories over dinner with Bill and Frank. And Joel had loved the idea of seeing you sitting at that dinner table next to him, surrounded by a garden full of flowers, going through the dresses in the boutique that Tess had sworn you'd love.

 He had not signed up for this.

 "We need to go, please..." he tried a second time, but you just shook your head. He understood, somehow, what you meant.

 "A minute won't make a difference," you told him. In reality, you wanted to tell him that you'd be dead when he got the both of you to Lincoln, anyway. "If you are tired we will never get there."

 Useless and powerless as he felt, his only option was waiting. He took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and took a deep breath. You had never seen him so upset.

 "What are you so scared of?"

 At your words, his lower lip quivered slightly; it would almost have gone unnoticed if it wasn't because you had been watching him attentively for so many years. He looked at you, eyes barely half open, from under his eyelashes.

 "You're very important to me," he said. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, he seemed to be even more breathless than he was before. Joel had a hard time admitting his feelings, even to himself. "I don't know if you understand to what extent you're important to me."

 "I know..." you answered, nodding, your hand squeezed his for a second, trying to give him strength. "But you have Tess home, and your brother loves you... It will hurt for a while..."

 "Shut. Up."

 His eyes were tightly shut when he said it. It was a metaphor, almost, the way his eyes were closed not just to the physical world, but to the whole situation too that he couldn't escape from.

 The tip of your tongue wetted your lips.

 "What I'm trying to say is... it will pass..."

 His chest heaved, his gaps the only sound that filled the space between the two of you. And you continued:

 "People die all the time, Joel; and most times we can't do anything about it."

 His body rushed at you, his hands locked perfectly on both your cheeks, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally in place.

 "Not you, you hear me? Not you," he almost growled, his face a mixture of anger, determination, and grief. "Never you. You're not allowed to leave me. I will never forgive you."

 There was something hidden between the lines, something Joel wasn't saying. It was something you had denied yourself for a long time, for years, something you had insisted on not seeing because you didn't want to see it. Because, deep down, you were afraid that Joel would never love you back, that he would break your heart, that the only good man you'd ever known inside the walls of the Boston QZ would also be the one to abandon you to your luck.

 Joel had been your family for so long, and you had unconsciously protected yourself from seeing him as something else. But now there it was, clearly, latent in his confession. Your punishment for years of silence was now time, or rather, the lack of it.

 "I'm not giving up," he said. "and I need you not to give up either."

 He's close. His hot breath smells sweet -so instinctively Joel- and it's all around your face. His flesh is warm over the freezing skin of your cheeks. His body around you is shelter, is home.

 Joel is soon leaning in. He's all erratic breathing, rapid heartbeat and trembling hands; and as you close your eyes to allow his presence to swallow you like a black hole, he closes his eyes too.

 He doesn't let go, not just yet. He breathes in into your quick breaths the same way you revel in his.

 "I need an answer," he whispers over your mouth.

 "I won't, either."

 At first it's like a collision. He kisses you angrily for a split second, demanding and impatient; then, once he knows this is really happening, once he does understand that this is —finally— not a dream, he relaxes into your touch, your fingers delineating his jawline, caressing the beard there.

 He's quick, quicker than you'd have expected him to be; definitely quicker then he would have liked. He separates, then; and looks down at his jacket and the drops of blood staining the insides of it. It's not enough blood to send you into shock again, but it means part of the wound is ripping. You need stitches, not just a couple of bandages.

 "Enough resting then," he says.

   [***]

 Seven miles is usually nothing for Joel. In the first few months trading with Bill and Frank, Tess and him usually walked the fifteen miles that separated the city and the town at least twice a month. But this is all the more difficult, not just carrying you there, but knowing that he is running out of time.

 And you seem hellbent on making the journey even more difficult.

 "So...Tess?"

 "Pass."

 You huff, and the warm air sends a shiver down his spine; but he says nothing.

 "Okay."

 Your voice sounds so disappointed that he feels a pang of guilt. You know him better than to insist, and he knows that too. The guilt increases, though; and now he's inhaling a big gulp of air while still walking as fast as he possibly can without hurting his own knees.

 "We fucked a few times, before," he says. "but that doesn't mean anything. She's my colleague. That's all."

 If he was better with words, and feelings, he could say that he didn't feel anything for her. He could say that their hookups were nothing, just a fun thing they used to do before, before he realized that the one who he really wanted was you. A few months back he had realized that it never actually satisfied him, that those moments with Tess weren't as fun and innocent as they seemed to be before. They had talked about it, of course. He didn't want to play with her feelings, and that had been the end of it. She was just as fine without him, anyway.

 "I thought you two were dating."

 "If selling drugs for a living is what you call dating, then yes."

 Without even looking at you, he knew you were smiling, he could almost feel your lips stretching over his shirt.

 "I..." you said, then he heard you take another deep breath before talking again. "I'm sorry I asked you," another breath. "I... ran out of things to say."

 His brow furrowed in confusion.

 "You can say anything," he says. "Anything you really like, even a story."

 Anything just to know you're there...

 "Well..." you started. Then, a wheezing noise filled the air, followed by a gasp. "I... liked rock music-" silence. "...back in the day."

 "You okay?"

 Your fist tightened around his shoulder, your forehead pressing against his trapezius. He heard that wheezing sound again, followed by a pant. His hands squeezed harder the tender flesh under her knees.

 Joel tried to look at her, but all he could see from his peripheral vision was the top of her head and one eye tightly closed. His throat turned into knots.

 "Baby..." that was the most gentle tone you had ever heard coming from his mouth. "C'mon baby. Hold on, we're almost there."

 His whole body felt paralyzed, and he had to force himself to keep walking.

 What he didn't know was that your lungs were burning. They felt like a pair of balloons squeezing against your ribs, trying to expand beyond its cage. And it made all the pain in your back, from the shot, double as painful. The air you tried to swallow so bad, sounded like a whistle, like the breeze through an almost closed window. You were suffocating.

 "Talk to me, c'mon."

 With a painful drag of air, you complied.

 "I can't..." your fist tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "I can't."

 "Goddamnit..." he was panicking now. "Okay, that's okay baby. Just hold on to me, don't let go."

 Unable to do anything else, you just nodded as best you could and kept on holding on to him. His eyes desperately looked for signs of the town, and far away, in the distance, the row of trees ended; and he walked faster, hoping that Bill had already seen the both of you through the cameras.

 "J-Joel"

 You struggled to find air, and, therefore, the words.

 "Easy, easy" he said. "Just a bit more. You can do it, I know you can."

 His words lingered in the air, unanswered, not even him fully believed them. Joel was starting to feel his own shirt wet with blood from your wound. The feeling made him sick, his own imagination as he pictured what Bill was watching through the cameras, made it all a hundred times worse.

 He kept hearing the panting, the wheezing, becoming more desperate by the second. He realized, with horror, that you were suffocating righ there, on his back; from a collapsing lung, he guessed.

 He shouted Bill's name as he saw the fence that separated them from the town. Joel wasn't sure if he could hear him, but tried anyway.

 He felt your grip on his shirt hesitate, and he had to fight the instinct to squeeze your hand; if he had done it, you'd have fallen from his own grip. He heard you try and say his name.

 "Save it," he responded, even if it came out not as reassuring as he would have liked. "Don't try to talk."

 Before he reached the fence, it was already opening. Bill came out running, yelling something that he was too distracted to distinguish, Frank came behind him. Joel felt his knees wobble once through the gate. And now kneeling on the floor, he called your name, tried to turn his head to take a glimpse of you.

 "You did it. We're here."

 He noticed, then, that everything seemed all too silent. Everything that happened after that, happened very quickly. The hand that had been gripping his shirt slipped, limp over his shoulder.

 His mind disconnected, completely unaware of the other two people approaching. He released you with all the care that a person could have had, and his arms immediately caught you in an embrace. The sight of your closed eyes made him panic, and not having even checked your pulse, he buried his face into your neck and sobbed.

 Trails of blood ran through his forearms, and he threw up all the words that passed through his mind; a string of 'please stay' and 'I'm sorry'.

 "Joel," Frank struggled with him, fingers digging into his shoulder. "Joel you have to let go. Let us help her."

 He was too far gone, so much so that once your body hit the floor, Frank didn't allow him to touch you again. He sobbed, and, for a second, Bill saw himself in him. He would have never thought he would see Joel in this state, but yet there he was. He kept pressure on the wound, and saw himself in Joel, and Frank in you; and promised he would never let this happen to the two of them.

 Never.

  [***]

  The sun comes out the next morning. As it always does, as it always has. Orange light and blue skies illuminate the room, the clouds shine a different color; and Joel blinks; absolutely exhausted, devastated.

 His body is heavy, even if he's not holding any of his weight. He's sitting on the cold tiles, on the floor, his sore knees and thighs in the space under the bed, his head lying on the mattress, his whole body is bent over and it feels like jelly. His eyes are the only thing moving, they look at the window and see the night sky turn into daylight.

 Joel couldn't possibly say that he slept in that position; because he didn't actually sleep. He hasn't had a second of sleep since you got shot two days ago. Lying on the bed, is you, dormant; and his thumb draws circles on the back of you hand even if he's not paying attention to it. It comforts him to a degree, at least.

 Suddenly, pretty much everything has lost its meaning. Frank opens the door an hour later, almost tripping with the tray of food and water that he left the night before for Joel. He hasn't touched any of it. In fact, he forgot about it, but if it bothers him, Frank doesn't say anything. He takes it in his hands so he can take it to the kitchen downstairs.

 "We played 'I will survive' in the radio" he whispers before leaving. "It's a 70s song, but Tess will get the meaning."

 "Thank you," he mutters, his mouth pasty from barely speaking in the last twenty-four hours. Funnily enough, the only word he's said to them is 'thank you'.

 "You're welcome, Joel," he says. After a few seconds, waiting, he makes a dissatisfied sound. Frank approaches Joel, his palm squeezing his shoulder. "You should eat something, at least. Is there anything you want?"

 Joel looks at him, lifting his cheek from the mattress for the first time. His eyes are blood-shot and black circles adorn his eyes.

 "Coffee."

 "Not coffee, you need sleep."

 He huffs, his eyes lost in the window again. Frank, knowing he won't get anything from him again, vanishes behind the door and into the kitchen. He will bring him warm food later, hoping the smell will make him eat something despite his unwillingness to listen to any signal of hunger from his own body.

 A few moments later, your hand slips from his. As he loses your touch, a pang hits the pit of his stomach. But then, as he lifts from the mattress again, your fingertips lightly touch his chin, your thumb lovingly brushing his beard.

 "Baby?"

 Maybe he lost his sense of time, because he didn't expect you to wake up yet. In any case, when he sees your eyes open he practically pounces on the bed. He sits on the edge, and swallows the image of you looking at him.

 "Morning."

 He smiles at your words, feels his strength coming back into his body.

 "You're here," he says.

 Even beaten up as you look, he thinks you are gorgeous. Your face has regained its usual color, the bruising is coming down, changing colors little by little, the wound is stitched and bandaged, and the blood flow seems to reach your fingertips normally once again. Joel has no idea how Bill fixed the collapsing lung, he had said something about medical knowledge being necessary in the field too, but he hadn't paid attention. He doesn't care about the details, though. He just cares that you're safe and sound, and despite the close call, that has seemed to be the end result to this whole dilemma.

 There's no blood in sight, not even in the bandages. Frank had washed the blood from your hair the day before, and Joel had helped with the rest. He wished he could have you like this everyday: happy, clean, safe...

 In the last few hours Joel had discovered he was jealous. He wished he had a town like Lincoln all to himself, just so he could see you picking flowers in the front garden.

 "I'm here," you told him. The words felt like strawberries in his mouth. "and I'm not giving up on you."

 He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, leaned in for both your foreheads to meet, and kissed you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfic #tlou spoilers #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal x oc

[euphoricfilter]

HIIII GIRLY. I saw your drabble game anddd how about

"How could we ever just be friends" + yoongi djskskjs

just friends:

pairing: yoongi x gn! reader

genre: fluff || mild hurt with a lot of comfort || non-idol au

summary: maybe you were never just friends

word count: 1.2k

tags/ warnings: feelings, fluff, the smallest hint of hurt, they’re actually just really in love and the m/c is slightly oblivious but yoon is a big old sweetheart

notes: OMG HEY!!!!! you didn’t ask for a specific au so i did indulge slightly and made it fluffy and soft, hope you like it :D

drabble masterlist || all my other works

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

There had always been something utterly unique about Yoongi’s existence in your eyes. He had been the first, and only person whose life had meant anything to you.

You’d spent most of your life aimlessly wandering, taking each day as it came and only hoped it would get better the more you trudged through. Fingers letting go of the ropes of friendships you’d made and lost—people you didn’t pay any mind to now that they weren’t in your life.

You didn’t miss them. Never thought of them unless they were right in front of you, if they never made themselves known.

But Yoongi had been different.

It didn’t take his physical presence for you to wonder how he was doing. He didn’t need to message first for you to ask how his day was. Dreams filled with another reality, what the two of you would be doing the next time you met, how sweet your name sounded from his lips. Or that sweet smile he would give you every time you stumbled over your words, too caught up in his eyes your brain malfunctions and you forget how to speak.

Thoughts consumed by him, feelings wrapping around the idea of his existence, soul dancing around his in this weird push and pull, not quite just friends but not really anything more.

Special, precious, perfect, Yoongi.

In all your years alive you’d never had a crush until that first moment you met. Never once thought of another human being in any other way that wasn’t platonic. It felt as though part of your world had started to crumble to moment, you’d acknowledged how you truly felt about him, stuck in this endless dilemma. Because who were you meant to tell him about your feelings when he was your closest friend? What if he asked who it was? He knew you rarely went out, and you sure as hell would have told him if you’d gone on any dates. So, you’d been stewing in your own feelings for as long as you can remember, too scared to utter a word about what was really happening between the two of you.

Because, sure his touches lingered, warm skin pressed against one another until the heat has travelled to your cheeks and you refuse to look at him, too scared he’d see how flustered you were. And sure there was the nicknames, though that was something he’d started early on, and you had doubts he fell in love just as quickly as you did.

Sometimes it felt like he only smiled at you, and yet you could only assume it was because you were his best friend, a safety net for him as much as he was one for you.

But not once had he made it obvious he liked you any more than a friend. A fact you’d slowly decided you could live with.

Just like yourself, it wasn’t very often Yoongi went on dates, you don’t think he’s been on one in the time you’d been friends. Which makes this whole dilemma slightly easier to swallow, because at this moment in time you were probably the most important person in his life.

You got to live out your secret little fantasy, and he got a low maintenance friendship. The perfect exchange.

And truly you believed it would be like this forever, until that little dream in the forefront of your mind was shattered by someone else coming into his life, and the two of you slowly drifting apart.

That was until tonight.

It wasn’t often you drank, never indulged in the fine whiskeys Yoongi would bring over to your place, stashed away in the cupboard when he wanted a little something before bed. However, Yoongi had come over with a cocktail making kit, saying he’d done some research because he knew how much you liked sweeter drinks.

And maybe you’d had a few too many, eagerly asking him to make you different drinks from the little book he had, excited as you watched him mix everything together. Utterly amazed by how good everything he made tasted.

You can’t remember what you’d said, words tumbling out your mouth quicker than you could swallow them back down. The small, sane part of your brain slowly catching up to what was happening as you watch Yoongi’s face morph into something slightly more surprised.

“How could we ever just be friends?” he shakes his head, scooting closer to you on the couch.

“Because you don’t like m—”

He holds a finger up to your lips, quick to silence you.

“Don’t finish that”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, “but Yoongi—”

He takes hold of your hands, thumb running over delicate skin as he looks at your face.

“No” he shakes his head, “listen to me for a moment, yeah?”

He’s calm, voice tender and smooth.

You nod.

“You’re not forcing me into anything” he starts, “I thought I was being too pushy with you”

You swallow.

“Huh?” your eyes widen slightly, “But I could have sworn you didn’t like me more than a best friend”

The low rumble of a laugh vibrates from his chest, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way I look at you. They don’t hold your hand on days out, or wish they could kiss you when you make that sweet little face when you first wake up in the morning”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you murmur, “I really thought—”

“And why didn’t you tell me, hmm?” he smiles, “feelings are weird.”

You nod, outburst having helped you sober up slightly.

“What now?” your legs bounce a little, so far out of your comfort zone.

“Whatever you want” he reassures.

“I’m scared” it spills past your lips before you can think about it.

He tilts his head slightly in question, “About what? Commitment?”  

You shake your head, frantic “I just—I don’t know what to do I’ve never dated a person before”

He gives you a gentle smile, “Just be you. Just like you are now, that’s all I want”

“But what if I want a kiss?” you inch a little closer to him.

“Then I’ll give you a kiss”

“What if I wanted a kiss when we go out to dinner with your friends?”

He laughs, “Doesn’t matter when or where, I’ll always be willing to give you a kiss if that’s what you please”

You chew on your bottom lip.

“I’ve never actually kissed anyone before” you say, shoulders losing their tension, because now this felt normal. Like how it always was with Yoongi, where you didn’t need to have secrets or be scared about what he thought. Because for all the time you’d known him, he had always been by your side, and you hope it will stay like that for the rest of time.

“Then I’ll teach you” he hums, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “Try not to worry your pretty little head too much, I know what you’re like”

“But—” you worry.

“Nope” he laughs, “We’ll work through this together like we do everything else, I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

Your eyes flicker between his for a moment, words settling into your soul as you nod.

“And I’ll always be here for you too, just so you know” the corners of your lips curl up into a smile.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts #yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi imagine #bts non idol au #bts drabble

[bunji-enthusiast]

Dogday calling the player "Angel" gave me an idea. Can I have the toys reaction to their favorite caretaker being turned into a new toy named "The Gaurdian" who's basically a, well, gaurdian angel. They're purpose is too watch the toys from above in the shadows like batman and make sure they don't attack any of the employees, if they do they intertwine and save them before leaving. I'd imagine it'd be hard for the toys when the hour of joy arrives since the might have to hurt they're former caretaker

Guardianship

Note || absolutely!! I might’ve gotten lazy sorry- I keep forgetting to add a Taglist too lol.

WC || 959

“A Tight Squeeze” Toys – 

Huggy Wuggy:

He is very fond of you, one of many with having a very calming presence naturally. You always looked out for him, and even talked to him when nobody else would. Huggy always enjoyed your presence, but it was even more sudden to know that you had been turned into a brand new toy that was displayed and released as an official one.

The Guardian, as he had heard scientists and employees like to call the toy, was immediately surprised upon finally seeing you for himself. One day he had gotten a little too aggressive toward an employee and a swoop of air brushed past him, intervening between the employee and Huggy himself. He looked around to see who had done that, yet for the first time in his existence as a toy, he felt chilled to the bone to see your eyes glaring at him from the darkness. 

Huggy wished he didn’t have to go against you when time came for the hour of joy, but you were protecting the employees he was attacking from him. He had to injure you, and he didn’t like that, but he was forced to. Because of Prototype, he believed in the prototype, just barely but he didn’t want to hurt you at all. For a moment, he felt as if he were crying when attacking you

Poppy:

She didn’t even know what had happened to you, Poppy was kept far off and away from you even during your time as a human. Oh she wished to be free, to end it all. But she certainly hadn’t expected to be locked in the case, she may have been locked in there but that didn’t restrict her from hearing things.

Guardian huh? Maybe she could convince you to side with her, be against the Prototype once she is finally freed from her stupid case. Though the screams she had heard, both animalistic and human will never leave her mind. 

    Bron:

Bron was a quiet dinosaur, keeping to himself and simply interacting with children whenever the few had come up to him. Overtime he had become well acquainted with you when you were human, being confused when you had suddenly stopped showing up. He had heard talk of a new toy known as the guardian, but it was yet unfortunate in his opinion as he had not lived long enough through the hour of joy to meet you once more.

He too was a heretic. 

       Kissy Missy: 

She liked you, quite a lot when she met you. You gave off a very motherly vibe, reminding her of her fragmented past memories. Kissy had gotten closer to you then she did with others, feeling less small and afraid, more open in her movements when she was around you. 

Kissy was sad when you had disappeared into thin air, leaving work one day all of the sudden. Though her answers were quickly made true when she saw you as The Guardian, a brand new toy whose purpose was to prevent other toys from being aggressive towards humans. Keeping them in line. Now she was just even more sad, but had remained interacting with you all the same.

When the Hour Of Joy occurred, she urged you to go and hide. Kissy didn’t want you hurt, as much as you protested, saying it was your job to. She was forced to knock you out the best she could, then dragged you somewhere safe and hidden – out of sight of the other toys. 

“Fly In A Web” Toys –

Mommy Long Legs + Bunzo Bunny:

She had a distinct liking toward you, seeing herself in you as you both had very motherly auras. Even when she had taken care of the children, you took care of her. Especially when it had carried into your unlikely accident of transformation, being turned into The Guardian. Mommy had heard it from the ears of many children, when she had inquired about it to any of them, she was devastated.

You no longer were yourself, as she had been reminded of numerous times when she had gotten too aggressive toward any adults (even employees in particular). Bunzo was worried when he had asked Mommy about it, she reassured the musical bunny it was fine. 

Everything certainly wasn’t, Bunzo had stayed out of participating in the Hour Of Joy. Mommy had to deal with the guilt of having to hurt you, because you were getting in her way so many times – always protecting the employees from her attacks the best you could. 

“Deep Sleep” Toys —

Smiling Critters + DogDay: 

They all had truly liked you, kind and caring as a real caretaker would be. Though even if it had just meant you cared for the toys in particular. DogDay always was chatty with you, talking about all his other friends.

Sadness and torment was just the last thing they all needed, you got turned, turned just like they were. You became The Guardian as many had called you, your personality and demeanor changed completely. Only swooping down to protect employees against toys who got a little too close for your liking. DogDay was sad, he didn’t like it all that much. They had all shared the same sentiment. 

When The Hour Of Joy came, all the smiling critters had fought against it. You were one of the few who went and protected the employees, DogDay was distressed wondering what to do. No longer he had to deal with it unfortunately as he had faced CatNap, he had punished him for being a heretic, going against the Prototype.

He didn’t even get to know what happened to you, only CatNap knew your fate and was hanging this information over DogDay’s head.

[Taglist: @everythingnicen0nnie @prince0fpaints @alocaldemisexual02]

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #x reader

[gatorbites-imagines]

Whitebeard fucker here lol I’ve been summoned. Could you write something with a reader whose used to being the biggest guy around meeting whitebeard and going “ohhh” and wanting to climb that man like a tree? Any and all kinks are up to your choosing monsieur gator!! Also happy birthday man!

Edward “Whitebeard” Newgate x male reader

Headcanons

Bit my lip so fucking hard when I saw this request. Whitebeard enjoyers come assemble!

Thanks for the birthday wish :) I ended up getting a lot of comics and manga, so I’m very happy.

Reader possesses a devil fruit I made up I call the sun-sun Fruit. Hes also like 16 ft 9. Hes also at least 40+ years old. Old man yaoi.

You had known of Whitebeards existence ever since you started traveling the sea, who didn’t? The guy was a legend known as the strongest man alive, someone to avoid if you did the type of business you did.

You were a bit of an everything man. Information gathering, Intimidation, bodyguarding, assassin, anything that paid you a lot and you didn’t have to hurt the innocent, Youd do it.

The world government were cautious of you, but always let you get away with things others wouldn’t, as you also took jobs for them if need be. You played on every board, siding with pirates, with marines, with the poor, and with the rich. As long as they had good reason for asking for your help.

Your Sun-Sun fruit always helped with this as well, making you an extremely powerful fighter, possessing the ability to gather and store solar energy and light itself. After mastering it you could easily create explosions big enough to destroy islands, coat your body in solar energy, or coat your weapons, as well as many other things.

Your preferred weapon were spears, your most beloved weapon a naginata that had been gifted to you after a job well done, some celestial who fanboyed over pirates wanting to give you a big reward. The naginata was supposedly cursed, but you two got along a little too well most days.

All in all, you were well known in your own circles, but nowhere near as much as someone like Whitebeard.

That was also the reason you turned down your latest request to kill Whitebeard. You might have been strong, but you were never an idiot. You might have stood at almost 17 feet, towering over anyone you had ever met, but even you know Whitebeards crew was so loyal it was lethal.

The people giving you the request has been annoyed about you rejecting it, but they could do nothing to stop you as you left, on your way to the next island. There was never a destination in mind if you didn’t have a contract, so you just called it joy sailing.

It was mere coincidence that you found yourself sailing through Whitebeards territory. You had no need for a crew, as you had mastered the skill to create stand-ins with your sun-sun fruit, creating human shaped beings out of condensed solar energy.

The ship you traveled in wasn’t too big either, especially compared to the moby dick. But they had easily spotted you, and your “crew” had spotted them in return. For some reason the whitebeard crew were interested in you, though their interest made your heartrate skyrocket as the moby dick neared your own much smaller ship.

When it became clear they weren’t there to fight, you agreed to link up your ships, even if it was just because you knew they could end you before you would be able to run for it.

Stepping onto the ship, part of you was curious at their lack of reaction to your towering height, even as they had to turn their heads all the way back to look at you to ask questions about your “light crew”, or one of them demanding to know what your favorite food was, or where you got your naginata.

When you finally met Whitebeard though, it all made sense. The guy made even you feel small, even though he wasn’t towering over you the same way you were the rest of his crew. Maybe it was his presence, as he laughed and patted you on the back, greeting you by the nickname the masses called you.

But all you could think about was how seeing someone taller than you made you feel. Just feeling his large hand patting your shoulder, or seeing how he was still taller than you when you sat, was enough for you to think about booking it again.

You had no idea why, but for some reason you stuck around with the Whitebeard crew for a while. To the point where they started acting like you were part of the crew. Even when you tried to turn it down, they’d just give you a knowing look before ignoring your complaints.

In your opinion, you were too old to join someone’s crew, especially with you being known as a “backstabber”, as you never picked one specific side.

And yeah, you knew why you were sticking around for so long. It was all Whitebeard, and that weird, fluttering feeling he gave you, and the arousal he caused, but that was not as important…for the most part.

It was only after the crew had settled on the island to restock that you thought about leaving for real. One of your contacts had called you on your den den mushi, and told you about a very high paying job. You might have been so rich your ancestors would live in luxury, but you could never get enough.

Unluckily for you, Whitebeard had overheard the call. He had looked sad about you wanting to leave, but had invited you to join him for a drink before you packed up and went on your way.

That’s how you found yourself sitting beside him in front of a bonfire, just the two of you, both of you decently buzzed and flushed. Your devil fruit power made you mostly immune to alcohol, the heat of the sun burning the alcohol away before it could work, but whatever stuff Whitebeard had on him seemed to have the right kick.

Later you would blame the alcohol for your reaction when Whitebeards hand settled on your lower back. You had abandoned your jacket a while ago, some of Whitebeards crew running off with it to use it for some drunk game they were playing.

Your devil fruit also worked best without too much clothes in the way, meaning Whitebeards hand was right on your back, and your thirsty self had arched into it with a soft groan, your head flopping to the side to rest against him.

Whitebeard had chuckled, but it wasn’t his usual loud guffaw, but something deeper and smoother, like melted dark chocolate or the best whiskey you had ever drank.

His hand had rubbed and massaged your back until you felt like putty, small sparks of light and solar energy flickering across your torso as your control slipped, Whitebeard huffing amusedly at the small jolts it sent through his arm.

You would blush in the future when thinking about it, denying it ever happened, before blaming the alcohol once more. But in that moment, it was impossible to not spill all the thoughts you had about him. How he made you feel so hot inside, how much you fantasied about him, his hands, his height, his cock.

Whitebeard had seemed almost charmed, and maybe he was. It wasn’t every day that someone his age and especially his size had someone fawning over them. Maybe that was why he pulled you into his lap, with your back resting against his chest, as his battle worn hands traveled across the front of your torso.

He murmured and purred into your ears as one of his large, calloused hands groped and pinched at one of your pecs, making you gasp and arch into the touch, legs jolting until his other hand came down to hold your thigh in place.

The praise falling from his lips had you feeling much drunker than you were, vision blurring for a second before you were able to focus again, your own hands grasping at his pantleg as you huffed out a breath.

The veins across your body lit up every now and then from the stored solar energy in your body flickering, causing Whitebeard to chuckle that deep chuckle once more, making some comment about that being a nice party trick.

You were about to snap back a rebuttal, something rude about his own devil fruit power, but before the words could even leave you, the hand gripping your thick slid under your waistband.

Embarrassment flooded your system as you keened, head falling back onto his chest as your hips jolted. And how crazy was that? He was so tall your head fall onto his chest, not his shoulder, not above his own head, his chest.

It had your throbbing even more, immediately coating his palm in a layer of precum, making Whitebeard tsk teasingly, before rubbing the palm against the head of your sensitive shaft, only making you drip even more.

What could you say. You were sensitive. Being your size made it pretty hard to find a partner who could keep up with you, or someone you wouldn’t hurt on accident. And as your fame grew, less and less individuals even wanted to give it a try.

That was why you were keening and whimpering in Whitebeards lap like some kind of virgin, at least that’s what you told yourself to keep your dignity.

It didn’t explain the way you jolted and spilled into his hand when Whitebeard grabbing your chin, turning your head so he could kiss you. Your eyes rolled back, and solar energy flashed across your body as you came, gasping into his mouth, your breath so hot It would have harmed anyone not as sturdy as Whitebeard.

With his lips still pressed against yours he mumbled praise, telling you stuff that had you melting even further into his embrace, hips still jolting and twitching into his hand like you didn’t want it to end.

As you rolled your hips you could feel his own erection, and you almost wanted to pass out from just how big he felt. You had never met anyone who was bigger than you in that way, yet here Whitebeard was, pretty much offering it to you on a silver platter.

The night was spent with Whitebeard wringing more than just a couple of orgasms out of you, at some point leaving you so overstimulated and pleasured that your body had phased out, turning into solar energy.

Whitebeard had cackled loudly at the sight, seeing how you were in so much pleasure you couldn’t even stay solid. When you finally came back to yourself, he placed a big kiss on your cheek and then your mouth, making some teasing comment about it all.

The next morning you couldn’t look his crew in the eye, the knowing looks boring into your large broad back, that for once was wearing a shirt, to cover most of the hickeys their captain had left on you.

And if you just so happened to turn down the job offer your informant gave you, and if you just so happened to attach your ship to their fleet, and you just so happened to start being referred to in the same parental way as Whitebeard, who would be the wiser.

You honestly had no idea how to react when Whitebeards, and you guessed now your, crew started referring to you with a fatherly title in the same way they called Whitebeard Pops. You hadn’t wanted to be open about your relationship with Whitebeard, but to the crew it was so damn obvious.

Even when you and Whitebeard became official, and maybe even married at some point, you still took jobs every now and then, never getting enough of the thrill of money. But it was a lot less, and you pretty much cut all contact with the world government.

Sure, that got you a bounty and a high reward, but you honestly couldn’t care. After all this time you realized, maybe a crew wasn’t so bad. It also helped to have a partner that made you feel safe and cared for, whilst also leaving you limping in the best possible way.

#male reader #edward newgate #whitebeard #one piece #edward newgate x male reader #edward newgate x reader #edward newgate imagine #edward newgate headcanon #whitebeard imagine #whitebeard headcanon #whitebeard x male reader #whitebeard x reader #one piece imagine #one piece headcanon #one piece x male reader #one piece x reader #op #op imagine #op headcanon #op x male reader #op x reader

[xoxoskai]

MAYAILYA AND EVERY WHAT IF

Welcome to delusionworld, may I take your coat?

Maya first meets Ilya and recognizes him as one of the "scums" who tried to hurt Nikolai. Stomps her six-inch heel into his foot before flipping her hair and walking away.

"No, Jeremy. I don't care that he's your guard."

Notices Ilya around Cecily on Jeremy's orders and asks him if he'd bark just because Jeremy tells him to.

"Loyal dog, this one." She tells Cecily.

Ilya smirks at her, threatening and malicious before sucking in a breath and howling. Grins wider at her gritted teeth as Cecy laughs.

Maya, flustered? Since, uh, when?

Ilya is a professional Maya-ignorer first, human second.

What do you mean he can't take his eyes off her when she's in the room? He is very proficient at ignoring her.

Watches as she back pedals out of the kitchen at the Heathens mansion when she notices him there. As if remembering herself, she struts back inside and pours herself a glass of a green protein shake that exists in the refrigerator only for her.

Passes him by as he quietly eats his food before reversing her steps, sweeping the saltshaker off the tray, opening the lid and dumping it all into his pasta.

"Oops" She smiles, all teeth and no remorse.

Ilya, without breaking eye contact, digs into his pasta and takes a large bite.

Maya sucks in a sharp breath through her nose, glaring as she leaves, her glass of protein shake forgotten next to his plate.

The next time she pours herself a glass of protein shake, the Heathens are having dinner. Ilya is speaking to Jeremy inside the kitchen but watches eagerly as Maya's face blanches at the copious amounts of sugar he's added to her beverage as retaliation.

Maya glares at him, nostrils flaring, and he looks on with a face of complete innocence before focusing back on Jeremy.

She'd punch him but she is annoyed at the thought of a bruise on his pretty face.

His face is not pretty, she reminds herself.

The next time he sees Maya, she's riling Annika up.

"We'll be sisters-in-law! And we can shop together and get our nails done and grab lunch whenever! Oh, and you can be my maid-of-honor!"

Annika looks about ready to rip her hair off, but Ilya intervenes and shakes his head at her.

"You're better than this, Annika" He tells her "Don't stoop to her level. Which is lower than the basement level, by the way."

Annika giggles and Maya's back to gritting her jaw.

He watches as her gaze roves over his entire face, momentarily snagging on his white-blond hair before she smiles, feline-like

"Don't be jealous, you can be the flower boy. We have roles for everyone, even the-"

But Ilya has already turned his back to her, effectively ignoring her as he tells Annika that Jeremy is looking for her.

Annika glares at Maya once again before taking off in the other direction. Ilya waits for a moment, also deciding to leave but Maya grabs his sleeve.

"I was still talking!"

He doesn't say anything, watches her in a way that expresses his boredom and irritation at having to stand there in her presence.

It's like a punch to the gut. Maya hates that people would beg for an ounce for her attention, but Ilya always manages to make her feel like she's a speck of dirt that ought to be stepped on.

She turns around and leaves without saying anything else.

When the Heathens mansion catches fire, Maya is stuck in one of the bathrooms where the door is jammed.

Hair sticking to her back, eyes watering and body trembling, she's trying to pick the lock like her father taught her but she's too disoriented.

She is screaming for help while alternating between trying to use a hairpin to pick the lock and slam on the door for help.

When the hairpin slips from between her fingers and goes under the door, she lets out a wail and uses both fists to slam on the door and wrench the doorknob, inhaling more and more smoke, coughing violently. 

The doorknob falls to the ground and the door flings open, letting in more smoke and a frantic Ilya whose face is first drenched in relief and then in rage.

"You weren't supposed to be here today!"

"The house is on fire and now you wanna talk?!"

"God help me, Maya. If we make it out of this alive, I'm gonna fucking strangle you."

He's already putting a mask over her face, but Maya pulls back, going further inside the bathroom.

"I swear to fuck-"

She sprays him with water.

"Your shirt is on fire; do you not feel anything?!"

There's a giant hole in his back, the burn on the skin registering much later. If he hadn't been distracted by how she had been trembling and crying when he found her, he would have paid attention sooner.

Instead of saying anything else, he grabs her wrist, throws her over his shoulder and starts running.

Once out, he deposits her in one of the ambulances before taking her mask off, getting ready to leave when one of the nurses starts bandaging her arm.

"Where are you going?"

She's grabbing his arm again and before he can register the feel of her skin against his, she's taken it back, her guards back up.

"Whatever" She is picking at her cuticles "I don't care."

"Jeremy is still inside" he tells her anyway, not because he was stalling- she was family with the Heathens, she deserved to know the entire story. "Nikolai, Killian and Gareth made it out safely."

She doesn't say anything, quiet while the nurse finishes bandaging her arm and moves to the cut from a splinter on her thigh.

Maya doesn't react, doesn't even flinch when the nurse cleans the wound. It makes Ilya smile. The mafia princess was a lot tougher than she looked.

He's leaving when her quiet voice gives him pause.

"You should find Niko. He can clear a path till Jeremy."

Ilya gives no indication that he heard her.

He goes looking for Niko.

They are putting Jeremy in one of the ambulances when Ilya reveals that Maya was inside when the mansion caught fire.

Niko is already halfway to the mansion when Ilya catches up and finishes the rest of his sentence.

"I got her out. She's in that ambulance, unharmed"

The oldest Sokolov is leaving to check on his sister when he stops and makes his way back to Jeremy's guard.

"I owe you one. Next time any of my sisters are in danger, they are your first priority. Just like Annika"

Ilya didn't need him spelling out who his first priority was. Ilya was well aware.

"The next time you "accidentally" touch her, she's going to sever your hand from your body before ripping out your favorite organ and chopping it in biteable sizes for dogs."

Ilya does a double take when he hears the bored voice with which Maya is delivering gruesome threats.

He pokes his head around the corner at university when he notices a furious Mia signing at God-speed as Maya translates what she's saying.

Noticing that the guy is one of the Serpents, Ilya is making his way toward the trio when Maya snaps her fingers in front of the guy's face.

"My eyes are up here, asshole."

"They are not nearly as pretty as what's down here" The Serpent replies without missing a beat, openly ogling her breasts from the deep V-neck blouse she was wearing.

Fists clenched; Ilya is about to drive one of his fists into his face, but Maya is quicker.

Knee-raised, she brings his face down by tugging at his collar and gets him right in the nose, a satisfying crunch following.

The guy drops to his knees, clutching his nose and wailing as the Sokolov twins stand over him, undeterred.

Mia notices him first, paused in the act of approaching them and she waves at him, grabbing Maya's attention as well.

She crosses her arms, unaware that she's pushing her breasts up even further, making Ilya close his eyes and pray for strength from greater forces.

Mia signs something at him and turns to Maya for translation but Maya keeps studying her nails, making no attempt to do so. 

When Mia signs more furiously, Maya lets out an exasperated sigh before turning her irritated look at Ilya.

“She’s asking when are you going to drop off the face of the Earth?” 

Mia swats her sister’s arm before moving toward Ilya, pulling out her phone and typing in it. Her text reads,

Heard about last night. Are you okay?

Ilya decides he now knows which Sokolov twin he likes better. He nods.

“I’m good, thanks.” 

While Mia types more, Ilya slants a look toward her twin who is already scrolling through her phone. Her blouse was long-sleeved, and she was wearing skinny jeans and boots for a change. To hide all the bandages, he was sure.

Thank you for helping Maya yesterday. We owe you one.

Ilya smiles at her “She can thank me herself” is on the tip of his tongue when he looks at Maya and she’s glaring now. 

If her eyes could kill, she’d have stabbed him a hundred times-no, a thousand times by now.

“Mia, I have class” she says before turning and leaving. 

“You hang around Brandon King too much.”

Nikolai is telling Mia that same afternoon while Ilya supervises Annika’s cooking, who has been on house arrest since the fire.

“This much salt?” 

Ilya internally cringes as Annika holds up a tablespoon of salt before shaking his head and finding a teaspoon for her. 

When he returns his attention back toward the Sokolov siblings, they are engaged in a heated, glaring contest. 

It reminds him of the Sokolov who is missing. 

She remains AWOL for a while after that. 

He only catches glimpses of her at university in passing and she’s always standing too far from him. 

In every scenario. 

Not like it should matter though, right? 

When he finally finds her in the Heathens mansion, she’s at the door, talking to Gareth. 

“I’ll RSVP for the party but tell Uncle Asher I can’t guarantee that Niko will make it.” 

Ilya is on his way inside and deliberately slows down. He can’t remember how long it has been since he’s heard her voice in person. 

“Jeremy is out with Niko.”

Gareth, who notices Ilya first, informs him while successfully bringing the attention of his cousin toward the outsider. 

Of course, Ilya knows Jeremy is out with Niko. But he’s been making excuses to drop by more and more. Stopping by the mansion to inform Jeremy of things he could tell him over a phone call. Volunteering to teach Annika how to cook (because unlike her family, he didn’t know he couldn’t reveal that cooking wasn’t her strongest suit and openly balked when he first tasted it). Following Niko on his bike reads. Learning the basics of sign language for Mia. 

Maya has already turned away and focused her attention back on Gareth. She’s touching his sleeve in a familiar manner and Ilya has to remind himself they’re cousins and grew up together. 

“I’ll see you later” she’s saying, descending the steps, her plaid skirt swishing. 

He’s watching her go and he wants to say something but he’s not sure what. 

He’s not sure why. 

Her birthday comes around and of course the Heathens are throwing a full-fledged party.

Jeremy assigns Ilya to buy an appropriate gift for the twins because he’s obliged to give one, not that he particularly cares. 

Ilya shows his displeasure by buying atrocious matching little Bo Peep costumes that make Nikolai and Killian’s eyes water from laughing too hard when they catch Ilya gift wrapping them and writing-

I took lots of time to handpick these,

Jeremy

-on the card. 

Ilya gets Mia a tiny plant that is easy to grow and doesn’t require a lot of watering. 

Maya watches him give it to her, her eyes pinging between the gift, Mia’s reaction to it as she thanked him, and he signed back “Welcome” and finally at Ilya himself who she pinned in place with a blank look before she moved on and opened her own gifts.

If she’s disappointed that he didn’t get her anything, she surely doesn’t show it. 

She stopped showing her displeasure a while back and Ilya is not aware of what changed. Earlier she used to deliberately mess with him or pick fights but now she’d removed herself completely and started to make him feel exactly what she used to call him. 

A dog. Begging for attention from an owner who didn’t care. 

He watches from afar as she sits in the middle of all her friends, looking lonely despite all the 200 odd people who’d shown up for her.

Maya hates her birthday. The only way to get through it, she realized long ago, was pretending she loves it.

She notices Ilya detaching himself from Jeremy’s side for the first time since the night began and making his way upstairs and she is glaring at his back. 

She didn’t care if anyone saw. Did the infuriating man not know it was her birthday too? 

She was so furious that he’d bought such a thoughtful gift only for Mia that she almost- almost dug her heel into his foot again. 

Screw it, she had a bone to pick with him. Coming to a birthday party without a gift for the birthday girl should certainly be considered blasphemy- she decided as she stomped upstairs to look for him. 

After fifteen minutes of fruitless snooping through all the Heathens’ rooms, she’s about to leave when she takes on toward the east wing on a whim. 

Most of the repair work is still ongoing and Maya is about to check in Jeremy’s old room when she passes by the bathroom, she was stuck in. 

The doorknob is missing, and she realizes she never found out how Ilya knew she was in there or how he even got the door to open.

She pushes the door open and sure enough, Ilya is sitting on the counter twirling a very familiar hairpin between his fingers. 

“What do you want, Princess?” 

Maya stubbornly keeps her mouth shut, remembering that this man didn’t care about what she wanted at all. He cared about everyone but her. He cared about her freaking sister more. 

A sister he had smiled at. 

Maya had only ever been the recipient of his glares, but it had taken one conversation with Mia for him to smile at her like they were long lost best friends. 

“My hairpin” 

Ilya laughs when she even holds her hand out, gaze fixated on the pin caught between two of his fingers. 

God, those fingers. 

“Give it” she says when he makes no further move. 

“Why?” He asks, resuming twirling the hairpin between his fingers, taunting her with it and watching her face turn more and more irritated. 

“Because it was gifted it to me and it’s of a lot of value to me.” 

Partly, it was true. Her father had gifted it to her, but Maya had a million of such hairpins. She hadn’t even remembered losing this one until a minute ago.

“Bad girls who tell lies don’t get birthday presents.” 

Sure enough, he procured a tiny box out of his jacket that barely fit into his hand and was wrapped in floral wrapping paper. 

He had gotten her a gift too. 

No, she wasn’t sure she was the one he meant. He was going to pull the rug off her feet and laugh as she fell.

“Oh good, Mia is safe then.”

Refusing to see him agree with her, she starts checking her nails, but his silence made her look back at him. 

He looked…angry.

What right did he have to be angry?

“Do you really not know that your sister fancies Landon King or are you really that ignorant?” 

Maya forces herself not to snarl and instead smile at him, sickly sweet and fake.

“Why would I care? I’m gonna marry Jeremy, make Nika my maid-of-honor and you can be the ring-bearer. It’s trendy to have the dog trail down the aisle with the rings these days.” 

Eyes ablaze, Ilya tells her in a deathly calm,

“Get out, Maya” 

“Or what, you’re gonna hurt your master’s future wife?” 

“I’m gonna fuck her in her wedding dress and then she’ll walk down the aisle with my cum dried between her legs and take her vows knowing her husband wasn’t the one who fucked her on their wedding day.” 

Ilya catches the exact moment his words settle deep into her bones because she sucks in a breath and turns to leave but he’s faster, banging the door closed above her head when she attempts to open it. 

“No more wedding plans to make?” 

“Let me go, Ilya.” 

He’s so close, her hair is tickling his nose, and he can smell her shampoo. Roses and vanilla. She even smells like his darkest temptation. 

“Didn’t you want me to get out? I’m going” 

“Open your present first.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Take it or I won’t wait till your wedding day to make good on my promise.” 

Maya takes the present. 

She turns toward him, glaring at him and the stupid height advantage he has over her, but Ilya remains standing close, hand still above her head. 

Aware that commenting on his closeness will only make him cockier, Maya focuses on ripping off the delicately wrapped box, trying to showcase how much she didn’t care.

She opens the velvet box and, on the cushion, lies a delicate piece with tiny sapphires embedded into gold. 

Maya thinks it’s one of the most beautiful pieces she’s ever laid eyes on. Not too gaudy and flashy, just the right amount.

Unclasping it, she begins putting it on around her wrist seeing as it is too small to be a necklace or even a choker, but Ilya tuts, takes it away from her and leads her toward the counter he had been sitting on. 

He lays his jacket down and before she can even comprehend what his next move is, he’s already lifting her onto the counter, settling her down on his jacket so she doesn’t dirty her white birthday dress. 

Maya bites back her thanks even though she feels a little overwhelmed at the prospect of him doing this knowing she’s a germaphobe and not out of the goodness of his heart.

“It’s not a bracelet” He tells her, stepping back before grabbing her stiletto pumps and slowly raising her foot “It’s an anklet.” 

“Oh” 

He’s smirking while she waits with bated breath as he sets her heel on his stomach, clasping the anklet around it. He doesn’t make contact with her skin a single time except lightly brushing her ankle with his knuckles before pulling his hands away. Maya almost mourns their loss. 

She’s aware he’s waiting for her to drop her leg but she’s thinking of a different scenario with lesser clothes and more skin. 

Ilya can tell. 

“It’s pretty” She finally says.

“Yes” He agrees “It is.” 

But he’s looking at her and Maya can’t look away. 

Before anything transpires, Maya snaps out of her reverie first.

“I should g-”

“Why are you avoiding me?” 

His question doesn’t catch her off-guard. The fact that he noticed she’s been going out of her way to avoid him does. 

“We always avoid each other” 

His brows draw together “Not this way..we don’t.” 

“We’re not friends, Ilya.”

“I know. I’m a dog” 

Maya is rolling her eyes when he smirks at her.

“And you’re a bitch.”

She swats his shoulder “I may be a bitch, but I do have manners, I’ll return the favor on your birthday.” 

“Do you even know when my birthday is?” 

“14th February” At his raised eyebrows, she’s smiling “What, you think you’re the only one who knows everything?” 

“No” He's stroking her calf now, making her breath hitch “I didn't get you this-” He hooks his pinky finger into the anklet “-just so you could return the favor. I had ulterior motives.” 

“Like what?” 

He's not saying anything, watching her in that contemplative manner that puts her on the spot “Like what?” She repeats and this time he grabs her foot and pulls her forward till she is half hanging off the counter. 

Leaning one hand on the counter near her, his mouth is directly above her when he reveals his real purpose. 

“When I saw it in the store, I couldn't stop picturing what it would look like around your ankle when it's dangling off my shoulder.”

#legacy of gods #god of wrath #god of malice #god of ruin #maya sokolov #ilya levitsky #landon king #mia sokolov #jeremy volkov #nikolai sokolov #killian carson #glyndon king #brandon king #eli king x ava nash #eli king #rina kent #god of war #god of pain #god of fury

[jirachis-tag]

~Larry X Reader~

Word Count: 2024

Content: SFW

-Lunch Break-

It wasn't a new occurrence to hear people make fun of your colleagues and subordinates, as the Chief of the Department. The mindless gossip never disturbed you, knowing well how draining and monotonous the daily assignments of everyone's jobs were first hand. Never had you gone out of your way to participate nor break their fun, deeming it an unnecessary activity for yourself. If anything, it seemed to have had a stress relieving effect on the employees, so you thought: as long as it stays harmless, you wouldn't intervene or react.

Except for that very day, apparently. One name made your ears clatter like a passing truck, your eyebrows furrowing until your forehead hurt. "Larry". The energy with which it was said was undeniably scornful, jeering, an urge to crush the knees of and crack open the skull to whomever had started it steadily arising within you. Your eyes scanned the area where Larry was usually seated. Almost hidden behind stacks of papers and binders was his head laid upon the desk top, fast asleep, one rarity that struck you as entirely odd.

Larry was a hard, responsible worker. He didn't quite enjoy his position, maybe even less so than others, having heard him mutter complaints under his breath and sigh miserably every so often. He wasn't violent or ungrateful whenever those would slip, nor were they aimed at anyone besides himself to hear. 'So unfortunate, I'm really so unfortunate', you've caught him murmuring. You'd glanced at him to see if you could assist him, hear him out at least, yet the chance didn't seem to have existed after all. He'd already begun doing paperwork, an aura of inaccessibility and distance constructed all around his work desk. As per usual.

"Larry?", you put a hand on his shoulder, gently rocking him back into consciousness.

He hummed in a low, tired tone, not exactly realizing who was speaking to him, why, or where he was at the moment.

"Are you alright?", your palm pressed against his forehead gently, checking for a fever.

That seemed to have woken him up immediately, as he quivered and jerked away from you, catching your wrist.

His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise and embarrassment:

"Chief… Excuse me. This must be bothersome", he averted his eyes to the crushed up documents whose lettering was a little faded, the handwritten notes at some spots barely legible.

"No", you shook your head reassuringly, covering up the preceding exasperation exceptionally well, "You need a break, pronto. Come with me", you tugged the wrist in his grasp gently to guide him up, which he released right away, saying another apology.

You smiled at his caution and care. There weren't many instances of you two communicating before, however, from what you've gathered so far, he was often grouchy on the surface, but in reality a really sweet man who just needed someone to look after him when it gets especially tough. You wondered if he had anyone like that; a close friend, a lover, a spouse perhaps. Despite the curiosity, you forcefully disregarded the thought. Your personal crushes should lay low after all. That's what you've always been telling yourself, in fear that your professional demeanor would falter, that you'd lose the little authority you held at this part of the building. Yet you didn't manage to hold your enthusiasm in check that afternoon. And how could you? It was that perfect of a chance to make acquaintances, let Larry know you were available to communicate with on a less formal basis, emphasize on your presence in his everyday office life.

"I'll be back to work, I apologize. It was a shameful moment of weakness."

What was actually shameful was the way your thoughts would focus on him at all the wrong times in a variety of equally wrong ways. Sometimes him being unsociable and too lost in his tiredness to notice the existence of those anomalies was desirable.

"And you risk it happening again. Come on. Have coffee with me at least", the way he still didn't look convinced that he should be taking care of himself more made you change your stance, "Just for a little while. This can wait. Your health cannot. Don't make me turn it into an order."

"Chief-"

"The big bad boss won't hear about this", you played that one off as a bit of a joke, ensuring it would be understood as such by sealing it with a wink.

Larry cleared his throat and stood up with a groan, some joints even letting out a crack. You could tell he secretly longed for leaving that chair, maybe even quitting work for that day altogether. Frankly, you'd happily join him if that were possible, as monitoring, check-ups, paperwork and phone calls weren't fun for you either.

"Mind telling me what happened? In secret, of course", you struck up conversation as you two were making your way towards a nearby coffee vending machine.

His eyes were on the verge of closing, taking him a considerable amount of time to come up with an acceptable explanation:

"Trouble sleeping, I guess. That's all there is to it."

You crouched while waiting for your drinks to brew. Looking him up and down, his undesirable posture standing out the most, a worried 'I see' crossed your lips. You considered asking whether you could give the man a hug, a pat on the back, a few meaningful, reassuring words you'd sprinkle in, hoping they'd get to him, enough to soften him up. You hated seeing him so down in the dumps all the time; a depressing sight, really. Nobody deserved to feel like that, passion and commitment to excellence and improvement destroyed, squashed down and shattered, leaving behind an empty husk, an individual who might've been an accomplished young man in the past.

Hoping to see him smile, you sent the best one of your own his way while handing him a steaming paper cup, the scent of coffee tickling your nose. It wasn't returned.

"Can I help you somehow, Larry? Please tell me if you need to talk about it, I promise to at least hear you out." To that he didn't respond. You tried again. "If you have any doubts about being a burden, clear them up right away. Let's go sit outside on the balcony. There are benches there; not too uncomfortable, if I may say so."

"Alright, if you so insist. I don't have anything to say, however."

"That's alright. We can just relax", you paused for a second, having just remembered a little something about him. Larry really liked food. "Would you… want half of my sandwich? It's not too big, and I don't know about the quality, but I'd-", he cut you off, putting his hand up, not needing an excuse of any kind.

You made eye contact with him again, his bushy eyebrows just barely raising for the first time that day. He almost looked excited. In a very Larry way. Your heart fluttered for a moment. You swallowed a lump in your throat.

"Thank you."

You tilted your head gently. In case that was an agreement, you couldn't have been more joyful. Fortunately, he noticed your puzzled expression and curtly nodded. You desperately needed to control every atom in your body not to approach and tightly embrace him. Your arms were a bit faster though, raising themselves half way before you caught yourself, lowered them and turned around to make your way towards the door leading to the outside lounge.

You wished he'd grab you by the shoulder, stop you, like in romance movies, having cleverly read your intentions, and hold you close for a while, share body heat and ardent emotion.

But, no, that's Larry, actually. Just Larry. Your most 'unfortunate' instance of puppy love yet. And you should expect nothing.

Then you did a double take when he surpassed you and held the door for you. You blinked, mouth half open. Larry didn't seem to think much of it, gaze focused on the coffee he was delicately swirling around in his cup.

He positioned his foot to stop it from closing, running the now free hand through his hair. He looked at your figure frozen in place, then motioned for you to come through.

"I'm sorry, I zoned out for a second", you tried covering up your flustered poise with a cough, "Thank you kindly."

When you got out of sight, your hand flew to your mouth, locking away a squeal. You couldn't fathom how the most basic of gestures sent your tummy in a state of ache, wings of those persistent butterflies grazing your insides.

"Chief", Larry called out in a monotonous volume, "If I'm being impolite, I apologize in advance, but in all honesty you seem of worse state of mind than myself at the moment."

The length of his sentence made you look over your shoulder. He suddenly wasn't so far away from you, and you didn't know how to respond, surprise and shock winning you over.

"Mm, I might just…"

He pointed at the bench, implying you should continue there, ingeniously passing you the spotlight, something you didn't plan on having. Did he do that often? You doubted so. How many people converse with him on a weekly basis anyways?

'Just some average nobody', you've overheard the employees today, 'He's kind of weird, in my opinion. Does he creep you out a bit, or is it just me?'

Before you knew it, you were seated next to each other. Both hunched forward, leaning against your knees, sharing your lunch. Yet mostly in silence. You'd steal glances at Larry, him patiently chewing, perhaps savoring it. He hadn't looked at you once.

"What is it?", he asked after a few minutes, taking a small sip.

"Huh?"

"You seem like you want to say something."

So he's been paying attention.

"I've asked you before, though. However, I get now that you prefer not mentioning it."

"It's not just that, is it?"

"Now I myself am not sure whether I'd want to talk about that."

"And why not?"

"You might not be too thrilled to hear it", were you really brave enough to shoot your shot?

Rejection didn't sound desirable, but as things were going, it seemed like the most plausible scenario. You didn't know what to expect otherwise.

He sighed again:

"It's alright. Go for it, I suppose. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Look at you, reading my mind. Been wondering the same", you fiddled with your thumbs nervously.

Larry just shrugged.

You continued with a laugh:

"I know we don't know each other that well, but I'd really like to get to know you better, if that's alright with you."

"What?", his expression drastically changed from before, into a mix of astonishment and badly suppressed joy.

His chest rose and fell more dynamically while he was struggling to find convenient words. He started stuttering, not sure where and how to start answering.

You yourself were taken aback, relieved to see him so innocently vulnerable. Your heartbeat picked up its pace.

Darn it all.

Your hand enveloped his, giving it a firm squeeze in an attempt to snap him out of that nerve wracking state.

"It's alright! Sorry if I upset you too much, it wasn't intentional."

He blinked at you, his grip ever so slightly tightening as well. Your other hand was shaking, which you weren't aware of, the tingling in your legs becoming too much to bear.

All of it stopped the moment he regained his composure, your small smile replaced by a grin so wide you thought your cheeks would hurt for the next few hours:

"D-Do you want to go have dinner with me after work…?", it wasn't an upbeat kind of voice, yet you had seen through it, confirming that he was just as eager.

"I would absolutely love that", then you proceeded to fantasize about sharing bites of your meal with him. Maybe seeing him smile just once.

He nodded, saying nothing else. Well. Scratch that actually. Take it slow. He is just Larry after all.

#larry x reader #pokemon larry x reader #gym leader larry x reader #elite four larry x reader #gym leader larry #elite four larry #larry pokemon #pokemon #pkmn #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon trainers x reader #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon reader insert #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #art is mine

[yanderegrizzsworld]

Psst, heard you were accepting Digital Circus requests so would I happen to request Pomni with a reader who keeps trying to punch the walls and basically punch everything in a desperate attempt to escape?

Also if you do anons then could I be dream anon?

Imagine: Platonic Yandere Pomni with a reader desperate to escape

TW/CW: Mentions of anxiety/paranoia/blood/injuries, implied stalking & implied bullying (not by yandere)

A.N: Psst, from now on you're dream anon

Whether you're a new arrival or not doesn't matter to the jester, she fully understands where your anxiety & fear of this place comes from & sees no reason to judge. She might attempt to explain this world if you were new but it wouldn't do much from her own mind being just as puzzled about it.

Pomni does questions your method of escape. Don't get her wrong, she also wishes to escape from this world that tells her to call it her new home, but compared to how you're going about it, her fear of any future self-inflicted injuries on yourself twist her stomach in ways she'd rather not feel.

The jester nearly breaks out in sweat whenever a sudden, clamorous Pow reaches her ears & immediately runs towards it, reckoning it's you. Don't be surprised when she's around you often, if not by your hip the whole time with her reasoning being that of not wanting you to cause your knuckles to bleed, even though that doesn't seem possible in this world.

Whenever your fist collides with a wall or nearby surface, Pomni swiftly recommends either searching for an exit together or hanging out in her room. Accepting the former leads to her holding onto your wrist the entire time & tugging you away from any surface she considers you might attempt to punch. Accepting the latter is slightly better in which she allows you your space as she strives to talk about anything that comes to mind, though she does keep an eye on your hands just in case.

Whenever questioned for her insistence to constantly be in your presence, Pomni's argue of ensuring you don't get hurt or go mad never falters. Kinger & Zooble don't ruminate on it afterwards, with a slight sarcastic comment from Zooble from time to time; instead of questioning, Gangle & Ragatha regard Pomni's avouchment to your safety rather positively, with Ragatha being much more enthusiastic & probative.

The constant flood of questions & pestering naturally comes from the purple rabbit, whose incessant rejection of personal space & seemingly never-ending strike for getting on other's nerves nearly gives Pomni a headache, even if such a feeling is impossible to feel in the Digital Circus. No matter how many times Pomni drags you away from wherever Jax might be or how many times Ragatha tells him to dial it down if he refuses to stop, the rabbit never fails to pop out of thin air to question Pomni's reasonings & minimize the possibility of a potential exit, though it might come off a bit more impertinent.

The jester often ponders how she hasn't lost it yet, how her paranoia for her new existence & situation didn't lead to her being abstracted & a part of her deems it's because of you. She regards that by always looking after you, ensuring your security & health is in tip-top shape keeps her mind grounded & holding off from snapping at any moment. This thinking however could potentially lead to a almost twisted dependace, she watches over you (distant or close, rarely matters to her) & in return, her sanity stays plenary.

She views it as a win-win situation for the both of you, though it is more a conclusion to comes to on her own rather than something both of you have discussed. Any attempt to hang out with the others alone is futile as Pomni insists to go with you, for your safety of course! & not amount of refusals can/will deter her from at the very least watching over you.

#yandere #yandere headcanons #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere tadc #yandere The Amazing Digital Circus #yandere Pomni #yandere tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus #tadc #pomni #tadc pomni #tadc x reader #The Amazing Digital Circus x reader #pomni x reader #Dream anon

[thevulturesquadron]

And another thing about Rogue x Magneto (feels like the old man screaming to the skies)! Another reason why, in the past few years, they’ve grown on me is their personalities dynamic. Besides how mature they are when they acknowledge one another, they kinda just balance each other so well.

Rogue is an atom bomb. She knows what's missing, but she never lets her pain and her craving for a normal life take her down. She knows she has one life and nothing can stop her from living it, even if she has to punch her way to happiness. Magneto is solemn, always burdened by his past, his pain, his ideals. There isn't a single part of him that exists just for himself. He carries the weight of responsibility, both as a survivor and as a powerful mutant whose abilities are channeled either towards destruction or creation.

And in the face of all of that Rogue is a constant reminder to live. She doesn’t tell him how to do it, doesn’t preach it or show him. She just does it, every day. And when it's in his presence it’s just impossible for him not to feel it. We see that in the comics. We see it in the unconditional, open love he has for her. We see it in the way he is pursuing her or the reasoning behind him pushing her away. We see it even when they're arguing, even when they're saying goodbye, in the way he values her happiness outside of himself. I adore how utterly in love he is with her because her sheer will to feel alive is magnetic (pun intended). On her end, in all of the arcs/stories where they are around each other, it feels like Rogue is empowered to be herself, to own her opinions and thoughts. She actually gets the space to own her mistakes, most importantly, in a way that is not syphoned through his presence in her life (which hurts my romy heart because it’s one of the biggest flaws in their relationship - or at least the way it’s been written and rewritten).

Rogue is volatile and full of life. Magneto is grounded by his troubles and responsibilities, real or self-imposed.

He says ‘the world is bigger than any one of us.’ And she answers ‘the world is each and every one of us’. And that’s that.

#rogue #magneto #rogneto #rogueneto #erik lehnsherr #anna marie #x men #x men 97 #x men ‘97 #marvel #comics #mostly comics #I have too many emotions #still can’t believe we got their relationship explored on screen #would have never hoped for it #still navigating all these feels

[viralvava]

alucard, a man who took his mothers dying plea for him not to hurt humans so deeply that it saved richter belmonts life, vs genya arikado, a man who willingly brought mina hakuba into castlevania alongside soma cruz, when he had no reason not to leave her behind, a place that he himself says she is sure to die no matter what if soma takes too long, a place where she admits to feeling things such as an awful headache, a place she had no reason to be except for one: so she could be used to manipulate soma, at every possible chance (and yoko, too, is a victim of this, despite arikados closeness with her, more documented and backed up than his relationship with any other characters -- as she bleeds out on the floor, he uses her suffering to once again incentivise soma, alongside the natural mention of mina).

alucard, a man who believed in humanitys ability to do good above all else, vs genya arikado, a man who believes the cycular nature of the dark lords existence to be inevitable and immutable, going to rise if needed, when needed -- a man whose ideology is so similar to the main villain of the game, who believes the same thing, who acts on that belief whether through selfishness, genuine urgency, or both, that you can believe theyre working together. that they would definitely work together. especially when there is, practically speaking, what could serve as evidence theyre working together.

alucard, a noble man who seeks to do right, vs genya arikado, who would use everyone around him as tools to fulfil a singular goal.

alucard, a man who seeks to help others, vs genya arikado, a man who has others dirty their hands for him -- who does this time and time again, having soma kill graham jones when he sat waiting outside the throneroom. having julius hunt down soma on the event he turns mad, despite having been right outside the throneroom. having soma hunt down dario and dmitrii, subtle encouragement to kill and hurt those same humans he was begged not to harm: "im prepared to overlook use of excessive force", he says, a loophole wherein he never directly causes harm.

alucard, a man who desires to embody his mother, vs genya arikado, a man who resembles his father more and more every day.

alucard, vs genya arikado.

1999, a singular event. an event never seen. an event where, finally, painstakingly, comes the end of count dracula -- the end of a constant in alucards life, there since his very birth. a constant presence, always to return, where to alucard, an immortal, everything else of his world is transient and fleeting, never to be seen again. an event where this one, immutable presence is forever extinguished, when no matter how many dying pleas youve heard, no matter how much you believe in the triumph of good, no matter how noble you are, no matter how much you want to help, no matter how much you take after your mother, no matter how much you prepare for it -- you could never be ready for it.

hence alucard, foil to dracula, destroyed by endless cycles. hence genya arikado, foil to soma, who needs to control these cycles.

#castlevania #akumajou dracula #genya arikado #alucard castlevania #this is barely even a passable explanation of the whole joker arc arikado has that only me and 2 of my friends understand but um #its the best that i can do. so #😭

[strongheartneteyam]

I wet you like water but she stained you like blood.

Pairing: widowed!dilf!jake sully x younger!female!human!reader

CW: slight sexual language, can be triggering to some, heartbreak, age gap kink, hurt/no comfort, age gap relationship problems, angst, reader reminiscing (pls tell me if I missed anything) 

So, yeah... I never know when I'm gonna come back with another writing. My hiatus n working periods are all a bit unpredictable lol sorry. Anyways... I literally spent the whole night awake n I was struck by a sudden lightning of creativity early in the morning and I edited this chapter n wrote a bit more, but I still haven't slept at all, so, I apologize if some parts of this make no sense at all. I'll fix it when I can. Hope you guys like it <3 ily guys a whole lot :)) obs: this chapter is a shorter one.

Slightly proofread.

Chapter 4 𓆩♡𓆪

They say all's well that ends well

But I'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind

You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would've been fine

And that made me want to die

The idea you had of me, who was she?

A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you

All Too Well - 10 minutes Version (Taylor Swift)

𓆩♡𓆪

It had been 1 year since the last time you saw Jacob Sully. Or Jakey, like you used to call him. The wound never healed. It still throbbed and bled every time you remembered the words he told you that dreadful day. "I think we should stop seeing each other." It felt like you would never get over him. How can one get over such an overpowering, raw feeling? He marked you forever, like a bruise that seemed to never disappear from your skin.

The flashback came like thunder in a storm, haunting your thoughts with a loud pain that echoed through your mind. What you told Jake that night.

“The truth is I love you. The truth is I can't take this anymore. I'm giving you my everything but you don't seem to be doing the same. You're still guarded.” There was a tense period of silence “Jake… I love you. But I don't think you feel the same.”

Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. Maybe if you had kept your mouth shut, he would still be with you.

Ugh!! Stop that, now, (y/n)! Some self love, please? You're better than this. You deserve better.

You tried to convince yourself of that, at least.

The pain was unbearable at times and almost easy to conceal at other times. It depended on how distracted with work or your studies you were. These days you ran to any distraction that could ease the perpetual angst that squeezed your heart inside its hands all the fucking time. It had been like that ever since Jake left you. What were you expecting anyway? You should have known you were never truly loved by Jake. The love of his life was Neytiri and it would always be, alive and walking through Pandora or dead and with Eywa.

It felt beyond weird to have to hear people talking about Jake and have to pretend he was a stranger to you, someone you barely knew, when he had actually left a mark so strong on you, a memory ingrained in your brain, a feeling, a pain buried inside your heart that made you want to scream and hit your head against a wall. That's how much it hurt.

You would never have his body against yours again, warming you up when it was cold, after you spent the whole day in that damn lab, studying Pandoran plants but all you could really concentrate on was how much you missed his reassuring, protective presence. He made you feel safe for the first time in your life. But now he is gone. Just like every single good thing you ever had in your life. But you know what? Maybe your mother was right, maybe love wasn't really something that could ever last forever.

Did Jake ever really make a real effort to be with you? Thinking back, it was extremely easy for him to just come to you and fuck you anytime he felt sad and lonely. What if you had just been a naive, dumb girl all this time? Were you mourning a love that never actually 

existed? It was always so hard to talk to him about his feelings for you, he never actually let you in, to be honest. All the time you two spent together, you were never able to know if he ever saw you as a partner or just a fuck buddy. 

Oh, but the high… it was worth all the lows. The butterflies in your stomach every time you guys were almost caught fucking in the back of your work room by Norm. Eventually you guys had to tell him about your situationship because, oh well… he already knew what was going on, really. Norm is not a fool or a child. He could add 2 plus 2.

The adrenaline was worth all the tears. And, fuck… you would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

𓆩♡𓆪

Taglist:

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@coldbabyheroin

@fairyyrosee

@myh3artttt

@explosiongamora

@ufiy

@yeosxxx

@happyyappysworld

@avatar4eva

@henhouse-horrors

@jakesullyfatjuicypeen

@fujimoribaby

@layla2-49

@zoetrope1997

@yeosxxx

@luvv4j4ybe11

@bakugouswaif

@slytherdor01

#jake sully x you #dilf jake sully x reader #dilf!jake sully #dilf jake sully #jake sully x fem!reader #jake sully x human!reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x y/n #jake sully fanfiction #jake sully #na'vi x human #na'vi x human reader #na'vi x reader #na'vi x y/n #jake sully angst #atwow x you #atwow x y/n #atwow x reader #atwow fanfiction #✎ victória writes ▢✧࿐

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

P&C | Ch. 17: Ruin Our Friendship

➪ Playlist (Spotify) l Series Masterlist

With my breath hitched in my throat, my body is restless, turning under the soft covers as faint whimpers escape my parted lips. Eyes closed, I can see Jungkook’s silhouette standing by the fireplace as his body tenses upon hearing my footsteps get closer. Reaching for his shoulder, his skin is cold, ice cold. Something's off. 

“Koo?” I whisper, gentle with my touch. 

“Peaches,” his voice is soft, eyes sparkling with yellow hues from the fire as our bodies melt into each other's embrace. 

“Where were you? I waited,” he says, gliding my hands up to his chest, pressing them against the pounding of his heart beating. 

“Waited? I was right here the whole time,” I whisper with a stutter as my voice shakes from the confusion. 

“No love, I was here, you were gone,” he smiles faintly, looking deep into my teary eyes before caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. 

“Jungkook, I don't get it. What's going on?” I cry out, eyebrows furrowed as my stomach ties into a knot. 

“I miss you more than I can bear Mira, but we had our time together. I have to let you go now,” he says dearly, resting his forehead on mine before focusing his gaze on my lips. 

“Koo stop it, you're scaring me. Please, just tell me what's going on?” I scream, tightening my grasp around his torso as I pull us closer. Unable to hold back the tears any longer I feel them roll down my face as I rest my head on his chest, it's warm, really warm, but this time, I feel no heartbeat. 

--

Gasping for air my chest heaves up as I scream out of my dream before looking around to check for Jungkook’s presence. His curtains block any light coming into the bedroom, fueling the panic rushing through my body from each empty space my hands touch until I can finally feel him. 

“Shh Miraya, baby, what's wrong?” he inches closer, pulling my shaking body into his arms. Wiping the sweat off of my forehead he places a few strands of my hair behind my ear, eyes searching mine. I was a mess. But, the mere realization that it was all a dream made me feel more at ease, and as my breathing slowed down my focus was now on his concerned expression.

“Koo, please don't leave me,” I whisper, cuddling into his chest as his hands tighten around my waist. Looking up at his soft gaze, my eyes swell with tears thinking about the way I almost lost him. Confused by the words coming out of my mouth he leans his head closer to meet my eyes once again. 

“Peaches, I’m right here, what’s wrong?”

“I had a dream. You said you had to let me go now and that you waited for me while I was gone?” I shake my head trying to recall the details from that scene, as the aching feeling in my heart intensifies. 

“Baby, please try to calm down now. It was just a nightmare, I promise,” Jungkook says softly, hands still caressing my pale skin. Cupping my face in his palms, he rests his forehead on mine before pressing a deep kiss on my trembling lips. 

“Let’s go shower, ok?” 

Rinsing the soap off of me, Jungkook is gentle with his touch, leaving a trail of kisses on every inch of my body. Turning towards him, I glide my arms up his defined chest before intertwining my hands in his soft curls. Looking at his soft gaze, my heart is at ease. I’ve said this before, but when we’re together everything just makes sense. Nothing feels forced or rushed, but rather natural. It’s funny because, three months ago, neither of us knew of the other’s existence. Now, Jungkook’s presence in my life is the closest thing I have to a home. 

If everything is so perfect, why does my heart's aching feeling hurt so bad? Even when we are inches apart, I fear the distance between us. Have I gone mad? Maybe. I was never good with commitment, feared being tied down, but also, craved the need to belong to someone. Not as an object but as someone whose whole world fits into someone else's. Meeting Jungkook was a step closer to that desire as our souls moulded into one. So, for now, I will cherish the moments we have together, suppressing the haunting voices in my head that feed off the anticipation of our ending. 

--

Placing a kiss on my forehead, Jungkook unbuckles my seatbelt before opening the passenger door. While my back pressed onto the glass, his hands rested on either side of me, leaning in closer as the smell of his cologne filled the small space between us. Searching my eyes, his gaze softened. 

“Me and you, baby,” he whispers into my ear, nibbling on the soft skin as I feel the flush rise up my cheeks. Watching my flustered state, a grin forms on his face. 

“Stop babying me,” I try to say with a straight face, before bursting into a soft smile. I can’t even hide it, as he truly does have an effect on me. Whether I like it or not, Jungkook has become my weakness. 

“Try to stop me,” he grins with a wink before leaning into a deep kiss. Connected again, my breathing is slow, hands now resting on his leather jacket. 

“I have to go, Koo,” I manage to let out in between the kiss as his eyes stay focused on my lips. 

“Just a little longer,” he whispers, gliding his hand down to my waist as my breath hitches in my throat. Enjoying the moment, Jungkook smiles into the kiss, thinking about how he got me exactly where he wanted. Close to him. 

-- 

Jungkook’s POV

It’s been hours since I dropped Mira off at her dormitory, and since then I can’t stop thinking about her whimpering body in my arms as she begged me to stay. Nightmare or not, something in her mind has fueled this deep-rooted fear, but why? I’ve never been good at showing my affection, which is why my past relationships were short-lived and I take full responsibility for it. But with Mira, it seems that my heart is working overtime to make up for the lost possibilities. I should be the one begging her to stay because if she leaves I fear that I might actually have to consider adopting five dogs and settling down in the middle of nowhere. Mira has become my favorite feeling and she doesn’t even know it.  

Turning in my bed, the thoughts in my head are louder than bombs. Everything reminds me of her as the smell of her perfume stains the soft sheets. This place has become as much of a home for her as it has been for me. So, as I check the time and notice the clock hit 10 pm, I’m saddened by the fact that I can’t even see her because she has her clinical today with Tae. Lucky bastard. Seeing no point in laying in this empty bed staring at the ceiling, I decide to go out for a late-night drive to clear my head. 

Feeling the wind on my face, I speed towards the one place I can always find peace in, my safe escape. As moonlight shines down the road across the bridge, I remember the first time I brought Mira here. She didn’t have to, but she kept me company. Deep inside, that’s all I’ve ever wanted, someone to share the sunset with. 

Reaching for my wallet, I pull out the snapshots we took at the photobooth as my eyes focus on her flushed cheeks. I never noticed, but her left eye squints a bit more when she smiles. My sweet Peaches, I think to myself as my eyes swell with tears. Caressing the film, I can feel my throat suddenly tighten making it harder to breathe. Unclasping my helmet for a moment, I gasp for air as my vision gets blurry, prompting me to slowly lose control of the handlebars. And just like that, the last thing I remember was seeing the flashing headlights ahead. 

-- 

My body aches as I head towards the water fountain. God, today has drained me and I wish for nothing more than to be in Jungkook’s warm arms right about now. Day after day, the idea that nursing is an excruciating major is solidified in my head. I know that God gives the toughest battles to his strongest soldiers, but please, believe me, this battle is one more irritating patient away from being not mine. Nonetheless, my so-called break is short-lived as I feel my pager ring, ushering everyone in my cohort to head toward the emergency unit. 

“Male, possibly in his early 20s, suffered an injury to his head following a motorbike accident west of the Oceana beach,” one of the paramedics states, rolling in a person from the ambulance as I squeeze past the crowd of nursing students and staff. 

As my eyes scan the motionless body, my heart sinks to my feet upon the realization. It’s Jungkook. No, no, no, no, please God, no. Letting out a series of cries, I rush towards him, fighting back the hands pulling me from his side. 

“Miss, please stay back, we need to check his vitals,” one of the doctors says, searching my scattered eyes as tears roll down my face. 

“No, no, no, please, I can’t leave him alone, please,” I beg, falling to my knees as my cohort supervisor rushes to calm me down. 

“Honey, everything will be fine. They’ll call you once visitors are allowed, ok?” she says softly, caressing my palms as we slowly walk towards the nearest bench beside Jungkook’s room. 

--

It’s been about an hour, but it feels like time and my life has stopped since I saw Jungkook’s pale face. His head was bleeding, there was actual blood running down his face. God, why are you doing this? Staring at his room number, 9223, I can’t help but smile thinking about how that was the first day I met Jungkook. On the 2nd of September, at Jimin’s welcome party, as our paths crossed my life was changed forever. Reminiscing those memories, my mind went blank, muting the outside world as I failed to notice the nurse calling out for me. 

“Miss? He is all ready now,” she says with a soft smile, before opening the door for me. Taking in a deep breath, I thank her before finally stepping inside. 

“Peaches,” Jungkook lets out, his voice softer than ever. His form looks small and vulnerable under the hospital sheets as I run towards his arms, melting into the embrace. Pressing my head onto his warm chest, I feel the tears rolling down my face, as he caresses my hair. 

“Miraya, baby, please don’t cry,” 

“Don’t tell me not to cry when I saw you lifeless an hour ago,” I snap, gasping for air as my heart begins to ache again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lowering his head, eyes focused on my trembling hands. 

“Koo, what happened?” I cry out, moving closer before searching his eyes, which have swelled with tears. 

“I don’t know, it happened so quickly. But, the doctor said that it shouldn’t be anything more than a mild concussion. However, they’re still waiting on my CT scans,” he explains, hands fidgeting with the IV tubes. Softening my gaze, I place a soft kiss on his forehead before meeting his eyes once again. 

“You got me worried sick, Koo,” I whisper before our moment is interrupted by a group of doctors in charge of Jungkook’s case. Walking in, one goes straight to check the vital machines and another puts in a new IV bag, as the last one focuses her gaze on me. 

“Miss, what is your relationship to Mr. Jeon?” she asks, her tone is strict and to the point. 

“I’m just his frie…” I stutter before hearing Jungkook’s voice bud in. 

“Girlfriend. She’s my girlfriend,” he says confidently, caressing my palms with a smile.

“Alright then, well, it seems that Mr. Jeon will have to stay overnight as we are still waiting on a few more test results. Until then, please rest and feel free to call the nurses whenever you need anything,” she says looking at the both of us before ushering the staff out of the room. 

“Peaches, it’s late, you don’t have to stay,” Jungkook lets out, gaze focused on my lips. 

“I’m not leaving you, Koo. Clearly, you can’t live without me,” I giggle, even harder upon seeing his bunny teeth. 

“You’re right, I need you,” he whispers, pulling me in closer before placing a soft kiss.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, and I guess now is as good of a time as any,” he says softly, taking in a deep breath before looking back at my eyes. 

“The funny thing is that I wasn’t even looking when I found you. Truthfully, I had no intention of getting involved with someone romantically again, or at least not for a little while. But, once I met you, I knew exactly what I wanted,” Jungkook explains, laying my hands on his chest. 

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I love you, Mira. I’ve been loving you this whole time,” 

Feeling my throat tighten, my breathing slows as my chest begins to heave up. Noticing the flush rise up my cheeks, Jungkook searches my scattering eyes, which are now unable to keep contact with his.       

“You don’t have to say anything, I just need you to know,” he whispers softly, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand before letting out a soft grin. 

“I ... I’m gonna go get you some water,” I manage to let out with a faint smile, before rushing out of the room, escaping the suffocating feeling. God, Mira, what is wrong with you? Why can’t you just confess your feelings to him? It’s not like you’re lying, of course, you love Jungkook. Then, why is it so hard to say it? Shaking my head, I make my way towards the cafeteria before my thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice. 

“Mira? Mira, how are you?” Hanbin says, waving me over to the empty table. 

“Oh, hi Hanbin,” I say quietly, mind still not completely present in the moment. 

“Jeez, Jungkook really got you worried sick, huh?” he chuckles, analyzing the dried tear stains on my face and scrubs. 

“Yeah …” I let out a small laugh, before attempting to get back up as he does the same, offering to walk me down the hallway back towards Jungkook’s room. Before I could reply, his hand rested on my back, helping me get back on my shaky feet. Noticing the change on my face, Hanbin is quick to retrieve his hand as a grin forms on his face. 

“You do love him, don’t you?” he shakes his head.

“Sorry?” I say, my tone more serious and deep now. 

“Jungkook, you love him, don’t you?” he asks again, and although my initial reaction was to tell him to mind his own business, at that moment, it finally hit me that I've never loved anyone as much as I loved Jungkook. 

My moment of epiphany, however, was yet again interrupted by none other than Jungkook himself, as he stood by the entrance of the cafeteria. Holding onto the IV drip bar, his grip tightens upon seeing Hanbin next to me. Looking back at my form, the poor fella excused himself before giving Jungkook a teasing smirk.

Stoned face, Jungkook made his way towards my timid body before sitting on the bench next to me. As I tried to do the same, his grip around my waist tightened, pulling my form onto his thighs. Ignoring my helpless yelps of protest, his gaze was heavy, eyes focused on my lips. 

“Peaches, can’t we just ruin our friendship?” he pouts, letting out a deep sigh. 

“Haven’t we already? I don’t know many friends who occasionally sleep with each other,” I tease, leaning closer as our lips remain inches apart. 

“That’s true, but … ouch,” Jungkook whimpers, breaking our eye contact as his hands hold onto his aching head. 

“Mira, it hurts,” he screams in pain, before falling onto the ground. 

“Koo! What’s wrong? Someone help! Please help!” I yell out in panic, eyes searching for staff as Junkook’s doctor and her team rush through the entrance. 

“Miss, please move back, we need to get him back into his room immediately,” one of them tells me, as they place his weak body onto the hospital stroller. 

“What? Where am I? Who are you?” I could hear Jungkook’s voice shout at the staff, his voice trembling with fear as if he was unable to recognize the familiar faces. 

“What’s going on? Please, just tell me,” I beg, trying to catch up to Jungkook as one of the nurses stops me at his room. 

“Mr. Jeon’s CT scans came back. The head injury turned out to be more serious than we initially thought, and it is now affecting his memory,” she explained, as the entrance shuts closed. Feeling my stomach tie into a not, my heartbeat raises as I bang on the door, demanding to be let in. But, it was too late, and as my eyes met Jungkook's for the last time, they swelled with tears. Everything I was afraid of happening, happened. And just like that, I lost him before ever saying how much I loved him back.

Previous l Continuation

#bts #bangtan #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x yn #bts x yn #jungkook fanfic #fanfic #jungkook smut #romance #young love #college love #slow burn #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x female reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine

[bitethedustfools]

New World, New Scars (pt 2)

I made this on a whim actually so apologies for this half-attempted story. I just wanted to see pathetic Yuu.

A short explanation for those who are confused, think of it as though Grim of the future recalled the past memories that are most memorable or any other way you guys prefered and that's why the scene are short and there's a lot of jumping.

Also, its very vague because Grim focused on the wrong (right?) thing. I might edit or change it though. Maybe.

Most memories focused on Yuu of course because Grim is always stuck with Yuu. Grim is selfish, tsundere and a bit oblivious. Its hard to write it ngl. Probably some wrong grammar too.

Yuu=He/him (edit)

-

Yuu is a very timid person. Grim knew that. Everyone does. He seen how easily his henchman got spooked by a sudden noise or movement.

Grim knew Ace like that part of Yuu, he would never fail to scare him with loud noise or barelling toward Yuu from out of nowhere and so on.

Ace would never get tired of Yuu who held his breath in and stood still like a statue when he approached from behind and grabbed their shoulder, as though Yuu tried so hard to erase his own existence.

Then, a crooked smile will plastered on his henchman's lips and he was just as wary as ever everytime Ace did this. His eyes will started to look for something in Ace's before looking away.

His henchman is a very strange guy with a strange stupid name. He's scared of silly things but he's not scared of ghosts.

-

There's a faint sobbing in one of the rooms on some nights and a familiar voice murmured assuring words.

"It's going to be alright. You're going to be alright."

Grim peeked through the cracks of the door. The ghosts hovered near his henchman whose back is trembling, one that Grim instantly recognized as crying. He knew that form, he seen Yuu done it so many time at night when Yuu thought Grim was asleep.

One of the ghosts pat lightly on his back and Grim unconciously shivered, the ghost had pat him once and all Grim felt was cold. Grim couldn't comprehend why his henchman like those better than Ace and Deuce or Grim himself who is warm and much better.

Yuu still avoided his touch.

-

Despite what everyone believed, Yuu was not really clumsy nor is he stupid and naive. Yuu is quick on his feet, faster reflex and sharp instinct. He's smarter than the ADeuce duo brain cell combined, Grim had to admit that even if Yuu struggle at first.

But those doesn't really stick out too much if the personality is a coward and being too… compliant.

Riddle, the Teapot tyrant who had loosened his controlling behavior and his devotion to rules must have spot something else that Grim is unaware of. He, accompanied by Trey, went to seek out Yuu who went rigid at their presences, a clear indication that Yuu is scared.

Riddle said he's apologizing for insulting his henchman's parents and their lack of education. He added that Yuu must have been in the same situation as him but with a different outcome.

Grim doesn't understands what he means but he understands what Yuu said.

His henchman looked startled as though he didn't expect that and couldn't understand why Riddle apologized. He stuttered, panicking.

"Oh, um, it's okay. It's just that, well, I'm an orphan, that wouldn't matter at all, right? I mean, I got adopted but um, uh, I don't have a parents anymore. I-I understand about the lack of education. I had–tried my best! I really, really am. I'm good at memorizing! I'm getting better. I won't let you do…wn…"

The words died down when Riddle and Trey's face went pale and morphed to horror.

His henchman snapped his mouth shut, a mixture of hurt and fear flittered across Yuu's face for a few seconds as if Yuu had said the wrong thing or maybe it's because of something else.

Yuu looked down, "I'm sorry. It won't happened again. I won't speak unnecessary things anymore, I promise."

Yuu ran before they could say anything and Grim casted a single glance of confusion before he followed Yuu.

-

"What's wrong with you?" Grim demanded, frustated at the silence. Sure it's always silent in this dorm but Grim just got aware of that and he's uncomfortable.

Like an instinct, Yuu replied with no hesitation. "I said too much. I'm sorry."

Yuu snapped his mouth shut and pretended nothing happened.

-

Trey confronted Yuu not long after that, bringing pastries with him like an appease gifts. Cater followed along, all smiles and laidback but both hides their intentions. It must be, after what happened yesterday, there's no way they'll come here for nothing but Grim is nice enough to keep his mouth shut with those treats presented before him.

Yuu seemed to know this. Trey and Cater began to question Yuu and Yuu will answered them short and simple. Too guarded and too composed though Yuu's meek personality still had traces on his expression.

Trey asked if he's okay. Yuu lied.

Cater asked where do he lived. Yuu told him and just like the mirror, no one knows where Yuu lived.

Yuu's bandaged hands had his fingers littered with band aids remained clean from the icing and crumbs while Grim's own paws and mouth are already covered by them. Yuu's eyes are strangely on him but Grim ignored it.

Trey asked with concern, "do you not like sweet things?"

"I'm not picky." Yuu replied.

"Then why havent you eaten them?" questioned Cater next, way too blunt.

It seemed to strike something in Yuu. His lips thinned, face went pale slightly.

"I'm sorry. I'll do it now."

No one missed how the hand tremored when it pick up the smallest slice of cake and how awfully relief Yuu looked like after he took a small bite and waiting for something to happen.

What is Yuu expecting for? It's not like these baked goods would kill him. It was the truth when Grim said Yuu is scared of such silly things.

Grim slowed down his munching when Trey and Cater looked at Yuu in a certain way. They seemed to found something worrying from that however.

-

There's something else that Grim found out about Yuu. There's something else that spook Yuu and that is magic.

He thought it was only his fire but Yuu recoiled harshly when magic is involved, especially when aimed at him. Those are just harmless tricks, Grim still doesn't understand why he is scared of this when he should be in awe.

Grim forced him to do the flying lesson together so his henchman can feel how great it is. It's fun, isn't it? Even if they almost crash to the ground?

He would shoot his flame with this new tricks he learnt. It's bright and brilliant, doesn't it look like a firework? He worked so hard to make it happened.

And what about Ace's wind magic? Or Deuce's ability to summon cauldron out of nowhere? And maybe Cater and Trey who can makes clones and change characteristic of an item respectively?

It makes life easier and fun with magic, isn't it? Grim doesn't understand why Yuu should be scared of it after some Savanaclaw use it on them. It was stupid, Yuu was stupid. More of a crybaby than Riddle ever was even though Riddle bawled only once before them and that's something.

Ace, Deuce and the others won't hurt Yuu. That's not a reason to be scared of them.

-

They both get invited regularly to the Unbirthday party. They both stood out clearly but they were treated nice by the host. Especially Yuu.

Grim complained lots of thing but he does not point out when Riddle lowered his voice and speak softly with a gentle expression or when Trey ate a certain pastry under Yuu's gaze before giving him the same thing or the fact that Cater praised Yuu and suddenly initiating skin contact and taking lots of pictures of them both.

Even Ace's pranks toned down only making harmless fun and Deuce was careful enough not to show his violence side. They acted too careful, whispering at each other.

His henchman fidgeted in the seat for being the center of their attention. Yuu looked uncomfortable. A wary and quizzical look on his face at the bizzare change of behaviour.

His henchman looked completely lost but he didn't said it out loud, merely going along with their play.

-

Then there's a spelldrive tournament that he learnt of from the headmaster. Grim thought that the event was the best thing he had ever heard where he can get to show their magic and impressed the audience and get famous. That's another way to be the Great Grim if he got recruited.

Grim also recalled the headmaster said something weird as well. Words like a "Clue" and "Home" popped up in the conversation and most are mentioned to Yuu whose hopeful expression went dismayed.

Grim can't remember what happened next since he didn't care about that but he recalled the brief looks of confusion aiming at Yuu from Ace and Deuce.

-

There was a bunch of accidents happening after that. People kept tripping down the stairs and then injuring their hands in a kitchen and alchemy class. The headmaster asked for Yuu's help and as usual, Yuu agreed even if his eyebag is more pronounced now.

He saw that Yuu's left hand crossed over his belly to cradled his right side like he's hungry but Grim remembered what happened when Riddle overblotted.

Grim declined the headmaster's needs for their help vehemently, well, until the headmaster said he will give him something he wanted. How could he say no? Grim did say he is very good at negotiating. Helping the headmaster solve this and then get to join the tournament sounds good enough. 

-

Cater had a bunch of infos on everyone and Riddle want to find the culprit that caused Trey to fall down the stairs in his place so they tagged along with their group. Group because Ace and Deuce was there too for whatever reason that is.

Grim was supposed to lead but he didn't like the responsiblity so he gave it to Yuu though Yuu did nothing as well since Cater took over.

Yuu was in the group but at the same time Yuu was not. He was just there, not actively trying to be part of a conversation. In fact, Grim thought that his henchman prefered to be that way where nobody seen him.

This proved his point when the others put their attention on Yuu again and Yuu flinched in return.

-

Everyone knows Yuu doesn't react well with Savanaclaw students after what happened last time.

Yuu tried so hard to blend with the background but Savanaclaw is full of beastman, it's not that hard to single Yuu out.

Grim admitted that his henchman is weak but he was also unexpectedly tough. His henchman is all bruised and battered and he still managed to walk out of it alive. Grim was not worried at all. As a matter of fact, Grim is really upset and frustrated that Yuu still won't stand up for himself.

Grim and the others stood up for Yuu the moment Yuu got mocked openly.

-

Grim thought that he can't let this certain memory wipe away from his head. It had burned into his mind so deeply that he will probably remembered it forever.

They were playing spelldrive and Leona, the one they met in the botanical garden somewhere in the past before Riddle overblot, demanded that Yuu played along with them too.

Yuu agreed as expected and the moment the game started, they ganged up on Yuu, the magicless student. Yuu had to dodge or catch the metallic disk moving in high speed with bare hand.

His palm were red and raw. The fingers are crooked and trembled unwillingly. They began to swell and soon, they won't be able to move their hand lot.

And when Yuu failed to catch, the disk will bash onto his body, knocking air out of their lungs while the Savanaclaw students laughed. Ace and Deuce were full of rage as they tried whatever they can to help Yuu. Cater's smile dropped for the first time at the kneeling Yuu who looked at his swollen hands and the blood dripping from his nose.

His henchman's eyes are glassy but Yuu does not cry.

-

That night however, Grim smelt a stronge scent of salt and the faint sound of tears dropping unto the wooden floor.

A quiet stuttered breath filled in the room that gradually became even and inaudible to the ears.

The tears still kept going.

-

Leona had overblotted. The sand is everywhere. It's on his fur and inside his mouth. His eyes are dry and he is so unbearably thirsty.

Leona's poisonous green eyes is fixed on Yuu once he lose interest with Ruggie, the bastard that stole his sandwhich. Ruggie dropped on the ground with cracks visible on his skin, deprived of moisture. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of the water.

He looked halfway to death and that's what about to happen to Yuu when he get close to him. Yuu who stood still like a fool and face stricken with fear as the hand that possessed unique magic that can turned to dust once in contact, reached out towards him.

A strange thought had passed Grim at that time. His henchman looked like he was prepared. Like he expected it and his choice was to stand still and bear it.

The magic spell the others casted quickly reached Yuu just in time and stopped Leona from his track.

-

The monster died after a while of struggling and Grim gobbled up the black magestone before turning his attention to Yuu.

Yuu's heads bowed down with his battered fingers grabbing the hems of his tattered uniform as Ace's loud voice scolded him again. Deuce and Riddle sported an upset look much like Ace, probably unhappy with what Yuu had shown them before.

"You have a death wish or something!?" Yelled Ace and he shook Yuu like Yuu was an unruly child.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again I swear. Please forgive me…" Replied Yuu frantically, eyes dilated with fear and borderline crying.

Grim thought that Yuu's behavior is too much. The apologizing–beggings are just exagerating. The three's expression changed to unsettle and a mix of something else in a matter of second so they must have agreed with his thought.

-

Grim forgot how it happened but they were playing spelldrive again since that is what the headmaster promised him and Yuu got knocked out cold from the disk bashing on his head.

He was a bit annoyed that the fun had to put to a stop just because of Yuu though the feelings evaporated because Yuu who was tough enough that they can still walk with a limp and bruises won't show any signs of waking up.

There was chaos as their friends and the ghosts hovered over Yuu's tiny unconcious form, blood streaming down from the head continuously.

Someone carried Yuu. Grim can't remember if it's Ace or if it's Deuce, but all that mattered is that he looked horrified when he carried Yuu.

"Why is he so… thin?" The mumble carried unto the air to his flaming ears.

-

Yuu was still unconcious when Leona joined the infirmary, taking one of the bed to rest in with a grumble underneath his breath. There was also Ruggie and Jack who is surprisingly nice despite his hard exteriors.

And then there's Leona's nephew by the name of Cheka, crashing into the infirmary which only lasted for a few minutes. All of them joked around but their friends doesn't trust those certain Savanaclaw students.

It's why they keep checking up on Yuu as many times as they could. They did not visit at night but Grim was here so there's nothing to be worry about.

Yuu still hasn't wake up yet so Grim took the opportunity to climb on the bed and sleep near the end of the bed.

He used to smell tears every night when he slept, but now, for the first time, the scent is gone, replaced by the scent of disinfectant and faint scent of blood.

It was kinda sad that Yuu have to be like this to stop the tears from flowing.

#twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst yuu #twst grim #yandere twst #cater diamond #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #riddle rosehearts

[helloescapist]

Request:

-Headcanon prompt, SFW/platonic

-Uzui with a tsuguko whose personality is the complete opposite of him. They dress plainly, look plain, are very quiet, socially awkward, air-headed and seldom smile or show strong emotions. Still, they have good hearing and are very hardworking and loyal. The reader also enjoys playing the piano when they're not working.

Hello, hello!

*phew* for a moment there, I almost felt called out! This is a request that actually, hits close to home especially the plain clothes, and because of this, I had a lot of fun poking at the dynamics of the plain tsuguko versus the flashy hashira. 😂 So, please be fore warned, that these jokes are never intended to actually hurt you, or any other readers.

Counterpart Tsuguko Headcanons | Tengen Uzui

Word Count: 3143

Setting: Tengen x gn!reader [reader is his tsuguko, platonic]

Content Warning(s): brief mentions of combat, wounds, SFW, platonic.

Summary: headcanons of Tengen Uzui with a tsuguko is so unlike himself, the work relationship struggles, and room for growth for the both of you!

A/N: for whom it may concern (me, it concerns me), pianos entered Japan in 1823 making it fairly reasonable that reader can play piano.

To be honest, polar opposites will always have conflicts that occur in their relationships, whether you wish to pursue a romantic relationship, friendship, or just maintaining a friendly work atmosphere, and in Tengen’s case there are some exceptionalities to keep in mind.

Initially, you flew under his radar. No, you weren’t even on his radar, and any brief interaction whether it was brought on by a bump in the hallway upon the Ubuyashiki Estate, or the Butterfly Mansion, was quickly looked over.

Completely forgettable, the most he likely did was spare a passing thought for how sad your world must be, derived of even a hint of flashy presence.  

No in fact, I believe there is only two circumstances in which you attracted his attention, such as the chance opportunity of running into one another on the field, your abilities would peak his interest and might tug his interest, but realistically. I still feel like the monotone combination of your haori choices in tune with your slayer uniform, not a single distinguishing feature met by the mutable lack of  depths of your personality, he would pass you by.

Nothing personal, he is a man of flighty fancies, and anything that touches too close to his past will make him feel stifled.

Tengen Uzui’s days of living as a mere shadows on the frays of humanity are long gone, he will not allow his presence to be snubbed from existence anymore, and in some ways, I imagine the mute way in which you conduct yourself would bring forth painful memories of his clan, his siblings, his father. Best to skip you over, besides would you even give a reaction if he were to probe, or tease?

Probably not, there’s just nothing to be gained.

Therefore, I imagine that the retired shinobi would likely have to be forced to act as your master, to undertake you to training, and thrust the position of securing his Sound Hashira title upon your own shoulders. One in which he’s unsure if you’re even capable of living up to his standards, but for all his uncertainty, I was after all the Master who recommended you.

An unusual request of Ubuyashiki one in which he held such gentle regard over tea with the Sound Hashira as he gauged the sincerity of hopefully approaching retirement with his wives—a dream that the Shinobi had long since cultivated, and one that the Master wished to see through. To allow a man who had dedicated himself so much to the corps, the opportunity to relax, and taste a life of flashy normalcy.

The formal request for Uzui to consider taking a tsuguko, a tactful place on the Master’s part. The depths of his heart knowing that despite how easily Uzui could be drawn to wanderlust, he may never truly relent his ties to the Demon Slayers without someone to inherit his burdens.

Tengen of course, submitted, as any of the Hashria would if the Master inquired upon a favor. From one so minor, to one as particular as this. Allowing Rengoku to secure your meeting, the retiree ninja was of course curious.  You have been on the receiving end of Rengoku’s caretaking a time or two, but who hasn’t?

How bold could one be to have garnished Ubuyashiki’s own recommendations, and the buzz of which Rengoku regarded you before undertaking the introductions had reassured him the promise you must bear.

The Flame Hashira is one of which kindles hope, energy, flamboyant in the very manner of his speech dripping to the vibrancy of his heart, and features. You must be full of promise.

What a disappointment.

Face to face with a blatant stare as stale as the one the Water Hashira so often carries. Head to toe, dressed in the standard uniform expected of the demon slayer.

No hint of individual embellishment such as the hairclips the Insect Pillar carries, nor even the touch of modification that Shinazugawa wears. No, the most unique aspect of your state of dress was the black montsuki that and women alike could be caught wearing routinely stripped of even the clan crest at the breast.

Boring.

So much to the point that the Sound Hashira was certain that if he were to sneak a peek at the in seams of the haori, there would not even be a touch of hidden pattern. Stale, practically robbed of any color, and the blank expression in which you appraised him.

Unaffected by the bold attributes of his dress, and the flex of his hard-earned muscles. The overtly formal, and polite bend of your back, if anything averting your eyes beneath the glistening of the many gemstone adornments.

The nerve of you, seemingly so unimpressed by the absolute god that stood before you.

If you’ve met him prior, Tengen will bluntly tell you that he cannot remember, it’s clearly your own fault.

No, the initial impression is likely that stale, left on the counter over night rice had more personality, but he accepted the annoying duty, nonetheless.

Only because of the Master’s request, but he will do everything he can to shake you from his care.

The beginning rounds of him trying to stifle his duty—by which I mean at your meeting, he had already come to the conclusion that he will force your resignation of tsuguko by any means necessary.

You’re haunting his presence with your plainness.  

The first initiation the man will push you through is a strict raiding of your wardrobe. He will dress you head in toe with the most flamboyant clothing, under the strict opinion that if the Sound God is expected to tolerate your shadow, the least you could do is represent. How did you make a black monotsuki PLAINER than it is by default?

No, he will force you through a variety of outfit changes, adjustments, until he finds something that pleases him. The goal is entirely for you to lose your composure—either enough to humor Uzui, or to outwrite draw your resignation.

Literally, trying to force your hand, but little did the sound breather you are just as dedicated to your post as he is jiffing you. Begrudgingly, you’ve left the shop adorning your superior’s selection of a haori bearing a tiger, flame, and flowers.

It’s ugly.

You know it.

He knows it.

But who will fold first?

From there Uzui is likely to push you through so many horrible trials of training that Mount Sagiri is shamed of his tactics. Dodging kunai knives. Sampling minor poisons, forcing you through endurance run after endurance run, having elicited the assistance of his wives to force your retirement.

Each one dutiful, if not concerned as to the means in which he has determined your trials. Each one knowing that despite the way he expresses how plain you are, the reality is that he does not wish to endanger another person in his own affairs. So, they lament. Each contributing to their husband’s whims.

Makio falls more in line with Tengen upon your behavior. The stale state of which you appear unphased or unbothered is likely to agitate her from time to time, and because of this, she’s more likely to be combative.

The perfect person to force you through training in Uzuis opinion. The kunoichi is steadfast in safeguarding her family, that if Tengen has determined you are not up to par to be his tsuguko, she will carry his will into forcing your retirement.

Yet, the awkward way you shuffled around the kitchen, doing your best to begin the breakfast prep despite the way the sun has yet to rise. Your face littered with scars, scathing marks of the training of days prior, unafflicted as the way you wash the rice. She is softening.

Is likely the first to realize just how dedicated you are to upholding the position of Sound Tsuguko in all of it’s dignity—but she’s still going to push you until her husband alleviates her of her post.

Where Makio has been steadfast and temperamental, Suma will delight in the gentle way you regard her. The small blush or unsettled way you struggle when she draws near. Delighting in the obvious discomfort you have with her proximity, so unlike that of an of the Uzui clan.

She’s going to think you’re the most adorable tsuguko to have ever joined the corps. Especially in which the inevitable way you end up awkwawrdly soothing one of her tantrum spouts, the way you had successfully caught her off guard in training.

The obvious risk of disappointment Uzui may feel is in her inability to be a successful kunoichi even if she’s retired. Like he’s capable of feeling anything other than affection for any of them.

Yet, as illogical as the reasoning is, Suma cannot fight the way her tears spill over, and her wailing meets the trees ushering birds from the area. Nor can you fight the awkward shift of your blade, the internal war that has stricken between your nerves before you awkwardly pat her head, doing your best to sooth her tears in the most rigid of fashions.

Then, there is Hinatsuru who cannot ignore the gentle way Tengen says your name. The small touch of pride in his features after the wives report your progress—or well, lack of advancement to putting one sandal out the door.

The progress of your training drawing upon his esteem. The first of any of them to pick up on the real reason why it is Uzui wishes to push you from his services—the former shinobi never having been given the proper ability to communicate how having someone under his ward, under his care always leaves him unsettled.

The man is more aware of his own risk-taking behaviors than others, and as a tsuguko, your duties are to follow wherever it may be that he leads whether to the entertainment district, or to hell, and because of this, the Sound Hashira would rather you resign, or fall under another Hashira’s instruction.  Like Tomioka’s.

It is in the small moments in which she bandages a scathed cheek at the end of the day, one of Makio’s kunais having successfully landed its mark in which the small slip of your mask has trembled out. The small confession that though Uzui’s methods are unorthodox, you cannot help but admire his confidence, and his pragmatic approach to life.

And in that moment, she is certain that you are more alike than either of you realize. Such as the way that you can be caught playing the piano late at night as a means to escape the way your thoughts may attempt to rob you of your confidence.

They have all heard you, yet none dare to confess their intrusion. Perhaps in fear that you may stop playing altogether, losing your resolve to combat each of Tengen’s whims.

The beautiful hit of keys, of emotions that dare to spill from your fingertips and lose yourself in the melody in the middle of the night is when Uzui has (not really) admitted defeat. 

There is a touch of spark within you after all.

Though he will never state it out loud in this case, rather, he’ll allow the muted return of haori, one in which he had rejected upon your initial shopping trip to appear in your accommodations.

In the case of Tengen, you both will have to accept that your relationship will not do well unless you learn to let bygones be bygones, and try to remain open-minded to both of your needs.

Tengen is by nature, an exhibitionist.

He thrives under attention and praise. On one hand, there are perks in his ability to command a room, as well as your denial of the spotlight. In most missions, this means that Tengen will take the blows, draw all the rage of demons to his self, and allow you the opportunity to go for the kill.

He will put on a performance, while you perform discord from the shadows. Where he is the bellow of a drum, loud and demanding, Uzui sets the pace, and draws attention, you are a flute.

Quiet, outspoken, and carried by the wind. The notes are delicate and untouched allowing you to reach where others may not. But, just as with any band, timing is everything, and as time and trust solidifies, you will make for a lethal pair.

While you may at times become exasperated with his antics, and wandering, the Sound Hashira may at times feel the same way for your ability to remain in place--- he doesn’t get it, but that does not mean that either of your view points are wrong and without purpose.

In battle, in training, and even in the opportunity to ease yourself from demands, both are important. Uzui has the ability to strike first, to wander fearlessly, and blaze a trail. He can and will size vacation time without giving an absolute shit about how it may affect those around him.

The good news is, the Sound Hashira will encourage a voice you never imagined lurked beneath your surface—the ability to back talk the Wind Hashira if he has infringed upon your duties, or to allow yourself to actually take care of yourself with little remorse.

Okay, you actually feel really guilty, but Uzui is at your side shamelessly committing an escapade with little regard, and it’s kind of comforting.

You are two sides of the same coin. On one side, you have the Sound Hashira who does not hesitate to wander, and adore attention, and seize respite, and because of this, he’ll gift you the ability to take care of yourself more, without fear that you are disappointing others.

He’ll encourage bold questions, the smallest quip of a smile upon realizing that you have added a olive haori, or a small pin to your otherwise bland outfit.

Something that once would have provided you with internal discord, now a small touch of individuality upon your uniform. I mean, he thinks you could definitely use more, but baby steps. He’s so proud of you.  

The Sound Hashira’s ability to step back and actually acknowledge that though it may feel like a small change to him, it is in fact a significant step for you—is all your influence.

Whereas, you have this ability to motivate him. To help him feel as though he is just a little closer and closer to retirement, and get his bones moving in a beneficial factor to the Demon Slayer Corps. Able to place a little bit more substance in his long-term goals.

On the other, while Uzui does NOT like to be tied down or stationary, as long as you allow him the ability to live life without a leash, he will actually enjoy how thoughtful you can be. The natural consideration you have for others, your ability to coordinate times, dates, in short his schedule—its all essential for him to be able to live life on the edge.

Someone is dutifully cleaning up his mess.

On top of it, he’s likely praise your ability to think out of the box, a side effect of your ability to balance life. In fact, it’s your natural ability to get along that helps to tidy up his dealings with the other Hashiras.

Connection and communication is something that as you can imagine from your initial interactions took quite some time to get off the ground. It likely resulted in a number of spats, your growing confidence giving you a touch of a backbone, and the ability to facilitate boundaries with the man, and because of this, it’s important to address how different your styles are.

Uzui is a blunt individual, and he doesn’t care if his words leave a little bit of a scar. He would much rather be to the point and scathing, than be askew, and coddle a situation rather than accept it for what it is. He is analytical, and is quick to rise to tensions.

While you may be more prone to approaching disputes from an emotional end—such as what led to the infringement. Where is it that tensions arose in the first place, and how might you approach this situation in a way that--- yeah he’s bored as hell and cannot cope with it, but as time goes on, he’ll learn to hear you out.

Just as you will adjust your own communication to details and practical applications without relying. You’re still communicating your needs, as well as acknowledging his own, but are learning that practical language and emotional language should be shifted to mee the others needs.

As time goes on, you will also have adapted to understanding that Tengen’s remarks are never personal, but rather informative ways to correct whether it’s how you handled a social interaction, or in your own swordsmen stance.

That being said, while the combination is one that you both likely met with extreme hesitation, it has the great potential to be one that is not only lethal, but allows you the opportunity to feel safe and secure in a balanced relationship.

Structured on trust, and dedication to one another, Tengen will take pride in giving you the means to meet conflicts head on, to dare to wear olive, or a mute pattern outside of solid neutrals, and you give him an unexpected place to ease into confessions. To quietly dispose concerns, confess the small nightmares of a past that crept up on him between drinks.

Similar to his wives, and the care he shows to the Kamado squad, I imagine that Tengen can and would put his life on the to protect you.

That he claims your accomplishments as his own, not in a narcissistic manner, but rather that of a father who is genuinely delighted to see how far you have come. You are the cat daddy didn't want.

Savors the rare opportunities in which you will follow his lead, the smile upon his face when he has introduced you to extravagant foods. The rare slip of a smile, and how you submit to the moments.

To laugh at his antics, to be dragged along into one of his whims. The moment in which you allow yourself to loosen up, and enjoy where the Sound Hashira will take you. The day in which you claim his position.

The day one that bears such significance to him. The distant memory of his distaste for someone so forgettable, now etched into his being. The widen of his dark fuscha eyes tucked under silver hair as he adverts his gaze with a knowing smile, drawn at the corresponding pattern seared into his face, at his eyes.

The buttons of your uniform, now golden in hue, and the faded amber haori with the faintest, familiar circular pattern at the corner of your sleeves, mirrored image of your sensei's unique marking.

He’s so proud of you.

damn it.

#🍡tsuyospeaks #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #tengen uzui x reader #tengen x reader #tengen's wives #I will never write tengen without his wives #uzui clan #uzui x reader #tengen uzui

[sleepyfan-blog]

Window Conversation

Author’s Note: This is the next in Cedric’s adventures in Ancient Terra. First. Previous.

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @kit-williams

Warnings: none? Ask me to tag, if something makes you uncomfortable

Summary: Cedric is grounded from exploring the human city he’s in, so he is content to look out a window and people watch. He’s approached by a Salamander Scout Captain and they chat.

Cedric stared longingly out of the window of the base that he'd been confined to for the past week and a half, as part of his punishment for dealing with the heretics... Allied Heretics, rudely. The fact that there were allied heretics was... It was wrong. It was against much of what he had been taught.  It had been the forces of chaos that had killed untold trillions of innocents and corrupting ten times as many during the Horus Heresy, and the many Black Crusades that had followed. Chaos had created the Cicatrix Maledictum that split the galaxy in half, corrupted half of the Holy Primarchs and killing all but one of the Loyal Primarchs. Those Chaos-tainted Primarchs were some of the most dangerous threats still existing against the Imperium.

He had been reminded by one of the Chaplains he was working under to Atone for his rudeness of how few Marines were on Ancient Terra, of the few resources that any of them had, and the fractious nature of the human nation-states who ruled Ancient Terra. He'd been shown proof of all of this, and that even the most chaos-corrupted Marines who were allied with the Loyalists on Ancient Tera had a better grip of their unholy instincts and bastardized natures... Particularly after they had been Bonded with a human. No one would give him a good explanation as to what a Bond was, only that he would Know when or if he would find his human to bond with.. That these bonds domesticated the twisted parodies that the chaos marines had become. 

Cedric couldn't muster up the Faith to believe that all of that was possible. That all of the groxshit that had been so earnestly fed to him by several Loyal older brothers wasn't some insidious Chaotic plot to get them to lower their guard in order to fuck them over and slaughter them all while taking over Ancient Terra... To ensure that the Imperium of Man never rose, or if it did, The Imperium would be a bastion of Chaos and misery, rather than of Order and the Emperor's Light. He didn't want to believe that the loyalists had been fooled so completely...

But to try to begin to believe all of this - that the chaos astartes who had allied with the loyalists weren't plotting to stab them all in the back the moment that they felt that they had gotten everything that they wanted out of this arrangement made his head and his hearts hurt.  The very thought that loyalist and chaos astartes could peacefully coexist with one another... It was almost enough to drive Cedric to madness.

Or to incredible, bloody violence. 

Especially against those smug, prancing, gaudy purple Slaaneshi bastards. Cedric could see several of them dancing around the humans who were walking amongst them, fearless. Unaware that they were being exposed to beings whose very presence was corrosive and toxic and -

"Cedric, are you glaring at random people out the window and growling again?" Ash'val asked, the Salamander looking at him in a very judgmental manner when Cedric managed to drag his eyes away from the Slaaneshi Bastards.

Rude. Not that the young Apothecary would speak up against the well-loved and deeply respected Scout captain. He blinked at the other and took a breath, realizing that he had been making a low, rumbling sound in his chest and stopped the sound from continuing before he managed out "I... Uhm... I didn't mean to growl? I... I just..." Fuck, where did his words go? He had a perfectly reasonable explanation for his vigilant watchfulness moments ago... Cedric found himself unable to look the older space marine in the eye, bowing his head a little to avoid the other's gaze.

"You seem to have a particular problem with Slaaneshi Marines." Ash'val noted. The scout captain reached out slowly and placed a reassuring hand on one of Cedric's shoulders "You've gone through a lot of changes in a very short period of time and been given a lot of information that would... Be seen as impossible at best, or heretical nonsense worthy of execution after a visit from the Inquisition at worst. But shoving your nose to a window and growling at random marines wandering by isn't going to help you adjust to all of these changes. And I imagine that you're starting to get pretty restless being stuck inside all day with little to do, other than training and chores."

"I... I understand why I've been confined to base, sir." Cedric answered, shuffling his feet a little. The stern reprimand that he'd gotten from his rude behavior towards both chaos marines and how his hostility could put the tentative alliance between the loyalists and the chaos warbands at risk still rung in his ears a week and a half later.... And one of the last things he wanted to do while planetside on a beautiful and peaceful day like this was stay inside and do fuck-all when there was a forest an easy three-hour jog from here where Cedric was pretty sure he could go hunting and foraging for fresh food, rather than the nutrient pastes that while nutritious, weren't nearly as satisfying as a meal made with fresh ingredients. But until he could prove that he could handle interacting with Filthy Chaotic Traitors without resorting to unprovoked violence within five minutes... Not just that, but he could not show any outward sings of hostility when interacting with Filthy Chaotic Traitors, including a change in scent. "... I am still fairly certain that I was being... Cordial. At least to the World Eater. I didn't threaten him or his human once, nor did I try to harm either of them - not that I would have struck out at the child unless forced to... I do admit that I did restrain the Slaaneshi sc-... Marine, but that was for the health and safety of everyone in the building. The poison he was dripping from his hands is incredibly dangerous and corruptive at a soul-deep level."

Ash'val hummed a little before lifting the hand on Cedric's shoulder to ruffle his hair "This is true, however you should have explained to Elam why you were taping jars to his hands... What you did was tackle him to the ground and tape jars to his hands while refusing to explain until one of the other Apothecaries asked you why you'd done it. And you kept Elam in a headlock until directly ordered to let him go by our head apothecary. Emperor's Children - and Elam in particular - tend to be cooperative with Apothecaries and he was being on his best behavior."

"The last time before I met this... Elam, where Slaaneshi worshippers were wielding that particularly potent poison, I lost a squad brother, and my chapter lost dozens of Battle Brother to that poison. And we were fighting against baseline human Slaaneshi worshippers. I shudder to think how much damage an Astartes Slaaneshi worshipper with a possibly endless supply of The Poison of Vainglory could do. He was a clear and present threat and even then, I used a minimal amount of force in containment of such a threat." Cedric huffed, scowling at the floor, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He knew that if he... Capitulated to... Apologizing to the Slaaneshi Marine for the way he had handled him, his time grounded in the base would be halved - or at least, that is what he had been promised.

But the very thought of doing so, of betraying his brothers' memories like that... Comiting such a sin against the God Emperor and the Imperium was more than what the Primaris Black Templar could bear. He'd been told that things her on ancient Terra were very different... But the very thought of apologizing was enough to make him physically ill. So he was going to patiently and penitently wait out the time that he had been sentenced to in the base without complained. He trained when allowed, helped keep things tidy (It was part of his punishment, actually. To aid in the maintenance of the base and the cleanliness... To cook in the kitchens, as well as other similar tasks. He wasn't sure why they were part of his punishment, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He was surprised that he hadn't been beaten or whipped, for the amount of lecturing he'd gotten for his misconduct against allied chaos Space marines. It felt strange, and like an oversight, but Cedric wasn't going to complain about it, either).

"How would you feel if someone tackled and pined you to the floor because of the very health symptom you were seeking treatment for?" The Salamander Scout Captain prodded.

Cedric tilted his head a little in confusion. He was baffled by this. The young apothecary had heard that Firstborn Salamanders were soft-touches, but this was one of the questions that had One Correct Answer, and to misspeak was a trap. He answered earnestly "I would submit to anything that was being done to me without struggle or complaint, sir, as whoever did that has good reasoning to do as what they are doing, and to struggle would mean that I am fighting treatment, sir." Which means long hours of repentance at best, after the treatment was concluded at best... At worst fighting treatment - especially when one was clearly tainted by Chaos meant that he would be culled and sent to the Emperor's side before the Chaos could corrupt his soul further. The Mechanicum - and his older Black Templar brothers had both made that very clear during his training with them. "Provided, of course, the person doing the tackling and treatment is a loyalist, of course. Otherwise I would fight to free myself."

"Even if you were worried that this other loyalist may be tryign to hurt or kill you?" Ash'val asked, a complicated series of emotions flashing across the older marine's face before settling on concern for reasons Cedric couldn't begin to guess.

"If I have committed a sin, or breach of conduct, or was exposed to something that was corrupting me, or could potentially corrupt me, yes. I would still submit to treatment, if I was in full command of my senses. The Slaaneshi poisons alter one's mind, as well as body, as well as certain Nurglite diseases and Tzeenchian curses. And of course, The Infectious Rages of Khorne." Cedric responded, knowing the Correct Response to this question as well. Not that he didn't mean what he was saying as well. "Even if I was unaware of what crime or sin I committed, or if I did not know what I had recently encountered was so corrupting."

"I... I see. A large part of your training involved adherence to orders, I am guessing? apart from your combat and medical training." The scout captain asked. The older marine's face was free of emotion, but his voice was strangely shaky.

"Yes sir. Obeying orders is important, no matter one's personal feelings on the orders given to them." Cedric answered earnestly. Orders were to be obeyed, though were also subject to change. Especially on the battlefield where preliminary orders - like plans - went to die as soon as contact with the enemy was made.

:"Oh. Okay. I've got another question for you: are you a Primaris Marine?" The Salamander Scout captain asked, looking oddly intense as he asked it. "You're one of a handful of known Primaris Marines in this era, if you are. And by whom were you trained?"

"As with all Primaris Marines so far in my tie period, I was strictly trained by the Adeptus Mechanicus. They told me that I trained on Mars, specifically in their Astartes gene-labs." Cedric answered honestly. Disobedience had been harshly punished by both the Mechanicus and his Black Templar older brothers, though in different ways. The punishments here were much lighter and easier to handle. Not that Cedric intended on misbehaving to the point of testing their mercy He wasn't trying to cause problems... Though that never mattered to the Mechanicus or the Black Templars... And the Astartes here had given him more leeway than he'd ever been given. It was making Cedric nervous as to what might happen if he found the end of these marines' patience for misconduct.

"Ah. The... The mechanicus operates in a very specific way, and though what they do works for them... As for we Astartes... We are supposed to be trained in a different matter. Not that you're wrong for behaving for how you've been taught, given that I'm guessing that no one's really gone over our expectations for marines staying with us." Ash'val mused, looking Cedric over assessingly. "Follow me to my office. We're going to talk about what expectations you've been working under, and I'll explain in detail the rules of the base and for allied astartes, that way you're not tripped up by anything."

"Yes sir." Cedric responded, giving the Salamander a salute, obediently following after him.

#warhammer 40k #my writing #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #salamander #black templar #oc: ash'val #oc: cedric #I don't imagine that being raised by the adeptus mechanicus was at ALL good for the primaris marines' mental health

[tomwambsmilk]

Not enough discussion yet of the Logan-Colin scene. The man who has spent 3 seasons adamantly refusing to acknowledge his own mortality suddenly wants to talk about the afterlife. It's not real, but if IS real then he has some fucking theories.

Logan spends this entire episode wanting someone to tell him he's not that bad a person. Since the beginning of the show, he's used various shields to hold the allegations of moral rot at bay. Everything he's ever done, he's done for his children. This is nothing but cultural blowback, he's being punished for the sins of others. He's a good Catholic boy who couldn't even take off his undershirt in front of his wife. He just knows things about the world, that's how he makes a buck. Each excuse is flimsier than the last. And now, finally, he's out of excuses. The season 3 finale was the moment of truth where he was forced to reveal the kind of man he truly was. He's a man who wants to keep his children close even when it hurts them. He's a man who mocks love and fosters betrayal and whose only goal is to add more billions to his pile. He's a man who poisons everything around him.

And so now here he is, 81, only sycophants at his party. His children aren't here, revealing that he's not the loving father he presented himself as. Mencken isn't here, revealing that he's not as powerful or influential as he used to be (the Raisin would NEVER have snubbed a birthday invite). The Cardinal isn't here, so he can't point to the presence of a churchman as an endorsement of his own righteousness. (Why isn't the Cardinal here? Is it just because he doesn't care, or is there an unsaid moral condemnation involved in that decision?) So he leaves, and he goes to a diner with his "best friend" Colin, a man he pays to be by his side every hour of every day.

On the Succession podcast, Jesse Armstrong talks about Logan's perception of humans as something fundamentally childish. He doesn't know how to exist in the world. He doesn't have the vocabulary to relate to other people. We've spent 3 seasons debating what he considers to be a "real person", and here he reveals that he himself doesn't even know. The only way he can understand other people, the only way he can relate to them, is in economic and business terms. A person is an economic unit, moving through markets. It (and notice he says "it", not "he" or "she" or "they") has dreams and values and goals, but those simply serve to dictate how it moves through those markets. That's true for the random person on the street, but it's also true for himself and his children and everyone at Waystar. The difference is not that other people are economic units and he and his family are not. The difference is that he and his family are much bigger economic units, that make a bigger impact on the markets. They're 100 feet tall, and everyone else is pygmies, and yet being 100 feet tall doesn't make his tuna sandwich taste any better.

(And it's worth noting that when Tom and Shiv finally encounter each other, they use the same kind of economic language to discuss the state of their marriage. Shiv doesn't want to rake up a bunch of bullshit for no profit. Tom asks if she really wants to take a full accounting of all the pain in their marriage. They don't even realize that somewhere along the way they began perceiving each other and their marriage through the same lens that Logan perceives the world. They don't even recognize that they've reduced each other to economic units, moving through various markets searching for some shred of happiness or fulfillment.)

And then finally we come to the question of the afterlife. Logan doesn't believe there is an afterlife. Or does he? Maybe he genuinely doesn't. Maybe he's looked at the world and decided that heaven and hell don't fit into his market-centric worldview. Or maybe, the self-professed "good little Catholic boy" who's upset the Cardinal didn't come to his birthday party knows deep down that if there is an afterlife, he's not going to a good place. Maybe the only shield he has left to defend himself is the idea that there is no heaven and there is no hell, said with all the conviction of a man who fears his own damnation but doesn't see any way to avoid that fate.

And then he comes back to the party and he wants someone to roast him. He's staring down the gun barrel of his own impending death and he needs other people to join him in his glib assessment of his moral failings, to confirm that it's not a big deal, it's just business, his kids just suck and he's a pretty good guy and they all love him. And not a single one of them can. Karl and Frank and Gerri are too afraid of him to try and make light of his faults (in itself a somewhat damning statement). The only person even willing to try is Greg, and sure he has no comedic timing, but the deeper issue is that what's wrong with Logan is simply not funny. It's not lighthearted and glib. It's miserable and sad and lonely, and everyone is afraid of him, and there's no love or camaraderie in anything Greg says. Greg asks him where his children are and the only thing he can do is remind Greg that he, too, has been abandoned by the people who should care about him, that Greg is just as lonely and pathetic and desperately scrambling for connection as he is.

And then finally, we see Logan on the couch, in the middle of the night, watching ATN. Two men are left with life-threatening injuries after a brawl that went too far. A stupid pointless fight from which emerged no victors. Two men far younger than Logan, dying in a hospital. We know nothing about these men. We don't know what kind of legacy they might leave behind. We do know that whatever else they did will be overshadowed by the futility of their deaths. And that's when Logan calls Cyd to tell her that he doesn't like what he sees. It is the truth, but I don't think the root cause is something Cyd can fix.

#succession spoilers

[girlactionfigure]

Our Repeated Strategic Failures, or How We Never Learn from Experience

1. Failure to understand and respect our enemies.

Since before the founding of the State of Israel, Palestinian Arab leaders have been saying that the land between the river and the sea is Arab land, land in which non-Arab (and usually non-Muslim) sovereignty is intolerable. They opposed Jewish immigration from the turn of the 20th century because they correctly saw, even when many Jews did not, that sovereignty was the eventual outcome of Zionism. Leaders from Amin al-Husseini through Yasir Arafat to Mahmoud Abbas made countless statements to this effect, and repeatedly rejected offers of Palestinian statehood because they required the acceptance of a Jewish state as well. Jews and others with a Western outlook were repeatedly surprised when this happened, unable to grasp that the Arab objectives were not a mirror image of those of the Jews, who wanted a peaceful sovereign state and were prepared to compromise on land in order to get or keep it. For both secular and religious Palestinian movements like Fatah and Hamas respectively (although at the grass roots no Palestinian Arab movement is truly secular), the presence of a Jewish entity on what they believe is Arab/Muslim land is a painful violation of honor and doctrine. Over the years their belief in the absolute rightness of their position, their shame of having been victimized by the Jews, and their steadfastness in working toward their goal has only increased.

How many times have we heard that “what they want is to improve their lives and the prospects of their children?” That if only they could see a “horizon” of self-determination and prosperity, they would end their hostility to the Jewish state? Nothing could be more wrong – or more contemptuous of them. We are asking them, in other words, to abandon what they believe is their birthright to the land, to give up their honor (to Jews!), and to violate the principles of their religion, in return for scraps from our table. They would sooner die (and they do, often taking some of us with them).

Perhaps we are misled by the amount of corruption that exists in the political structures of peoples whose loyalties are primarily tribal, and think that the Arabs are weak and can be bought. Perhaps this is the source of the conceptzia that stupidly tried to buy quiet from Hamas with suitcases of dollars from Qatar, or thought that the billions of dollars siphoned off by Yasir Arafat would somehow make a peace partner out of him. Arafat took aid money to pay terrorists and fill his Swiss bank accounts, while Hamas leaders dug attack tunnels and built themselves mansions. But despite their corruption, neither neglected their main goal.

This strategic error has been repeated over and over, and has been responsible for two of Israel’s most painful failures: the Oslo Accords and the Second Intifada that followed, and the 7 October pogrom.

Give the Arabs the respect they deserve. Listen to what they say, and believe them when they say they are our enemies. They aren’t for sale.

2. Failure to Punish Those Who Hurt Us

We live in the Middle East. In the Middle East, when someone murders one of your people, you kill him. When someone invades your land, you take his land and you don’t give it back. Maybe you don’t agree with these principles and think that murderers can be rehabilitated, or that you can settle disputes over land legally or diplomatically; but the Middle East doesn’t care what you think. If you don’t protect your honor when you are victimized, it is a demonstration of weakness, and will be exploited. Recently the Iranian regime launched over 300 weapons including some 120 ballistic missiles at Israel, the largest attack of its kind in military history. The amount of death and destruction that it could have caused was enormous; only luck, the skill of our pilots, $1.35 billion in defensive weapons, and the help of the US (that we will pay for in loss of sovereignty) saved us. We responded by destroying a radar installation, to “send a message” that we could have attacked the nuclear installation it was protecting. Are we joking? They tried to kill us and instead of “rising up to kill them” as the sages of the Talmud recommend (Sanhedrin 72a-b), we send a message that we could have hurt them? That is not a Middle Eastern response, and it will be interpreted to mean that we are too weak or constrained (by the US) to strike back. This will encourage Iran to hit us again.

3. Failure to Maintain Deterrence

Israel’s response to rocket attacks and terrorism has tended to concentrate on parrying the enemy’s strikes rather than retaliating disproportionately (in the Middle East, the “disproportionately” part is important). While a purely defensive strategy (e.g., Iron Dome) results in less disruption to the home front, the enemy is not deterred from trying again and applying lessons learned from previous rounds of fighting. Psychologically, it normalizes the act of trying to kill Jews. A powerful retaliatory strike, on the other hand, makes the enemy pay a high cost for its aggression and deters future attacks. And it transmits the message that Jewish blood isn’t cheap.

4. Failure to Maintain Independence and Sovereignty

A small country can only control its own destiny by staying independent of any one great power or camp of powers. Such a country must maintain relations with all sides in the great power conflicts and play one side off the other. Israel successfully did this for a time, but by the 1980s, she was entirely dependent on the US, both diplomatically and as a source of military hardware. A key point of inflection was in 1987, when the project to build the Lavie fighter aircraft was cancelled. Today, although Israel’s economy is strong enough that she could pay for her own defense needs without American military aid, her procurement has been skewed for many years to extremely expensive American systems that may not be best suited for her needs (e.g., the F-35). It should have been obvious decades ago, and even more so with the election of Barack Obama in 2016, that American interests may diverge significantly from those of Israel, and that Israel should not put all her eggs in America’s basket. But our government and military took the easy way out, and allowed the addiction to US military aid to grow. Today we have the American Secretary of State sitting in on war cabinet meetings, and fine-tuning our military tactics – and very possibly preventing us from defeating Hamas and removing it from power.

The Consequences

All these failures work together to create disastrous situations for the state. The present situation in Gaza is a direct result of several strategic failures. The failure to understand that Hamas’ top priority was always going to be trying to destroy Israel and kill Jews, and that its leadership could not be sidetracked into providing for the welfare of its population or developing a real economy, led to the policy of allowing large amounts of cash from Qatar to reach the Hamas leadership. But rather than using the money to build civilian infrastructure, it plowed it into rockets and tunnels (after skimming a portion for the personal enrichment of its leaders). The conceptzia contributed to the IDF’s inattention and intelligence failures that allowed 7 October to happen.

Lack of punishment did damage on both an individual and organizational level. The fact that the death penalty (or even permanent imprisonment) for terrorist murderers wasn’t applied led to the release of Yahya Sinwar himself, the architect of 7 October, as part of an exchange of 1026 Palestinian prisoners for one kidnapped Israeli. Sinwar was serving four life sentences for murder. Hamas prisoners developed an autonomy within the Israeli prison system. In a particularly embarrassing affair, some prisoners arranged for attractive female soldiers to be assigned to their areas, exposing them to sexual harassment. Since the Palestinian Authority paid salaries to the families of all prisoners, prison was more like an extended work assignment than a punishment to be feared.

Over the past decade, there have been several limited wars or “operations” in Gaza in response to rocket attacks. In many cases, empty buildings have been hit, sometimes along with a few targeted killings, in order to “mow the grass” for a few years. The government could justify this weak response to attacks that could have been deadly, because most Hamas missiles were intercepted by Iron Dome. But our passive defense did not deter Hamas from trying again, as soon as they were able to do so, often with improved rockets and terror strategies. The 7 October attack was the result of the application of lessons learned from previous rounds.

After 7 October, the government realized that our strategy had to change, and that only a true victory over Hamas would prevent future disasters. But since the beginning of the war, we’ve seen increasingly intrusive interference and micromanagement by the Biden administration, which apparently does not want to see a complete Israeli victory. Because of our absolute dependence on the US for military supplies and protection from Security Council-imposed sanctions, Israel’s freedom of action has been severely limited. Failure to remove Hamas from power will be a victory for Hamas in the war that they started on 7 October.

A similar analysis can be applied to our conflicts with Hezbollah, and of course with Iran. After the war there will be elections, and most Israelis believe that wholesale change is needed. It is to be hoped that the new leadership will learn from our failures and reverse these disastrous policies.

#Iran #Islam #Israel and Palestinian Arabs #Terrorism #War