#6 YEARS AGO TRAUMA WAS CREATED!!

[d1n6]

BABY ITS YOUR BIRTHDAY💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 HAPPY LN ANNIVERSARY‼️‼️

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 6

Warnings: Stress in the nest, angst

Fear engulfed Felix as he ran to his omega's side when Hyunjin let go of her. Her body fell limp in his alpha's arms. "Y/N." Felix's voice croaked as he held her frail little head. "Felix-ssi, take Y/N into my room and make sure she doesn't go into a sub-drop while me and Hyunjin deal with Jisung," Chan whispered, before leaving him with his omega. "Felix it is alright. I will take her. You go and clear this up." Minho offered as he slowly picked up the small omega knowing Felix was in no fit state to look after her. "Hyung?" Felix whined, trying to pull her back. "I've got this. I will look after her until you come." Minho stated as he nudged the blonde wolf before heading up the stairs into his alpha's room. "Those idiots. He's going to kill them." Minho gasped as he looked at the state of Chan's room. The king-sized bed had been pulled away from the wall into the middle of the room with the headboard ripped off, and small pieces of wood covered the floor. The wardrobe had completely changed sides of the room with half of his clothes falling out of it, even Chan's shoes looked as if they were ready to escape the madness of this room. Bundles of blankets and pillows had engulfed the once-neatened bed. Sweet scented candles flooded the room. It was pure chaos. He could tell the two betas were in distress but he didn't expect them to shake up their alphas room. 

Carefully Minho dropped her on top of the mattress before getting a washcloth to wipe the blood from her new mated marks that were branded into her skin. Minho noticed as he ghosted his fingertips over Chan's mark that Hongjoongs mark underneath was slowly dissapearing along with the other twenty so marks across her body. He wondered how long it would take for her body to repair itself from the physical trauma that was across her skin. Minho shook his head and gingerly wiped the blood from her neck before going to Hyunjin's mark. Minho had to snicker at the mark on her ass because he knew there would be no way Hyunjin would ever mark her ass let alone in general at this current moment. Like himself, Hyunjin too had a difficult background but they were both very different. Minho was very grateful to Chan for finding him all those years ago. He would always owe it to him, for the rest of his life if he had to, hence why Minho would never challenge Chan. Hyunjin and Jisung were the most defiant wolves. Jisung more so than the rest since he was the first wolf Chan had chosen when he created Straykids. Jisung was presented as the second beta and second-ranked to Minho. Jisung's firstborn seniority complex made him act better than everyone else, particularly when his wolf felt out of control. It was similar to his alpha-beta complex, but Minho would never admit that to anyone. Of course, Chan knew about it and how he felt about not being alpha but Chan never held it against Minho or questioned his feelings, it wasn't worth it to Chan. It was also the same reason why Minho never questioned Chan's weird obsession with having a soul-mated omega. He didn't understand it but he would never question Chan's actions, only supporting them quietly. Still, Minho wondered how Chan was truly feeling about all this. About having their omega here. She was quite different, understandably, as she did come from a commune that bred omegas religiously, however, her attitude towards alphas was quite distrustful and hostile, that was something Minho was still trying to figure out.

Minho knew who Ateez were. They were a group of demonic werewolves who sold their soul to dark practitioners to become the most powerful and cultivated werewolf group. He knew they lived in Wraithwood and no one could enter unless Hongjoong allowed them. It was rumoured the place was surrounded by the spirited wolves that he killed, whether it was true or a messed up story he didn't know. What Minho did know was Y/N had lived there and survived their treatment, but how did they let her escape? Minho couldn't quite put his finger on it and it bothered him. Chan had stolen Hyunjin from Ateez. Did Hongjoong steal Y/N from Chan before he got to her?  Minho's thoughts were going round and round in circles as he thought about the time they encountered Hongoong, but how would he have known? Aish, I'm going to have to ask Jeongin for help.  "Chris!" Minho shot up as if he had been caught doing something illegal. "What in the seven hells has happened to my room," Chan growled as he looked at his broken nest. All his stuff was scattered everywhere and left in a disorganised manner. "I think Seungmin and Changbin were stress nesting." Minho sighed out. "They have their own nests!" Chan growled. His alpha inside of him was clawing at the surface, ready to break out and fix his nest. It was the worst thing to do to any wolf who had perfected their nest. It was like destroying someone's grandmother's urn and scattering her ashes across your bedroom. It was annoying for any wolf and it could sometimes make the wolf disorientated, especially if an outsider destroyed it. "I know hyung! I will speak to them, they were anxious." Minho tried to assure, but it seemed Chan wasn't calming down anytime soon as he dragged his armchair over to the bed like a sour puppy. "How is Jisung?" Minho asked. "I told Hyunjin to break his leg for preventing me from saving my omega. He will shift fifty times a day until I say stop." Chan growled, his eyes fixated on his omega's heartbeat. "Is Jisung aware of why-." "Of course, he isn't. Jisung is too cocky for his own good sometimes." Chan snapped before taking in a breath. "He needs to realise that pulling me away too quickly could have killed her. If she died Min a break of a leg would have been nothing. I couldn't lose her while I just got her." "I know Channie." Minho carefully walked over and rubbed his shoulders, "I think she is a lot stronger than we think. I think she is going to be a little bit of a firecracker when she feels comfortable. There is no doubt about hyung." "I agree, but at the moment I do worry about you, Hyunjin and Jeongin. Especially Jeongin, all of these emotions are confusing him and I'm worried all his training will be thrown out the window. He doesn't know whether to rut her or attack her." Chan said as he ran his hands through his brown hair.

"Can I speak honestly?" Chan waved his hand out to give his permission. "Do not worry about me. You know I get over things in my own way. At the moment I do not feel comfortable with her around, I have just got comfortable with having the eight of us and zero problems in a long time. I just want to clarify I do and my wolf does recognise her as our mate, I am not ready to trust her or adapt to this new environment, yet. My concern is, and I say this with good intentions, I don't think it is a good idea to let Jeongin near her for a while or at least not without another alpha present. Jeongin has only been presented over a year ago and he has just gotten the hang of new smells, new emotions, hell, he even had his first rut which nearly took us all out. Jeongin is extremely volatile at the moment and I know Hyunjin has been helping him with controlling his anger. The issue is that Jeongin has learned as a mechanism to rely on other emotions in the home to ground him which worked fine until Y/N arrived. Not only that Jeongin has never been around an omega. He was born from an alpha pack. Look, I don't want our maknae to get himself worked up and explode when he's been doing so well."

Chan listened attentively to Minho's words. It was a lot to think about. Chan knew Minho was right about Jeongin, it was too soon for him to be around Y/N but at the same time, he didn't want to push either of them out. They both would need him. "hey, don't worry too much. You know all of us will help out and Jeongin knows how eager you have been to find your mate. He will understand that making her comfortable is the biggest priority and even if you have to spend time with Jeongin, I am sure Lix and Bin would love to spend time with her. Bin more so than Lix because Jisung told him she bites." Chan snorted at Minho's words, he wouldn't be surprised if she did nip one of them. "I know Minho. Thank you for your words of wisdom. You always know what to say." Chan expressed. "Oh and Hyunjin. I don't know what to do about him. Hyunjin is Hyunjin. What I can suggest is to let him come around and try not to expect too much from him and Y/N. I doubt that is going to happen anytime soon, but he is not happy about it." Minho added. "I know Hyunjin is still difficult. He isn't fully comfortable since what happened with him. Hyunjin did promise he wasn't going to reject her but feels his choice has been taken from him." Chan sadly stated as he thought back to Hyunjins cold words 'I'm not going to reject her. It's not like I can anyway, but you forced me to do something I never wanted to do.' Admittedly, Chan did feel incredibly guilty about asking Hyunjin to mark her but he was in a state of sheer panic and there was no way Jeongin was ready to have that responsibility or pressure. Chan didn't even want to think about Jeongin marking their omega anytime soon.

The two wolves sat in silence with their thoughts watching their omega sleeping peacefully for a few moments when Chan announced he was going to check on Jeongin leaving Minho alone with her. It was only when Minho pulled the blankets over her that he truly noticed her. Minho noticed how peaceful she looked as she slept. Her dark brown hair came down to her shoulders, slightly sticking to her face as she slept. Her face was less blotchy and the colour had started to come back to her cheeks. Minho couldn't deny she was beautiful but there was a uniqueness to her and he wasn't sure if it was because of her wolf or temperament. You and Han Jisung are going to be a menace together, aren't you? Minho thought to himself as he thought about the two running wild around the house. He could feel it. What they faced may not even be the full extent of her defiance and there would be a lot more to unwrap as time progresses.

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller. Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

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Inspired by ‘Strangers’ by Ethel Cain, ‘Haunted’ by Taylor Swift, and ‘Francesca’ by Hozier 🫀

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read on ao3 - 38/38 chapters (179k words)

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read on tumblr:

chapter 1 'Marked for death'

chapter 2 'Put it on me'

chapter 3 'Twice'

chapter 4 'Something in the way'

chapter 5 'Way down we Go'

chapter 6 'Hearing Damage'

chapter 7 'Slipped'

chapter 8 'Killer + The Sound'

chapter 9 'Carolina'

chapter 10 'Salt and the Sea'

chapter 11 'Tulsa Jesus Freak'

chapter 12 'The Night We Met'

chapter 13 'First Defeat'

chapter 14 'Who We Are'

chapter 15 'Bloodstream'

chapter 16 'Villain'

chapter 17 'NFWMB'

chapter 18 ‘Funny’

chapter 19 'Strangers'

chapter 20 'No Sound But The Wind'

chapter 21 'I'm Your Man'

chapter 22 ‘Running Up That Hill’

chapter 23 'My Tears Ricochet'

chapter 24 ‘Safe and Sound’

chapter 25 'House Song'

chapter 26 'My Body is a Cage'

chapter 27 'Happiness is a Butterfly'

chapter 28 'Illicit Affairs'

chapter 29 'The Last Time'

chapter 30 'If You Lie Down With Me'

chapter 31 'Breakers Roar'

chapter 32 'August Underground'

chapter 33 'Haunted'

chapter 34 'Bad Man'

chapter 35 'Can't Catch Me Now'

chapter 36 'Another Love'

chapter 37 'Francesca'

epilogue 'If I Go, I'm Goin'

[whereserpentswalk]

Select a strange and inhuman creature from beyond the realms of human knowledge to go on a sate with and possibly form a long term relationship with.

1- a scientist from an alternate timeline where the kpg mass extinction never happened, and raptors evolved sapient minds. He's trapped in this realm after a failed timeline travel mission. He's very curious about your world, though still a bit afraid of his fate here.

2- a cyborg supersolider whose been wandering the earth since the fall of Atlantis. She has a tall slender build, and is unable to take off her power armor below the neck. Despite her appearance she can be very quiet and reserved, and despite her appearance startles easily. She's still deconstructing a lot of trauma from her past.

3- a mouthless, sexless, vampire who drains blood through very sharp tentacles on their. They seem to be at the bottom of whatever hierarchy vampires have, being unable to speak of pass as human. Though they have an animalistic way of movement, and can't communicate without aac, they're very much a person, and tend to be affectionate and enthusiastic with those who are nice to them.

4- a deal making entity that looks like a black eyed human in a suit (the suit can't come off, it's like part of its skin). It's known to buy and sell human souls, but it wouldn't do that to someone it's on a date with. It's personality is considered strange and sometimes uncomfortable to humans, though it is charismatic in a way. It will also insist it isn't a person.

5- an elder demon whose taking a hundred year vacation from the underworld. Despite his job as a demon he tends to be pretty freindly and casual, sometimes deceptively so. He appears as a tall reptilian humanoid, with horns, several eyes, and a heavy set build. He'll probably give you headpats.

6- a shape-shifter made out of living metal who was made as a weapon, but failed her job because she refuses to take forms that aren't female. She's just been released into the world and is still kind of naïve and can be very trusting of new people that she meets. Her base form that she chooses to take is some sort of anime oc.

7- faerie of the unseelie court who kidnapps children who wander into abandoned buildings. She tends to appear as a naked woman, with deer antlers, and a snake where her genitals should be. She can seem a bit sadistic and violent, but since you're her's she'll be nice to you, just don't expect to explain the concept of morality to her, she lives a life based on what she finds fun. For better or worse she doesn't kill the children, though they aren't human children after she's done with them.

8- a computer from the 1980s whose been granted sentience. He's very arogent due to being technically the first agi, though little to his knowledge he's only sentient because a faerie lord thought it would be funny. Due to his limited body he uses a wheelchair for movement and some sort of claw to grab things. He's nice but he can be a bit self centered.

9- a slender genderless humanoid and a massive venomous wyvern who are actually the same being inhabiting two bodies. They can seem cold at first, and don't seem to have normal body language or expression, though they do feel emotions despite what some think. They can pretty easily lose track of social cues and tend to go own about their hyperfixations a lot. They really hope you'll like them, and also want to make sure you see them as equally their humanoid and draconic halves, not just one or the other.

10- a fallen angel who only fell a few weeks ago. It's still very afraid of what it's become, scares easily, and has an inferiority complex, though it can be very nice and affectionate. It won't tell you why the other angels kicked it out, though it now knows the entity that created it lied about being a god, and shouldn't be trusted by mortals. It looks like a living doll, with a jointed body, and golden wings and a broken halo behind its head.

11- werewolf who serves a god so old that his name has been lost to history. The werewolf has been around for a long time, and has been fighting for the rights of humans, nature, and other entities since the 20th century. Xe speaks with a soft voice, and converses with humans, gods, demons and animals all in the same tone, and with the same amount of respect.

12- the sparrow king. Do not under any circumstances interact with the sparrow king. The organization does not approve of this option.

Reblog to book your date. Like to buy the creature a little present.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

His lips twitched with a smirk, his face clearly displaying humor despite his eyes being covered by a mask. Head tilted cockily, he seemed to be studying you, maybe evaluating whether you should be in a psych ward.

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, her phone’s display lit up, a new message appearing on the lock screen. An anonymous message in a chat board she frequented–one dedicated to opinions about Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, Daredevil. 

When she joined the board, she was solely intending to be a spectator. Unfortunately, the internet made it easier for trolls to share their bullshit opinions. Call the vigilante a threat to justice. Say that he should be put down. There was only so much she could handle before her blood boiled over and she sent her responses. 

These days, she was a pretty active poster. She rarely received private messages though, so the notification set her on edge. 

Hesitantly tapping the glowing bubble, she held her breath as it opened. No context, no identifying information, just two bizarre sentences that she was not prepared for.

“I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter one: the briefing

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!SHIElD!reader

masterlist

summary: being a SHIELD agent, you have a knack for analysing people, particularly when it comes to attraction. you have everyone figured out, sorted away into the boxes you've created. But there's one man you can never seem to figure out, the very bane of your existence -- Bucky Barnes. On the field, he is a saint, helping you dodge bullets and taking knife wounds in your name. Around the building? Public menace number one, always poised to insult or to spar with you.

After being sent on a 6-month-long torture-cum-vacation with the very man, could all this change? Could you finally figure out what has been bubbling beneath the surface for years between the two of you, the juggernaut that you know you cannot stop?

warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of murder, dead parents, scars, trauma, implied slutshaming, mentions of guns and shooting and bombs, mentions of wanting to die, dark content, reader is implied to be bisexual (I cannot fathom not being attracted to women SORRY NOT SORRY), reader is implicitly stated to be NOT A MAN

word count: 3.4k

A/N: omg it's here! had so much fun writing this, hope you all enjoy it too! im still working out a schedule for this, as ive currently written 3 chapters and am already at about 10k words! and im currently very inspired for my own, non-fanfic WIP, so im split! hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know if you liked it! comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3

Human attraction can be sorted into three little boxes: Sexual, romantic, platonic. It is somewhat of a threeway Venn diagram, and people find themselves travelling in between the perfectly drawn circles all the time. It is a marvel to some, to be able to gauge the section in which one stands with a simple glance. It’s a gift, you’ve found, having the knack to discern between the three attractions. Which means you’ve cracked the code on people, and know exactly how to assess and engage accordingly. 

It’s how you find yourself in such a predicament as the following, quite often:

“You’re Butterscotch, aren’t you?” The voice is meek, quiet, and comes from directly behind you. You’ve just put down the weights at the gym, and have paused to take a drink from your water bottle, when you turn to assess the situation. 

Long brown hair, blue eyes. Gorgeously shy smile as she tucks a strand behind her ear. Your whole body moves, reacting to the incarnation of Aphrodite herself in front of you. You suppose you’ve always seen women that way, to be wholly more beautiful on average compared to men. It’s how you often find yourself in bed with a woman not unlike the one before you. 

She stands, slyly pushing her breasts together and leaning into you, whether it be subconscious or not, batting her long eyelashes.  Sexual attraction, then. You smile, deciding to play it cool, taking another long sip of water, silently reveling in the way her eyes stick on your wet lips. 

“Yeah, that’s me. And you, you’re Hazel, aren’t you?” You tip your head to one side in faux innocence, honing you eyes in on her in a way you know sends shivers down her spine, completely hypnotised by the way you silently call to her. She nods, surprised that you’ve remembered her from her initiation training 6 months ago. She was one of the older recruits, only two or three years younger than you, but valuable just the same.

“I’ve been following your career for a while now, and I must say I really look up to you.” Her lips twist into a grin, showing off her perfect teeth. Your own face darkens as you inject lust into it, and you watch as she tries to discreetly squeeze her thighs together. She’ll be eating right out of your hand in no time.

If she’d come to you 13 years ago, when you were just starting out, you would’ve wanted to tell her that all you are interested in is a promise of casualty. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less, but the absence of such a discussion did land you in hot water all that time ago. Now, your reputation precedes you, and you doubt there is a single soul in this building who doesn’t know your one-and-done policy. Of course, some of the agents surprise you and you have them on a staggered rotation, a new criteria you’ve introduced into your sex life once the gap between you and fresh faces widened to an immoral degree.

You open your mouth to give her a reply that will make her leave here with sticky thighs, when the most agitating, grating voice you’ve been almost tortured with for the past eight years echoes across the gym, calling to you.

“Let’s go Butterface, Fury had a brief for us twenty minutes ago. You can fuck around later.” You roll your eyes at the words of none other than James Buchanan Barnes, huffing out a breath. He’s done this to embarrass you, for sure, because you know for a fact that Fury’s briefing for the next mission is actually in ten minutes from right now. But you know if you showed up on time, he gets the upper hand for coming in earlier.

That’s the other reason you’re so famous around the building — your long-term feud with Bucky. Whenever the two of you end up in a meeting room, there are more insults hurled around than facts. You two love to spar together, finding any excuse to leave bruises on the other’s body. But the most damning thing? There is no better team than the both of you out on the field, your missions always resulting in the lowest casualties and highest success rates SHIELD has ever seen. It’s an eternal mystery, but to the two of you, it is clear enough. You are enemies, holding the dagger of sharp-edged insults to each other’s throats, but on a mission? It must all be put aside for the greater good, for the safety of others. The remarks are snarky but non-distracting, and you’ve jumped in front of a bullet for him more times than you would like to admit. But it doesn’t matter, because he has endured several injuries for you in turn as well. 

You redirect your attention back to your self-sacrificial prey for tonight. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be available at my room on floor 13 at around ten.” You lean in to whisper into her ear, and drag a less-than-innocent finger down the side of her neck. “I can give you a few more ways to look up to me, if you’d like.” The lower octave does something to her, and you watch her eyes flutter shut as she realises you’ve gladly accepted the silent offer she was handing you on a silver platter. 

You chuckle, at how easy it all is. And then spin on your heel, marching back to begrudgingly follow behind the tall brunette who seems to have a permanent scowl on his face whenever he’s in the same room as you. 

He leans back against the cool metal of the elevator that will send the both of you to the top, arms crossed across his broad chest. If you didn’t hate his guts, you’d absolutely suck him dry, right here right now. It’s no surprise that he is the most beautiful man in the building, but his attitude and mannerisms have long turned you off from him.

You poke the bear.

“What happened, Barnes? You mad nobody’ll fuck you?” He turns to you then, blue eyes blazing. And it only makes your shit-eating grin widen.

“Why would I ever be mad at that? I’m mad because we have to go on a mission, and when I come to get you, you’re busy planning on how to… spend your night. Again. At this point, if they’ve got a pulse they probably meet your standards, don’t they?” He smiles cruelly, and you don’t miss the implications. But you don’t care. If you were a man, they’d be singing your praises in the streets. So why is it different now?

“If they have a pulse? Well, if that were the case, then you…” You let your eyes wander up and down, and you notice his hard shell cracking when you meet his eyes again. You smile widens and you feign a blush, and he begins to smile, thinking he’s got you. And then you throw a grenade into whatever fantasy he’s spinning in his head. “Would be dead.” Your voice has never been more cold, observing the way his shoulders slouch in something akin to disappointment.

This is his kryptonite that you love exploiting, so much. The man is wickedly attracted to you, and is equally as horrid at hiding it. You have no idea what kind, though. Which box he fits into. You’re certain it’s not platonic given the way he talks to you. The longing glances and delicate touches after missions where you end up injured had turned you towards romantic, but you know there is no denying the way his eyes drift to your cleavage when you spar, or the way his hands immediately find your hips when you best him in the ring and end up straddling him. There is no box you can put him in, and it drives you up the damn wall.

You briefly wonder what the two of you would be doing in this elevator right now if you were as attracted to him and either of you had made it known. 

The elevator pings and the both of you break the burning, seething eye contact as you file into Meeting Room 17B.

“Right, before Barnes’ dick explodes at the thought of me fucking a woman, what’s the mission chief.” Barnes has the nerve to blush, sitting in the chair opposite yours, both facing the head of the table with a monitor where Fury and Stark both stand.

“Did your mother never teach you the difference between professional and casual?” He fires back, and you grin sadistically, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back.

“She’s dead, Barnes. Have some decorum, and maybe a modicum of respect?” His face falls, knowing he’s crossed a line, but if God Himself came down and told Bucky to apologise, he’d shake hands with the Devil. “What about your father then?” He is frantically searching you for any sign of hurt or discomfort that he can exploit, you can tell by the way his eyes stick to your every feature.

“Hard to when you’re in prison for murdering your wife and attempting to murder your child.” You turn to Stark, knowing you’ve rendered him absolutely speechless. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mouth close and open like a fish, gasping for some air. Pathetic, really, but well-deserved. In all these years, you’re surprised it took him this long to blame your upbringing, often opting to attack you as a person directly. But you finally got to play the cards you’ve kept close to your chest, a sick and twisted punishment. That means that you win, today.

“Thats 236 for Butterscotch, and Barnes is still on 220,” Tony mutters, and you can’t hide your competitive side that comes out.

You turn to him, tutting. “Keep up, Barnes. I thought you were better competition than this. Pathetic.” You’re shaking your head in mock disappointment. A blood-tinged vignette passes around in the back of your mind, but you try your best to not let it show.

The arguments between you and Bucky as so well-known to get out of hand, the Avengers started keeping score, refreshing each year, of who won the argument. This is strictly judged based on how the final retort leaves the other unable to think of a comeback. You’ve bested him 236 times already, and it’s only February.

“You didn’t tell me about your parents,” he grumbles, cheeks pink in humiliation. Why is he backing down so easily today?

“I don’t owe you shit, Barnes. Especially not about my life before I got here. Sorry, Fury, should we start the briefing?” You divert the attention back to the matter at hand, feeling like maybe you went a tiny bit too far by calling him pathetic to his face. 

Since when have you ever nurtured a soft spot for him? Well, you are certainly not going to be starting today.

With both of your mouths shut and eyes attentive, Fury begins to speak.

“We need the two of you to go undercover. We have intel that Senator Parker may be dealing with copious amounts of methamphetamines, involving using his house as a lab and distribution centre. He often targets teens of ethnic backgrounds to carry the drugs and deal them in exchange for cuts — he chooses them this way so they would almost immediately go to prison, and nobody would be let off scot-free to rat him out.” Tony flashes up several holograms of the Senator, the teens caught pressing white packets into palms, and even those who ended up behind bars, and have continued to distribute the drugs from within.

“So…why do we need to go undercover?” You ask, leaning forward in your seat so you could see the graphics better.

“Well…here is Parker’s dating history…” Why does Tony sound so reluctant as he pulls up the dating history? Why is that relevant? These are just some of the questions that swirl around your mind, and are evident in your scrunched up face.

Bucky is watching you, quietly. Observing your features, observing you. He can’t help it — the grace with which you walk, the crudeness with which you speak…it’s entrancing. And you know it. He hates it. 

Then, slowly, the pictures begin to appear — there are 17 women. Every single one of them looks like you — the same colour hair, the same colour eyes. Similar face shapes and similar body types. It’s like there’s 18 of you in the room.

“I’m a honeytrap?”

Fury is quick to speak, to protest the misunderstanding that the mission is an objectification of you. “No….well yes. We have carefully constructed a plan that essentially is built on the fact that you happen to be—“

“Exactly his type?” Bucky asks, feeling shame crawl up his spine at the realisation that he has something in common with a drug lord. You look at him as he speaks, and feel more and more confused by the second.

“Yes.” Tony continues. “We’ve planned to plant you in the same cul-de-sac that Parker’s house resides on, and Butterscotch can use the fact that she’s his type to sway him, win his trust. You’ll have to play the long game with him, he’s known to barely let anyone in his house unless he wants to fuck them.”

You feel a sickness coat your stomach. “Will I have to fuck him? Because I’d rather shoot Barnes and then myself and blow up this building.” You chew your lip nervously, all the confidence can your body momentarily evaporating. The old man might just be one of the worst people you’ve ever heard of when it comes to drug trafficking. Not to mention any sexual gratification is just you stepping into a stereotype of what he wants, that you are just another woman with the similar face that he wants to put his dick in. It makes your skin crawl, and you run your fingernails harshly along your forearm.

“No.” To your surprise, it’s Bucky who speaks up. He meets your eyes for a brief moment, before turning to Fury and Tony. “No, right? She clearly doesn’t want to, don’t tell me you’re gonna make her.” He sounds oddly protective over you here, which he has no right to be. But you can’t fight him, not over this.

“No, no, of course not. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to. At most you’ll have to flirt with him, make him think he’s going to….y’know, with you. And use that advantage to sneak into his house. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Butterscotch. You know we’d never do that to you, that it’s against our ethics and values.” You nod, relaxing in your seat while Bucky stares at the red, raw skin of your forearm. He wants to soothe it, he wants to soothe you—

“And if I’m going, obviously you’re gonna send the Sergeant with me, aren’t you?” They nod in unison. You take a deep breath, knowing you have to take it. There will be no mission more satisfying. And Bucky is much more bearable when the both of you have a common goal.

“So what exactly is our cover?” Bucky perks up. The both of you wear the suit of civility so quickly when you have to do your jobs. 

Fury scratches his neck, exchanging a nervous glance with Tony. You anticipate the answer, knowing it will not be to your liking.

“We’ve planned to plant you in the Acorn suburb in Claremont, just across the street from Parker’s residence, for around six months. It’s a nice, quaint little city, I think the both of you would like it. It’s a lot more green, and less noisy and polluted than New York—.”

“Tony,” you warn, glaring at him. He is omitting the information. Why?

“Fine! The suburbs are conservative as shit, so you’re going as husband and wife!” Your eyes widen, and you swear you lose hearing for a second as the world goes in and out of focus. You have to pretend to be married. Pretending to be in love, you could do — in fact, you could probably pass off most intel exchanges with him as lovers’ private conversations if you smile and laugh on the right cues.

But marriage? The sanctity of which has been so thoroughly, irrevocably spoiled for you? The very reason you have only ever wanted casual in your entire life, as opposed to commitment? You can’t breathe.

You try to hide your shaky hands as you reach for the glass of water, downing it and gasping for breath. All that runs through your mind is the only instance of a married man you’ve ever known, and how it ended. How you ended, body mutilated in enough scars to rival Bucky’s left shoulder, crying out for a bloodied corpse in the back of an ambulance while the paramedics did their best to save you. How you wish they would’ve failed sometimes. 

It’s too much.

“I need time to think.” You all but run out of the door, and you think the chair falls with the force of your escape, but your heart is beating too fast for you to be certain. Sweat that had dried reappears at your hairline, beading and dripping down your face. You sit on the floor, clutching at your chest as you’re bombarded by the most horrifying images that not even the strongest of sleeping pills can shake. Your eyes squeeze shut and someone is calling your name. Not Butterscotch, but the name that heinous monster chose for you when you were still in your mother’s womb.

But even that turns out to be a hallucination, your head in your hands as you hear a familiar voice call to you.

“Butterface…is the idea of being married to me that bad?” You freeze. Bucky is here, why is Bucky here? You look up to be met with him crouching by your side, Tony on the other with a hand on your shoulder, and Fury standing tall. There is not a single hint of disappointment on his face, and you’re glad.

You turn to Tony. “You know…you know what…I can’t. You know why….Tony…” His face morphs into one of intense melancholia, pulling you into him. Ever since you started working more closely together with Bucky, he’s become something of a big brother to you — overly protective and affectionately annoying.

“I know, kid. You know what? Screw this, I’ll find some other agent who looks close to you to take over with Barnes.” His voice finally calms you down, and you take in deep breaths.

You can’t win them all. You’ll have to make some sacrifices. You pull away from Tony’s arms, not even daring to glance at Bucky. He doesn’t need to see what you look like when you’re vulnerable, because you know he will do everything in his power to bring you to such a state once again, just to hurt you.

You take several deep breaths.

“No. You and Fury have said it yourself, so many times. Nobody works better with James than I do, at least not in the field. My burning hatred for him is completely personal. I— I can do it. It’s just…I probably would’ve been fine but it got brought up and it was all I could really think about and then…it just sent me over the edge. But if Barnes promises to not be as big of an asshole as he usually is, I can make it work.” You don’t even risk a glance at him.

“I won’t be. I’ll behave. Plus, you are a lot more tolerable out on the field, so it shouldn’t be so hard. Promise, it’ll all be okay.” His tone sounds so…sincere? What on earth is up with him today? You spare him a glance, and his eyes shine brilliantly blue. And you believe him.

Bucky Barnes may be an asshole, but he would never lie to you. Especially when it concerns a mission, where miscommunications and secrets have consequences for people outside the both of you. He has at least this sense of loyalty about him.

“Alright. Guess I better get packing for Claremont, then.” 

NEXT PART

[chipedteacupchat]

Rumplestiltskin is such a compelling and relevant character and here is why...

His story is about how abandonment, childhood trauma, and labels can affect a person throughout their entire life.

In season 6, we learn that Rumplestiltskin came from what appears to be a normal family, with a mother and father who seemed to love him. However, after a prophecy about Rumple's future, his mother overreacts and gets banished (the only person in his family who truly loved him is now gone). As a result, Rumple’s father blames him, holding this infant accountable for something he could never control. He punishes and mocks Rumple by giving him a name people would laugh at and later tricks Rumple into believing he loved him, only to abandon him in pursuit of eternal youth in Neverland.

Rumple now has to live under the label of his father's cowardice but he is not willing to accept that label yet (notice how I say yet).

Years later, he's married to a woman who seems to love him, and despite his past, he appears unaffected. When called to war, he sees it as a chance to prove he’s different from his father. But a seer warns him that going to battle will leave his unborn son without a father. Realizing he can’t be the hero he imagined, Rumple injures himself to avoid fighting and embraces the label of coward, fearing he might abandon his son like his father did to him. His wife is so ashamed that she lets him raise their son alone, telling him she wishes he were dead before leaving him and their child and so yet another person abandoned him.

A few years later, Bae is old enough to fight because the age limit for the Ogre’s War has been lowered, and they want to force him into battle.

(at this point Bae is the only person left who hasn’t abandoned Rumple and still loves him.)

Rumple has always felt powerless, watching terrible things happen that he couldn’t control. Determined to take control, he steals the Dark One’s dagger, kills him, and lets the darkness bind to his soul to protect his son (in doing so getting the features of a monster).

Stuff goes down as you guys know but then the Blue fairy (the same woman who banished his mother all those years ago)

gives Bae a magic bean to escape. But Rumple doesn’t want to leave because, for the first time, he has magic to control his life and protect himself. Bae convinces him to go through the portal, but at the last moment, Rumple gets scared of losing his power and lets go of Bae’s hand, abandoning his son—the one thing he swore he’d never do. Now, the only person who loved him is gone, and Rumple immediately regrets it, dedicating the rest of his life to finding him.

Because of Rumple's new appearance and magic, people start to give Rumplestiltskin a new label a monster/beast, this label goes hand in hand with Rumple's past trauma and convinces him no one can love him and this Idea about himself is proven further after Cora chooses power over loving him.

Overtime Rumple accepts all his labels as the truth and starts to create a persona around them.

The most interesting part about Rumple's character in my opinion is how he is the foil to Emma Swan. Think about it, both have been abandoned and both have been given labels they have embraced, the only difference is Emma has a great support system while Rumple only has Belle and while Emma's parents regret abandoning her, Rumple's parents wish they did it 20 times worse.

So yeah he definitely has imposter syndrome: In relationships, individuals with imposter syndrome often harbor the belief that they are not good enough for their partner. They constantly worry that their flaws and insecurities will be discovered, leading to their partner leaving them.

If you know someone like this, in real life,

just hug them and tell them they are loved 💖

(sorry this is long and mostly the ramble of a tired person)

[ash5monster01]

You’ll Be Okay

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: self doubt, language, mentions of trauma, established relationship, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of suicide

Summary: Charlie absolutely breaking down when you tell him you’re pregnant which is the complete opposite of the reaction you had expected.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: for my Charlie girlies, I know it’s been a while but hopefully this holds you over <3

Masterlist

The bundle of nerves in your stomach was becoming too much to bear. This was visible as you nervously bounced your leg in the waiting room of the doctors office. Everything was so white and your heart rate was starting to pick up. You weren’t normally a fan of doctors but you felt you had justified reasons for your visit. Considering you period was late, you woke up queasy every morning, and your emotions seemed to be heightened, so it gave you all the excuses in the world. It also made sense because you and Charlie had agreed to stop using protection a few months ago. You had discussed being ready for kids and not wanting to rush into pregnancy, so you stopped using protection, and prepared for it to happen when it happens.

“Take a breath” Chris whispered, the small baby boy held to her chest. You had called her the minute you put the context clues together and she agreed to accompany you since she had already been through this twice now.

“I know, I’m trying” you forced a smile, your hand instinctively moving to twist your wedding band around your finger. It was a habit you had picked up since it became a permanent part of yourself.

“Remember, you and Charlie are ready for this. You should be excited” her soft smile radiated towards you and you felt comforted by her the same way you did the day you met. Without Chris you never would’ve met her boyfriend, now husband Knox, and Knox would’ve never introduced you to your now husband Charlie.

“I am, it’s just scary to think about. I’m already so attached and maybe I’m not even pregnant” you voiced your fears, admiring how she cradled her 10 month old baby as her 2 year old girl slept against her side. She was a super Mom, taking it all in perfect strides, the same way she mastered everything. Where she thrived, you struggled, and you worried motherhood would be the same.

“A mother’s intuition is never wrong, and you are going to be a great one” Chris’ hand moved to cover your stomach and you felt butterflies erupt because everything in you believed that a tiny piece of life, that you and the man you loved created, was growing in there.

“Mrs. Dalton” you nearly jumped out of your seat as the doctor called your name and you quickly stood, following him to an exam room.

“Good luck” Chris called out after you.

“We’re gonna do a blood test and then an ultrasound to see if we can find anything” you nodded, trying to numb yourself to feeling because you didn’t want to be disappointed. You’d rather not be heartbroken if he told you, you weren’t pregnant. So you tried to lessen your hopes as you let them take the blood test.

You could’ve sworn your heart was about to bust out of your chest as he prepped you for the ultrasound. Too scared to find there was absolutely nothing in there. Your eyes flicked nervously across the small, fuzzy, black and white screen as you waited.

“Would you look at that” the doctors voice nearly stopped your heart as a small blob appeared on the screen. A small thumping sound filled the room and you felt tears begin to form behind your eyes. “Judging by the size and the heart beat you’re about 6 weeks along. Congratulations Momma”

“Are you serious?” the dam broke as tears flowed freely down your face and the doctor smiled.

“Very serious” you leaned over and hugged him, him taken aback as he let out a chuckle. You couldn’t wait to tell Chris as you quickly got yourself back together to rush out to the waiting room.

“Well, what did he say?” Chris jumped to her feet as you returned to the waiting room. You tried to keep your composure but as soon as she asked you began to cry again.

“I’m 6 weeks along” shock flooded Chris’ features as she heard this.

“Oh my, you’re having a baby!” she squealed before hugging you as tight as she could with her son in her arms.

“I can’t wait to tell Charlie!” you spoke as you pulled away, already excited to cook the two of you dinner and tell him the good news. After that you and Chris wasted no time getting back home so you could prepare to tell your husband.

You nearly burned the chicken cutlet about five times as you prepared it, bursting with excitement and anticipation of Charlie coming home. You were going to have a baby, you had wanted this for so long. It was the whole reason you had stopped using protection, you were ready. So when you heard the door knob turn you realized you wouldn’t be able to wait until dinner was served to share the news.

“Hey baby” Charlie smiled at you, abandoning the brief case at the door as he loosened his tie. You couldn’t help but smile wider at the name baby.

"Hey sweetheart, how was work?" you asked as he walked over, wrapping you up slowly in his arms as he began to kiss the side of your head.

"Long and tiring, I couldn't wait to come home and see you" Charlie had ended up a Bank Managaer despite his best efforts not too. You admired that he was able to strip the work away the minute he stepped into the home. He still read and wrote poetry and played the saxophone every once in a while. You admired that he made an effort to continue doing the things he loved. Life was about work, of course, but it was also about the good, enjoyable things.

"I've been dying to see you too" you told him, finally pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. He hummed in relief, as if the action just removed all of the stress from his entire day.

"You seem extra happy today, what's got you all smiley?" Charlie asked as he pulled back from the kiss, searching your eyes as he looked at you with adoration.

"I got some good news" you grinned and Charlie rose his eyebrows, curious as to what could have you with this wide a smile on your face.

"News? Well hit me with it sugar, don't leave a man hanging" he told you and you chcukled, excitment and nerves bubbling over as he continued to hold your waist.

"So me and Chris went to the Doctor today?" Charlie furrowed his eyebrows, confused that good news could come from a doctors visit instead of bad. "I wanted to get checked out.

"But you’ve been fine, you haven't even had a cold?" Charlie was still confused, unsure where any of this story could be going. He didn't need to worry and going to the doctor without telling him worried him.

"Not cold symptoms, but pregancy symptoms" you explained and suddenly all the color seemed to drain from his face.

"You're pregnant?" you nodded, the huge smile still painted perfectly on your face and he felt his heart begin to quicken. Suddenly his arms loosened their grip around you and he took a step back, the smile instantly falling from your face.

"Charlie? What’re you thinking?" you nervously asked as he backed to the dining room table and calmbered into a seat. He stayed silent, looking anywhere but your eyes, and suddenly you felt the tears begin to burn behind them. "We talked about this, you we're ready. We stopped using protection"

The tears started to fall and Charlie finally looked to you, a hand over his mouth as he sat there stunned. Yet between your tears you saw he had tears in his eyes as well. You wished you could read every thought going through his head as he looked at you, a broken look across his face.

"Charlie, tell me what's wrong?" you begged as you moved towards hm, grasping his hands in your own.

"I thought I was ready" he muttered, tears now falling down his cheeks as well. He shook his head, removing his hands to brush his tears away.

"So you don't want to do this?" you asked and he sighed heavily, his heart clenching from his thoughts.

"Of course I do, I just don't want to hurt our kid" it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Bending to your knees in front of him you grabbed his thighs, practically pleading with him to look at you.

"Baby, how could you ever hurt our kid?" you ask and he sighs, his fingers running through his hair, leaving it a mess compared to his perfectly combed look.

"We could make them feel trapped, like they don't have a future, they could decide to leave us" and then it hit you. Charlie was scared to raise a kid, do it wrong, and lose them exactly how he lost Neil.

"Charlie that could absolutely never happen. You are not Neil's father, in fact you are the furthest thing from it. I know I can trust that you will keep our childrens happiness before anything else" you tell him, trying to reassure him of this and he sighs, tears still staining his face as he lifts you up to sit in his lap.

"I know I'm just scared, I didn’t think it would happen this soon" he says and you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

"We've been trying for month Char, I think we are just on time" you tell him and he nods against you, a hand reaching over to press against your stomach.

"There's really a baby in there?" he asks and you smile, happy this didn't mean he didn't care.

"Yeah, 6 weeks old. Only the size of a pea" you tell him, a hand running through his already disheveled hair.

"If it's a boy can we name him Neil?" Charlie asks and you smile, brushing your own tears away.

"Of course baby" you tell him and he finally lifts his head from your chest to look at you.

"And if it's a girl, can we name her Nuwanda?" you laughed at this question, head tipping back in amusement, unsurprised that he said it. He was still the same guy you fell in love with.

"Absolutley not, but I don't hate Wanda" you tell him, your hand tucking under his chin to lift his head and look at you.

"Wanda is perfect" he said before leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours. You smiled as he kissed you hard and good, more than likely trying to erase the mess he just made. He knew he should've been excited but the fear was suffocating the minute he heard the word pregnancy.

"I promise you'll be a good father Charlie, I just know it" Charlie smiles softly, holding his girl that was carrying his baby. The baby he would make sure didn’t grow up with the same fears of life like he did. Like Neil did. The exact fears that killed him.

"I'm going to do everything I can to gurantee that"

[tightjeansjavi]

Slow Hands | Chapter 6

“you're like a mirror, reflecting me”

A/N: it’s a double chapter weekend bby! Although, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing regarding the pain I’m about to cause. But hey, not everything can be butterflies and rainbows all the time, right? This chapter will take your emotions for a spin. There is violence and triggering themes. Tread carefully.

Summary: your first date in over twenty years doesn’t go as planned.

~word count: 5.2k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x f! reader

Warnings: angst, trauma responses, self-deprecating thoughts triggered by trauma, negative body image, trauma triggers, mentions of bodily scars, mild violence, swearing, confrontations, use of one homophobic swear from an asshat (dyke) the word rape is mentioned, panic attack, unwanted attention, hurt feelings, protective! Joel, feral! Darkish! Joel, Soft! Joel, flirting, internal thoughts, slow burn, emotional development, deep conversation, pet names, no age gap, readers nickname is beanie (coffee beans) reader has no physical descriptions (skin color/body description) +18 minors dni! Please let me know if I missed any warnings. I wanted to included the two words that can be triggering ahead of time. Please heed the warnings.

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The last time you had ever gone on a date was a week before outbreak day. You had met the guy in line at your local grocery store and he had swooped in when you nearly dropped an entire carton of milk. That’s where you gained your catchphrase; fiddlesticks. He had taken you to a quiet cozy Italian restaurant and you remember your smile being infectious. It had been years since you dated anyone, and this guy was giving you all those warm fuzzy feelings that you so deeply yearned for. Your second date was set for September 26, 2003. You often wondered during the oddest and sudden moments if he had survived. He had called you an hour before the date informing you that he might be late because his mother was feeling ill and he was going to go check up on her. That was the last time you ever heard from him.

Now you were in your bathroom in Jackson with the comforting glow of a flickering candle on the countertop. The temperature of the shower was scalding and created a thick sheet of steam that enveloped your mirror in a dewy cloak. As the condensation began to slowly dissipate you found yourself staring into the void of your mirror. You used one hand to hold the towel wrapped around your body in place while you used your other hand to apply a bit of homemade moisturizer to your skin. A year ago you had come to Maria with the idea of creating some self-care products for the women of Jackson. From moisturizer to face wash and homemade candles. Only a handful of the women came to your home to sample the products. In the moment it had stung your heart like a thousand needles that only a few people, including Maria and Dina showed up. You just wanted to do something nice for the community. So much for trying.

You have to take the towel off eventually you know..

That inner voice that plagued your brain was fully awake now and ready to onslaught an attack on your already sensitive emotional state. You hated seeing your skin. You hated seeing all of your scars. Your body was littered in them, and while they were marks showing that you were a survivor, you still felt bile rise in your throat every time you had to look at them.

Take the towel off.

I don’t want to.

Take it off.

Joel will think you're hideous when he sees your scars.

No, he won’t. Joel isn’t like that.

No? Are you sure?

You’re ugly.

An unfinished hack job.

Stop. Please.

Please.

“Please fucking stop.” You nearly whimpered as you stared back at your broken reflection. The towel dropped from your grip and you immediately clung to the porcelain sink. Your knuckles ached from how hard you were gripping the edges of the sink.

An ugly, worthless, waste of goddamn space and air.

Tears began to freely fall as you forced yourself to look at the scars that littered your body like a torn, shredded canvas. As soon as your fingertips lightly brushed the jagged scar that curved under the swell of your left breast, you fell back into the wall, sinking down with a gut-wrenching sob that shattered you to the core.

You weren’t sure how many hours had passed but it must have been a couple hours because you could faintly hear someone knocking on your front door. Joel did say he would walk with you to The Tipsy Bison at 8pm. Had you really been sitting on the floor, naked and trembling for that long?

In a haste you scrambled to your feet despite your knees feeling like wobbling jello. You snatched the towel up from the ground and quickly wrapped it back around yourself. You dressed your body in a fury as you struggled to pull a pair of jeans over your damp thighs. You threw on whatever clean t-shirt you had along with a flannel. You paused at the mouth of your closet, staring at a dress that Maria had gifted to you during your first Christmas in Jackson. It was so beautiful, delicate, and dainty. You dreamed of having the confidence to wear it one day. It was too pretty to be collecting dust like this. Your fingers brushed across the soft material with a heavy sigh. Maybe one day, but that day was not today.

fiddlesticks.

Joel was occupying himself outside on your porch while he waited for you. He went from pacing the length of the porch, to sitting on one of the steps with his hands resting between his thighs. He went the extra mile to actually style his hair and wear a shirt that wasn’t completely faded. As much as he denied that this was in fact a date, he knew in his heart that it was, and he wanted to look his absolute best for you. He felt embarrassed with how fast he rose to his feet when he heard the lock to your front door click open. He had a small bouquet of wildflowers clutched gently in his hand. Maria had helped him pick them and use a bit of twine to hold them together.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as his gaze landed upon your frame leaning in the open doorway.

Wow, he thought silently to himself.

She is so beautiful.

“Hey, I hope I didn’t rush ya or anythin.’ I didn’t wanna be late either, although time doesn’t really exist anymore, huh?” He stammered as his palms began to sweat. “You–look beautiful. I hope that’s not too straightforward, but what kinda gentleman would I be if I didn’t compliment ya. Sorry, i’m ramblin’ off the fuckin’ walls.” He shook his head to the side with a nervous chuckle. “Brought these for ya. Maria helped me pick ‘em. Tried to be careful n’not smash ‘em.”

You almost felt a sense of relief over the realization that Joel was just as nervous as you were. He looked like he was about to combust as he held the bouquet of flowers towards you.

“Joel, you didn’t rush me. I just..lost track of time.” You softly spoke with a reassuring smile as you gently removed the bouquet from his grasp. “Thank you, you don’t clean up so bad either. Did you do something different with your hair? I like it. These are beautiful.” You brought the flowers up to your face as you inhaled their sweet floral scent.

Joel could feel the heat rise to his cheeks as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, I uh–jus’ wanted to look nice for the occasion. The Tipsy Bison is quite the high end establishment y’know.” He teased. It felt nice to crack a joke through his brewing nerves.

“Oh? Well, I hope I am dressed for the occasion. Let me just go put these in some water and then we can head out.”

“Darlin.’” He breathed softly like the gentle warm breeze, “You are most definitely dressed for the occasion.”

You mustered up a convincing smile before quietly slipping behind the door to the kitchen. You grabbed a spare vase from the cabinet and filled it up with a bit of water before gently placing the bouquet inside the vase. You left it on the center of the counter before you met Joel outside on the porch once more. After locking your door, he had offered you his elbow which you gratefully took. Your hand gently wrapped around his bare bicep as you walked down the steps together. The sun had just begun to set as the buzzards sang their tune, and the fireflies twinkled luminously, dancing on either side of your heads.

Joel was counting the amount of steps to the Tipsy Bison silently inside of his mind while you were counting out-loud all of the fireflies that you could see.

The bar was rowdy, but that was expected. It was the one establishment in Jackson where people could let their hair down and have fun. It was a slice of normalcy that both the young and old could enjoy.

Joel could sense your hesitation as he went to reach for the heavy-set door handle. He turned to you with a gentle expression on his weathered features. “Hey, we ain’t gotta stay for long, okay? S’okay with me. If you’re not havin’ a good time, we can leave.” He murmured. Joel wanted to make sure that you were aware that he wouldn’t be offended if you did want to leave. He just wanted you to feel comfortable and most importantly, safe.”

You responded by gently squeezing his bicep as you looked over at him. “Joel, thank you, but I'll be alright. Let's just go in and have a good time, okay? You still owe me that dance.” Your voice floated sweetly to his ears like a song.

“Don’t think I've gone and forgotten that darlin.’ I’m very much lookin’ forward to it.” He grinned.

Me too.

His hand grasped around the handle as he pushed it open, allowing you to step inside first before he followed suit behind you. You could feel the pads of his fingertips brush across your covered lower back as he maneuvered you past a group of people. His close proximity was nearly intoxicating your senses as you got a proper inducing whiff of his scent. Pine, gunsmoke, and soap with a hint of..cologne? He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to look nice for the occasion.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Tommy remarked from behind the bar as he slipped past one of the patrol guys. He hugged his brother first, giving him a light clap on the shoulder before he turned to you. “Ain’t you lookin’ like such a peach this evenin’ Beanie. Can I getcha guys somethin’ to drink?”

Joel hugged his brother back with a light slap to his back before he pulled back one of the bar stools for you. “I’ll jus’ take a beer, and for you darlin?’ Y’want anythin?’” Joel asked you as you quietly thanked him for pulling the stool out before you sat down.

“I’ll have a beer as well.”

“You betcha. Two beers comin’ right up!” Tommy spoke an octave louder so he could hear over the music and chatter.

Two full, nearly overflowing glasses of beer were placed in front of you and Joel as he took the unoccupied seat beside you. He lifted his glass towards yours, gently clinking them together before he brought his lips to the rim of the glass and took a sip.

You mirrored his actions before setting the glass down in front of you. The beer was decent, better than you had expected it to taste. Then again, did anyone really ever drink beer for the taste? You were more of a wine person yourself. “So, this is the infamous Tipsy Bison?” You mused as you looked over at Joel as he set his glass down.

“Yep, she ain’t much, but it’s nice t’see people get together and have fun. A taste of normalcy, y’know? How’s the beer tastin?’”

“Definitely a taste of normalcy. It’s actually..pretty good? I wasn’t a big beer person before the outbreak, but maybe this is me turning over a new leaf?” You shrugged as you glanced up at him over the rim of your glass.

“Tommy perfected the recipe for it pretty well. The whiskey ain’t too shabby either. Glad that you’re enjoyin’ it darlin.’” He nodded in your direction as he took another sip from his glass. He leaned in close then so that it would be easier for you to hear him. “So, while I was out on patrol today, I finally wrote a letter to Tess. Ripped the bandaid off and everythin.’”

“Joel, that’s wonderful. How do you feel after writing it? Does it feel like there’s a weight that has been lifted from your shoulders?” He had your full and undivided attention as you gently rested your palm on the top of his hand for a gesture of comfort.

“I feel..better? Like I ain’t carryin’ all this heavy burden with me. I poured my heart out on the paper, just like ya told me to. It was hard. Like, really fuckin’ hard. I felt like I was forgivin’ myself in the process, n’lettin’ her go. That’s the main reason why I wanted ya to accompany me tonight. I was seekin’ some comfort.” He admitted softly as his eyes glanced down to where your hand rested upon his.

“Of course it was hard, it’s never easy to be vulnerable like that. I’m really proud of you for takin’ that step, Joel.” You softly responded with a small lopsided smile. “Well, you know I'm here for you regardless of the circumstances. I have to thank you.”

“For what?” He was leaned in so close now, you could nearly feel his warm breath fanning your cheeks.

“For encouraging me to go out and have a good time. I wanted to say no to your offer earlier. I was thinking of every possible way that I could get out of having to socialize like this. Joel, you’re that extra push that I didn’t realize I really fucking needed.” It wasn’t easy for you to be vulnerable like this either. You were practically throwing your heart into Joel’s weathered palms, hoping that he would hold it tenderly. There was that nagging voice trying to convince you that this was all good to be true. It poked and prodded at you, but for the first time in a long-time, you drowned the voice out.

“You ain’t gotta thank me for that darlin.’ I’ve encouraged you yeah, but at the end of the day, you’re in control of your own actions, ain’t ya? Let's make a toast to you, Beanie. Undeniably the most beautiful woman in this whole goddamn town, with a heart made of pure fuckin’ gold. I’m so happy that you exist, darlin.’ You make my life jus’ a little bit brighter.”

His eyes were twinkling dazzingly under the warm glow of the dangling fairy lights. He had no idea just how terribly you needed to hear that.

He was so happy that you exist.

You made his life brighter.

You did that.

You threw your arms around his neck gently, hugging him so tightly he felt like you were stealing the oxygen from his lungs. His arms were looping around your waist, hands splayed out across your back as he hugged you back. He got a whiff of your sweet syrupy fragrance. You smelled of saccharine peaches and honey. You smelled of home.

I could kiss him right now. I could press my lips to his and pretend that every breath that I take, I feel like I'm dying. If I kiss him now, maybe breathing won’t feel like a chore. Maybe then I'll be okay. Maybe the voices will stop, and the curtain will fall. If I kiss him now, maybe everything will fall into place. You thought to yourself as you felt the wiry patches of his beard gently scrape across your cheek as his grip around you tightened.

If I kiss her now..everything changes. If I kiss her, that means I have to keep my promise to do better. If I kiss her now, my thoughts will be consumed with her. If I kiss her now, I'll always protect her. I’ll keep her safe. If I kiss her now, I won’t be able to stop.

His eyes fluttered shut as the sounds of laughter and chatter were drowned out by his thoughts. He pressed the faintest kiss to the side of your head, just nearly grazing your temple before he slowly pulled away. You both were looking at each other like you were the only two people in the room.

He gestured towards the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the bar with a tilt of his chin. “Still wanna have that dance with me?” He rasped softly.

You were already reaching for his hand once more as you slipped off the stool. “Show me your moves, Texas.” You shot him a bold, mildly flirtatious wink as you pulled him to the dance floor. Some country folk song was being played by the live band made up of 3 men and 1 woman. You didn’t know the words to the song, but that didn’t matter. Not when Joel was delicately holding hand in his and twirling you playfully. His eyes crinkled in the corners like creases on a well-loved book. His dimples were even peeking through and making an appearance.

You both made one another feel effortlessly young again.

By the fifth song, your feet were beginning to ache and you desperately needed to pee, so Joel gently released you from his grip as he was left to his own devices. He finished off his beer when he noticed Ellie and Dina slowly swaying together. From where he was standing, he could see his kiddo blush under the fairylights as Dina whispered something in her ear. When Dina kissed Ellie for the first time, his heart felt warm. Ellie and him might not be on the best of terms, but he just wanted to see her happy and loved. It all came to a crashing halt when Seth intervened on their moment with a harsh hateful tongue.

“Jus’ what this town needs, another loud mouth dyke.” The older man spat with disgust.

Ellie had whipped around in a fury, storming right up to Seth with her finger pointed at his chest in an accusing manner. “The fuck did you just say?”

Dina was already stepping in front of her, trying to talk her down when Joel sprung into action. He couldn’t help it. His blood was absolutely boiling as he shoved Seth roughly. “Get the hell outta here. Don’t you fuckin’ talk to my kid like that. Y’hear me?!” Joel wasn’t fucking around, not in the slighest.

“Y’get your hands off me!” Seth spat back as he stumbled from the force of Joel shoving him. Maria ultimately had to step in between the two of them as she led Seth outside to cool it off.

Joel’s fists were clenched tightly at his sides and his jaw was as sharp as glass. His face softened when his gaze landed upon Dina and Ellie as he approached. “Y’alright kiddo?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ellie hissed as she faced him with a disappointed look etched across her face.

Joel struggled to hold his composure as Ellie’s words stung like a poisoned blade piercing his gut. “He had no right. He had no fuckin’ right Ellie.” He tried to reason with her.

“And you do?!” Ellie responded exasperatedly as Dina was trying yet again to pull her away from the confrontation. “I don’t need your fuckin’ help, Joel.” Ellie knew her words were harsh, and she knew they would hurt him, but she was exhausted and frustrated that he lied to her for so long.

Joel’s face fell as he slowly looked around the bar to find faces staring back at him. He cleared his throat as he slowly backed off, “right.” He mumbled quietly.

He wasn’t able to mourn his hurt feelings for very long when he heard a scream. Not just any scream, your scream. A frightened, blood curdling scream that rattled his bones and sent hot blood rushing through his veins as he took off towards the bathrooms.

His pulse rose to a high level as he shoved open the women’s bathroom door in a haste. The last thing he expected was to find you violently thrashing on the ground while Tommy was desperately trying to calm you down.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” You cried out desperately as you clawed at Tommy’s arms.

DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!” You wailed as Tommy was gently yet firmly holding your wrist in his grasp.

“BEANIE!” Tommy yelled equally as desperate. “It’s me. It’s Tommy. You’re safe–”

Joel was on his knees in an instant as he physically pushed his brother out of the way, forcing Tommy to release his grip on your wrists as you scrambled back towards the sinks, fear laced in your irises as you tried to tuck yourself into the corner.

“Tommy, what the fuck happened?!” Joel whispered harshly. He didn’t want to yell and freak you out any further than you already were. He knew that he needed to remain calm for your sake.

“Fuck if I know Joel! I heard her screamin’ and came in here and she was just thrashing on the ground. She was mumblin’ to herself about someone touchin’ her.” Tommy responded with a harsh breath as he raked his fingers through his hair.

“Who touched her, Tommy.” Joel’s voice dropped an octave. He sounded calm, and menacing all at once. His pupils were already turning a shade darker as his jaw clenched so tightly, Tommy was afraid it would break.

“She said that Lucas stopped her on the way to the bathroom. They were chatting and when she tried to leave, he–”

“He what. What the fuck did he do to her Tommy.” His face trembled with burning rage as he struggled to keep his yelling at bay.

“He grabbed her. I don’t know if it was in a suggestive way or what. All I know is she flipped out after the fact and then this is how I found her.”

Joel released a shuddered breath as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. His nostrils flared as he exhaled. He could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins already as he stood back up. His heart shattered when he saw your entire body facing away from him as he quietly and hesitantly approached.

You heard the creak in his knees as he crouched down a few feet away from you.

“Beanie, hey. Honey, it’s Joel. Can you..look at me please darlin?’” His tone was lengths softer than it previously was with Tommy. He made no attempt to try and touch you in your vulnerable state.

You slowly turned your chin over your shoulder, struggling to make eye contact with him as your eyes nervously darted around the room. You were desperately trying to find something to focus on in an attempt to ground yourself.

“Beanie, focus on me honey. You’re okay. You’re safe now. It’s jus’ me and Tommy in here. No one else is comin’ in, okay? I promise.” He murmured reassuringly.

When your gaze finally landed upon him, his heart shattered right down the middle. Splintered off into a million tiny fucking pieces. You looked terrified.

“Please don’t touch me, Joel.” You croaked out above a whisper.

“I ain’t gonna touch you without your permission Beanie. You have my word.” His eyes stayed locked on yours in a softened look as he waited for you to give him permission to approach further.

When I get my hands on this motherfucker, I'm gonna kill him. Gonna make him wish he was never born.

A total of ten minutes had passed by before you were slowly and hesitantly scooting from your makeshift hiding spot between the sinks. Your face was puffy and blotchy with tears as you reached for Joel’s hands. “I’m–I'm sorry. I–I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.” You mumbled as he gently grasped your hands in his.

“Beanie, you did nothin’ wrong at all, honey. This is not your fault.” Joel was careful with his word choice.

“He didn’t–he didn’t even–we were just talking and–” fresh tears were beginning to brew along your waterline as you struggled to form a coherent sentence.

Joel released your hands for a brief moment before you felt his skin make contact with yours once more. His calloused palms came to gently rest around your cheeks as he held your face in his hands so delicately. “You listen to me, alright? I don’t care if y’all were jus’ talkin.’ Hell, I don’t care if y’all were flirtin.’ He had no right to touch you Beanie. No right at all. Doesn’t matter what the circumstances were, he put his hands on ya, and that ain’t right.” He whispered firmly as you leaned into his soft touch subconsciously. “I need you..to stay in here with Tommy, okay? He’s gonna take care of ya for a minute and i’ll be right back, okay? I’ll be right back for ya baby.”

Baby.

He pressed a featherlight kiss to your temple before he slowly dropped his hands from your face as he stood up. Tommy placed his hand along his shoulder to try and stop him. Tommy knew his brother well enough to know what he was about to go do. As a mediator, he couldn’t let that happen.

“Joel..” Tommy warned him under his breath as he tightened his grip around his shoulder.

“Don’t Tommy. Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. I need you to get her a glass of water, and then just sit here with her. Don’t leave her alone, y’hear me? I will go take care of this.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a demand from the older Miller brother.

“Joel, y’know I can’t let you go’n do that.” Tommy sighed.

“Don’t care. Goin’ to do it anyway.” Joel bit back as he yanked his shoulder from his brother's grip and slipped past the bathroom door that was left ajar.

Most of the bar-goers had gone home for the evening, including Dina and Ellie. The patrol guys were still out, and Joel was seeing red when he saw Lucas laughing with Cody and the rest of the guys. His footsteps were heavy along the wooden floors as he approached. He loomed over the table as his calloused hands came to rest along the back of the chair Lucas was presently sitting in. “Get the fuck up.” Joel hissed behind him.

“Joel? What the hell man, what’s the problem?” Lucas craned his head upwards towards the older man.

“I said, GET THE FUCK UP!” Joel’s voice boomed as Lucas’s face fell.

“Hey man, no need for a’that–” He was caught off guard when Joel yanked him up from the lapels of his jacket. “When I fuckin’ tell you to do somethin’, you do it. You don’t fuckin’ question my orders ever. Y’hear me boy?!” his voice was laced with venom as he dragged the younger man away from the table.

“Joel, get the fuck off of me! What the hell is the meanin’ of this?!” Lucas barked back as he was dragged out the door and into the alley. His shoulder ached painfully when Joel shoved him with all of his force against the stone wall.

“Y’fuckin’ touch her?! HUH?! Answer me!” Joel demanded as he yanked him by his jacket once more.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT JOEL!” Lucas bit back as he attempted to push Joel off of him. Despite the older man's age, he still overpowered Lucas without breaking a sweat as he flipped him around with his arms painfully twisted behind his back, and the side of his face scraping against the wall, drawing beads of blood to the wounded surface.

“Don’t make me fuckin’ ask you again. Did you fuckin’ touch Beanie?!” He growled as he twisted his arms further. “Fuckin’ answer me, Lucas!”

“Are you fuckin’ insinuatin’ that I raped her?! For fuck sakes Joel! I grabbed her fuckin’ arm and she flipped! That’s all I did!” He cried out as he thrashed against the wall. “That’s all I did man, I swear!” He pleaded.

“Y’grabbed her arm?! That’s it?!” Joel bellowed threateningly.

“I swear, that’s all I did man! She was walkin’ away and I grabbed her arm to tell ‘er that she looked nice, and she freaked out! She’s fuckin–” His voice was caught in his throat when Joel had twisted his right wrist at such an unnatural angle, the bone had snapped from the pressure and sent the younger man buckling over in pain as he sank down into the wall.

“You never fuckin’ lay your hands on her again. Y’hear me?! Fuckin’ touch her again, and i’ll break the other one.” Joel hissed as he grabbed ahold of the back of his head and yanked it harshly. “Y’touch her again, and i'll kill you with my bare hands. Do I make myself clear?” He growled against the younger man’s ear before releasing his head with a firm shove forward. “Go the fuck home before I change my mind.” He spat with disgust.

Lucas was scrambling to his feet in a hurry as he cradled his broken wrist in his good hand. He took one look at Joel before he shoved past him.

Joel waited until he could no longer see his shadowy silhouette in the distance before he returned to the bar. Inside he found you sitting on one of the stools with a cup of water held in your trembling hands, and a light blanket resting along your shoulders. Maria was on your left, and Tommy was on your right.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safe.” Joel announced as he approached with his hand outstretched towards you.

You slowly lifted your chin upwards to look at him. Your lower lip wobbled as you slowly slipped off the stool and placed your clammy palm in his. If only you had known what he had just done to Lucas in the alley minutes ago. Would you be afraid?

Joel acknowledged Tommy and Maria with a tight nod as he laced his fingers through yours. He whispered softly to you that everything was going to be okay, but you didn’t hear him.

The walk back to your home was in dead silence sans the crickets chirping and the leaves along the tree branches gently swaying in the breeze. You hadn’t spoken a single word as Joel gently sat you down on the couch. He made you a cup of tea that he tirelessly tried to coax you to drink, but you wouldn’t budge. You were closing in on yourself faster than he could keep up.

He is now sitting alongside you, playing with his fingers nervously. When you finally spoke, he could barely detect your voice from how soft and timid you sounded. His face fell for the third time that night from the words you uttered.

“Please leave, Joel.” Your voice cracked as your throat was rubbed raw from how hard you had been screaming.

“Beanie..” He softly pleaded with you.

“Joel, please. I need you to leave.” You whispered.

The couch creaked from his weight lifting from the cushions. He didn’t have much fight left in him after the night's events. What was supposed to be an evening filled with fun, drastically changed in a blink of an eye. He respected your wishes as his boots padded softly to the front door. He paused as he pushed down on the door handle, praying that you’d change your mind and ask him to stay. You didn’t, so he left.

He was greeted to an empty home. No lights on. No shitty puns. No Ellie. No you.

He cried himself to ruin in the shower with the water beating down on his back like a million ice shards. His sobs wrecked through his entire being as the weight of his actions crushed into his spine like a tumultuous wave. He had failed once again.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤎

[littlest-w01f]

Little Family

Cassian x Single mom!OC (Luna Kaldor)

CASSIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: When Cassian comes to pick Feyre up from her work, he sees a new girl with her, a girl who sits to herself silently and doesn't talk to any other children, his whole world shifts on its axis when the girl's mother walks in to take her home

Cw: None My fairly new writing

part one - part two - part three - part four

The Starfall was a month away, a year after the inner circle, with the help of Eris Vanserra had the upper hand to defeat Beron when he came to take their territories. But when there is a battle, there is loss, and the city of Velaris lost many lives when the Autumn army attacked the city's people.

One of those lives lost left Luna Kaldor to fend for herself and her child, she was quite thankful to her High Lady and new friend, Feyre Archeron, who had opened up her studio free of charge for every faeling to help them deal with their trauma and loss with the help of art.

Nova didn't like her class, she was the only new kid in weeks, and everyone there already had their friends. She knew she was different from the rest from the way, Feyre, her teacher's eyes had widened seeing her, not just her, but the fae tips of her ears paired with the Illyrian wings on her back.

Nova had felt different during classes in Velaris, but her mother had never let her feel bad about them. She was different from the High Fae, just as lesser Fae were different too.

Now after her father's death, her mother didn't have enough money to keep sending her to classes, or much money at all with how the male in their family had been the breadwinner, while he had Luna stay home to take care of their daughter.

It had taken them months to get into the routine that had now, Luna worked multiple jobs and while she worked, Nova would be in her art teacher's studio.

Nova looked at the mess of paint she had created on the blank canvas, a mess, it looked like a mess, she was a mess.

She knew her father's death had hit her mother hard too, but not in the way of how you would feel if you lost love, but support.

All little Nova knew, was that her parents had the most romantic life, her father, a High Fae, had saved her mother, a female he fell in love with, an Illyrian who was thrown away after having her wings ripped out.

But after a hundred years of marriage, their love had died out, especially after their daughter was born, not because she was a female but because she was born with large Illyrian wings, wings larger than Illyrian children usually had.

Nova frowned slightly, watching the children hang out when each other while she sat by herself, her teacher joining her out of what she asumed, was pity, she felt slightly sad for her High Lady, her teacher who would try to talk to her, hoping she would talk back. Feyre asked her about what she was making, and why she chose the colours she did. Nova only gave a short reply, because she did not know the answer to the questions herself. All Nova knew was that it was a mess of colours.

Cassian had got himself one of Feyre's favourite pastries as he reached closer to the rainbow, he had wanted to pick her up from her class after the day's end, he entered her studio, smiled at the few kids whose parents were yet to pick them up and then pulled his best friend into a bear hug.

"Feyre!" Cassian chuckled, spinning his High Lady around. The fae children had their eyes wide at the Illyrian male with wings tucked in tight who stood in the middle of the studio. Nova gawked at the male, at those wings, wings like hers, and Cassian instantly noticed the girl too, no older than 6 years.

The wings were what drew them both to grow curious about each other, Feyre looked between her friend and her student, and a smirk formed on her face, the smirk of a matchmaker.

"That's Nova, a new student, just started two months ago." Feyre told Cassian, "Her mother officially made her a perminent student a month ago."

Cassian looked at the girl, his eyes noticing the Fae tips of her ears, "She's a halfblood." A statement, not a question, something easily seen.

"Why didn't you tell Rhysand about her?" Cassian asked her.

Feyre blushed suddenly, "I didn't think of it...?" She offered sheepishly while smiling at a couple parents who picked up the last of her students.

"Her mother will pick her up soon, we need to stay till she shows up, I have to talk to her." Feyre sat down, in a strategic way that made Nova and Cassian sit close, opposite each other, her eyes on the door, waiting for Luna to show up, she could talk about inviting her to a family dinner, introduce her friend and her daughter to her family.

Luna entered almost instantly, Nova smiled at her mother and rushed into her arms, "Mommy!" She cheered, her wings fluttering happily.

Feyre watched, holding a breath in as Cassian spun to look at Luna, his breath got caught in his throat as he watched the mother and daughter embrace, the female, she was who he had been looking for all his life, a thread of gold attached itself to him, reaching out to her, the snap almost instantly.

Luna looked up from her daughter to her friend, her eyes caught the Illyrian male, Cassian, whom she knew from his signature red siphons. Cassian gave her a soft smile and her knees nearly buckled at the bond that connected to her.

{Cassian Taglist: @novalovi}

[coffeeadict61]

Humans Are Weird: Female Rage

Report: #298

Topic: Female Rage

Rage: Violent or uncontrollable anger.

I have studied the human race for months now but today is the day I have learned to fear them. Forget their unpredictable bodies, or overly complex inventions, or the horrific moments that crowd their history. It was only today I feared for my life in the presence of a human being.

I often record anger in incident reports and the like, but women make up a very tiny proportion of that. They tend to "keep their cool" ( a human turn of phrase) better than men on average. This doesn't seem to be a natural attribute but more of a learned survival mechanism against violence and abuse. It only seems to break the surface in grief or after years of trauma. But the new astrophysics intern Colette [Last Name Redacted] showed me a new human emotion. Rage.

Our ships astrophysics department was partnering with our engineering department to design a small weapons craft to protect us from the "space pirates" or looters we keep encountering. I had created a bond of "friendship" with little Colette, I suppose little doesn't fit. She is above average height and slightly underweight, (she is having trouble adjusting to our menu due to "texture issues" which I need to educate myself on). Moving forward. She came to speak to me on a very serious matter a week ago exactly while I was on my daily rounds. This was the reason I was behind schedule, she has, and I quote, "little legs" in comparison to mine. Colette spoke of the weapons project she had been assigned too. She spoke at length about her supervisors who wouldn't listen to her. She had discovered a bug in the engine system. A four that looked like a nine or something of that nature, and believed it to put the test pilots in danger. She requested that I ask management to promote her so that her voice would be listened too. I tried to calm her worries but she was insistent so I told her I'd try to bring it up in the next meeting. That meeting was yesterday. In the six days between our conversation and my turn to give my reports for the management council, I had talked myself out of my promise. I figured that her superiors knew best and she was just ambitious and maybe she didn't see what she thought she saw. Regardless, it is the biggest regret I carry.

The test flight launched today. The entire crew was given an hour additional break to watch. Colette tried to prevent the launch, arguing with the head scientists, trying to show them test she ran digitally, but they had security pull her back. She came to find me, asking if I spoke to management. I didn't answer. The announcer counted down in human numerals.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 LAUNCH

I breathed a sigh of relief as the craft glided safely away, but Colette didn't, she didn't move an inch. The projects leader gave instructions through a radio. The experimental engines roared to life. Then, a moment of silence. Before the entire space craft was engulfed in a cloud of fire and gas. The silent explosion shook the floor beneath us as gasps and screams gave it a voice. The entire crew was killed. Many of them, friends or family of the onlookers. The onboard medic, the project leader's son and Colette's young husband. She collapsed to the ground sobbing, unable to stand on her shaking legs. I couldn't get her to move. I didn't try very hard.

Security swarmed the crowd, pushing them back from the windows and herding the grieving crowd to the different living areas. Many had to be carried. I carried Colette.

Hours later, after an emergency meeting and a meal, everyone was in bed. All but the council, security, the engineering department,and the astrophysics department. We sat in heavy silence as the project leader explained the error that lead to this tragedy. I studied him closely. No tears, just a stone cold face and a tremor in his hands. Suddenly the doors crashed open as Colette burst in. She wasn't grieving now. Colette grabbed the microphone from the leader's hand and threw it at the wall. It went straight through. Then she spoke. Shaking slightly, controlled rage gave the impression of bullets falling from her mouth with each syllable. "Murderers. You are all murderers." No one moved as we took on the weight of her statements. She spoke again but this time it was wasn't controlled. This time her rage wasn't an undertone but the message. This time she screamed it in a voice that echoed around the room and shook with each new sob.

"I TOLD YOU! I FING TOLD YOU THEY WOULD DIE! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?! HOW COULD YOU KILL THEM LIKE THAT?! IT'S YOUR FING FAULT!"

She broke anything within reach. A mug, "THEY WERE YOUR TEAM!" a chair, "WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECT THEM?" a table, "YOUR OWN SON AND YOU STAND HERE CALLING IT AN ACCIDENT!" her voice. "IF YOU HAD BELIEVED ME AND MY EVIDENCE INSTEAD OF PLAYING F***ING POLITICS…"

She stopped. She stopped screaming, stopped crying, stopped expressing her pain. She bottled it up and wiped her face with her sweaters sleeve. She just stared at him. Taking deep breaths as he shook under her gaze. "Why didn't you listen to him? To me?" He fought back his tears and straightened his jacket. "Abe knew the risks-" Colette stepped forward and punched him hard, his nose making an audible crunch. Blood stained her knuckles as she hit him again and again. Finally I got up and grabbed her around her middle, pulling her off before she went to far. The leader whimpered and leaned on a table as she fought to get to him. To tear him apart. Finally she just stood rigidity holding onto me. "Never say his name again. You aren't his father. You're a murderer and you never deserved Abraham." She spit at his feet.

"Coward."

I pulled her out of the meeting hall, locked her in her quarters, and stood guard. I relive her plea for me to approach the council on her behalf. I cannot deny my part in the crew's death and doubt I'll ever forgive myself. Colette will surely never forgive me either.

In conclusion, I advise the guilty professionals and researchers transferred and tried. Both for the safety of our crew and themselves. Their professional licenses should be revoked no matter the outcome of their individual trials. We also need to form a mental health department and start providing dietary options for all diets and sensitivities. I also advise (though I recognize my lack of authority on the matter) that crewmember Colette [Last Name Redacted] be released of all charges and assigned a personal therapist of her choosing. As for the other loved ones of our lost crew, they should also receive support options and memorials for their lost and any other requests we can fulfil. I pray we never have a similar story to tell the next generation.

Human Observer #5743

[roguishcat]

Conversations with a vampire - part 6/10

Story summary: A story told through a series of conversations between Astarion and child Tav, tracing the slow and steady progress of trust and friendship.

Chapter warnings: underage drinking, mentions of attempted sexual assault, self-blame, some canon compliant violence.

Chapter summary: Astarion's typical night is disrupted rather unexpectedly by Tav as she tries to deal with trauma in an unhealthy way.

Setting: Set before the events of the game.

Word count: 2.4k

A/N If you want to be on the tag list for this story or any others, feel free to send me a message or leave a comment.

The Flophouse was especially rowdy on this fine, warm night, if he said so himself. Patrons singing lewd songs and shouting, toasting whoever was paying for their drinks with much enthusiasm. The bar was already surrounded by a sea of drunks clamoring for attention as the bartender poured frothy ale expertly, maneuvering swiftly and swatting hands out of her way. The dim light of flickering candles and oil lamps, the distinctive odors of stale drink and greasy food, the tang of sweat, created an unmistakable atmosphere. It would be overwhelming to many, but not to him. These were his hunting grounds, and Astarion was more than familiar with the ebb and flow of bodies, the hushed conversations between the less-than-reputable types, the loud cheers and enthusiastic shouts of older men regaling their friends with stories from their youth.

Astarion quickly scanned the crowd, clocking in on a nervous tiefling clutching her friend’s elbow like a lifeline. She would do nicely.

“Hey everyone! Drink up! All drinks on me!”

He snapped his head to the side, in the direction of that unmistakable, annoying voice. And indeed, it was Tav at the bar, waving her arms over her head, drinking, and making a spectacle of herself. She looked like it wasn’t the first drink of the evening either, judging by the flush of her face and the slight wobble to her stance. Astarion knew that spawn could not realistically get headaches, but he was sure he could feel one coming on when he saw who was throwing the gold around and attracting too much attention to herself. He moved in her direction slowly but deliberately, dodging elbows and clammy hands.

“Astarion! Hey, it’s my friend!” she squealed in delight, almost falling in her haste to move towards him.

He steadied Tav, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Sorry everyone, this one is finished for the night.”

Ignoring the patrons’ protests and drunken threats, he half-coaxed half-dragged her out of the tavern. She didn’t put up too much of a fight, still clutching the bottle in her other hand as she followed him.

Pushing the door open, Astarion marched out into the back alley with Tav in tow, the girl stumbling gracelessly over the threshold.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” he hissed, putting his hands on his hips in a gesture somehow reminiscent of one made by a disappointed mother.

“Really? I don’t see you in a year and the first thing you do is scold me?” she giggled, taking another swig from the bottle. “Yuck, this is disgusting. Why do people even drink something so horrid? And damn, it’s chilly out here. Or maybe the room was just too hot?” She laughed between gulps.

If she found herself to be terribly amusing, he did not share the sentiment. Nor did he like to be stuck nannying her.

“Argh, sit down. You are cut off,” he grabbed the bottle and poured the wine out before she could grab it from him. “Wouldn’t want you to become a drunk, would we?”

“And why not? I’m already a little shit, a bitch, a bastard child. I think a drunk tops that list rather nicely! And anyway, don’t be such a grouch, I’m celebrating!” she plonked down beside an empty, overturned barrel, propping herself up against the wall.

“And what would that be?” Astarion sighed.

“Why, three nights ago I killed a man.”

She giggled again, but this time it sounded forced and a little manic.

Astarion waited for her to settle down before speaking. “I think I need a little more information than that.”

Tav exhaled with a kind of strangled, pained sound and seemed to visibly deflate after he spoke. She looked up at the starry sky, looking very pale in the moonlight. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the slight shaking of her fingers, goosebumps spread over her exposed arms. Her hair was cut off, uneven, as if someone hacked at it mindlessly. Come to think of it, this was the first time that Tav was not perfectly dressed and groomed. She was wearing a white sleeveless shirt, plain navy trousers and simple leather shoes rather than her usual finery. No wonder she did not stand out at the tavern.

“He is- was a regular at Sharess’ Caress. I saw him around before, sometimes outside in the street. I usually try to stay out of the way during the day, but occasionally I have to leave my room. I bumped into him once accidentally as I was leaving, apologized, and walked away. Since then, his eyes always followed me. He asked about me, was told that I don’t work there and that I am too young anyway.”

She paused, pulling her legs closer to her body, and resting her head on her knees. “I know it’s my fault. I could have asked a servant to bring me something, but I guess I just had to be independent, had to show I can do things for myself.”

She stopped for a moment and took a shuddering breath. “He followed me into the cellar. I just wanted to get something to eat without making anyone fuss. I mean, I am old enough to do some things for myself. And I- I didn’t hear him walking in behind me. The man swayed a little, as if he was drunk when he shut the door behind him. He didn’t smell drunk, though. Oh, no. When he pushed me against the shelves and tried to force my knees apart with his hand, his other hand squeezing my throat, he was very much sober.”

Tav licked her cracked lips and hugged herself. Astarion felt a little sick listening to her because he could guess where this was going. He was not sure if he wanted her to continue, but perhaps it was good for Tav to say this out loud. So, he pulled himself together and resolved to listen to what Tav had to say. If anything, this was his way of repaying her for standing up for him against the other spawn.

“I crashed into the boxes to my right,” she went on, “he loosened his grip. I- I saw a knife sticking out of the block of cheese and lunged for it. He pushed me down and tried to grab me again, but I kicked him in the face. I don’t think he expected this much resistance, wasn’t used to anyone struggling against him.”

“And then I was on top of him and I stabbed him, over, and over again,” her eyes were wide and she was breathing hard, looking forward but at nothing in particular. “I could hear someone screaming, didn’t realise that it was me. People came running, I was pulled away from the body. Someone forced the knife out of my hand. Then I screamed more and more, and I struggled and kicked. They made me drink something and then there was nothing.”

Her breathing was still labored, her short nails dug into her skin leaving crescent marks.

“When I woke up, I was back in my room. Breakfast and newspaper waiting at my bedside table. As if nothing had happened. If you are interested, the headline that day was ‘A wealthy merchant’s body found in the river mauled by an animal.’”

Astarion looked at Tav. She seemed so young, so fragile. It was difficult to believe that in a fight-of-flight scenario she chose fight. Who would have thought that Tav, the sweet, annoying, silly child that she was, was capable of defending herself against a much older and stronger assailant?

“There it is. I killed and got away with it. No consequences. No regrets. Because truth be told, if I could go back, I would have done exactly the same,” she said fiercely.

Astarion knew that she did what she had to do. She did what anyone with any sense would do. Yet, judging by the hollow, haunted look in her eyes, in spite of what she said, Tav did not look like a person who was certain that they had made the right decision.

Tav shook her head, as if trying chase away the lingering mental images. Astarion looked at her hair. The beautiful blonde hair that was ruined now.

“Ah, that’s my handywork,” she ran her fingers through the disaster that once were beautiful locks. “I am done with them dolling me up every day. No hair, no playing dress up, no reason for them to come into my room,” she said harshly.

“Well,” Astarion paused, choosing his next words carefully, “whilst this style is definitely a statement, I could neaten it up a little. Make it less obvious that you are not cut out for a career in hairdressing.”

“Okay,” she breathed out, “the scissors are in my bag. I kinda grabbed them and just shoved them in there before heading out.”

“Hoarder,” he joked weakly, taking the scissors out.

Astarion worked silently, being careful not to touch her any more than was required. It was quite surprising that she allowed him to do this at all. Then again, according to Tav they were friends.

 “I am never having sex, or getting married,” Tav said suddenly.

“I thought you were going to marry me. Tsk, so much for you keeping your promises.” He joked halfheartedly, but purposefully ignored the first part of what she said. There was no way he was discussing the birds and the bees with anyone.

Tav scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I dreamed of it when I was like twelve. I’m older now. And definitely not so naïve.”

She looked at him from underneath her long, light lashes. Astarion glowed under the moonlight, an ethereal being, beautiful and untouchable, unmarked by change and time. He was handsome, complicated and dangerous.

She didn’t want dangerous. She wanted simple and safe.

She must have said it out loud because he laughed, a sort of barking humorless laugh.

“My dear child, I promise you will find the silliest, richest oaf to marry. He will allow you everything, hang onto your every word, and count his lucky stars that you chose him.”

Astarion looked over his work. It looked much better than before, a kind of boyish pixie cut, which suited Tav, with her high cheekbones and large blue eyes. Her face was looking less and less childlike each time he saw her. It made him feel a little melancholy, seeing the inevitable changes and knowing that more were to come. 

“There we go, looking almost sophisticated,” Astarion handed her a pretty mirror lined with sparkly stones that he discovered in her bag as he rummaged about earlier.

“Thank you,” she exhaled, giving her reflection a quick glance before putting the mirror away. “I still look like crap, but have to admit, my hair looks good.”

“But of course, what else did you expect?” he scoffed. “My own hair is always impeccably styled.”

“That it is. Always just so. Really eye-catching,” she gave him a ghost of a smile.

Astarion sat down, folding his long legs under him. The two listened to the dissonance of sounds coming from the tavern, mixing with the noise coming from the streets. Life went on, their personal tragedies and struggles so unimportant, almost nothing in the grand scheme of things.

“Astarion, why do they do this to us?” Tav spoke softly, picking at the loose skin near one of her nails. She didn’t have to explicitly state who she was talking about. Astarion knew well enough who she was referring to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “They have power, and we don’t. And those with power can do whatever the hell they want. You will do well to remember that.”

“I suppose you are right,” she scrunched her nose and scowled. “But it isn’t fair.”

“You silly thing, if this world was built on the shaky foundation of what is fair or not, it would have crumbled long ago. It is idiotic to think otherwise. Life is about seizing control and taking what you are owed by force. By rising so high that no one can reach you.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, “but sometimes, when I am feeling particularly low, I wonder… Just wonder if my life would be different if they finally decided that I was useless enough that they could just toss me out. They, whoever they are, clearly don’t give a rat’s ass about me. So, maybe, just maybe… they will let me go.”

Astarion sincerely doubted that. He knew full well what it was like to be a plaything in fate’s hands. Masters did not just give up their slaves or toys. If they did not serve one purpose, there would always be another. But perhaps on some level Tav knew this too.

Astarion did not particularly enjoy this conversation, did not like the direction that his own thoughts could take, but he was somewhat grateful that at least she did not cry. He hated when someone cried around him. He did not have any emotional or mental capacity to deal with such displays.

“I hate it. I hate this ugly bitterness I feel. I worked so hard not to give in, not to accept the darkness that keeps calling to me. But it just keeps getting harder and harder,” Tav rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and yawned.

“Tsk, again with your cryptic remarks,” he clicked his tongue. “But if you must think of this at all, think of it as growing up, losing your naivete. But, unlike many, you haven’t lost your kind heart. That you should try to preserve. Gods know no one showed me any kindness before you came along with that healing potion.”

Astarion was not sure what compelled him to say this. Perhaps it was her honesty, the raw emotions. In a way, the similarity of their situations. Them not having any control over their lives, being tethered to places where they were neglected and abused. Yet, he almost immediately regretted saying the words. Luckily, Tav was asleep, having given in to her exhaustion. He was not even sure that she heard what he said. It didn’t matter though.

Astarion took an embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket, slipping it into her brocade bag. Rising, he lifted her up and held the lanky teen close to his chest.

Had she been so thin before? He wasn’t sure, didn’t really notice until now.

Time to take her home. Or at least the only place she could call home.

Chapter 5

Tag list: @ninty900 @ayselluna @dajeong @ravenswritingroom @misscrissfemmefatale

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 9 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Ok this series just started out as cute one shots and now I have to think of a plot god damn.

Synopsis: The 141 celebrate your return to duty with a night out at the local pub. Ghost and you argue over Price's decision to clear you for duty. Word count: 1.8k Warnings: Casual drinking, mention of past trauma, arguments Ghost x gn!Reader (callsign Rags): Soap doesn’t know what kombucha is, Gaz doesn’t like mulled wine and Ghost gets a bit overprotective. Fluff, light-angst, etc.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It’s nearly a month till you’re cleared for duty. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been lonely. The guys were gone for recon missions half the time and you were either stuck behind a desk playing secretary, in physic therapy or in therapy therapy. It was a tiring routine. 

But it didn’t stop you from feeling a little proud when you were able to present Price with a clean bill of health. He’d raised a skeptical brow as he skimmed the mental health section – no one in the military was well in that regard and most of you knew how to con a therapist. The nightmares hadn’t stopped and you supposed they never would. But  you’d stopped jumping at random sounds or flinching when touched unexpectedly. You were fit for work and you knew it. 

“Everything okay, Captain?” You asked, felling slightly nervous. He could, in theory, refuse to accept the medical certificate and write you off. The man instead sighed and with a flick of his pen he signed off on it. 

“You have any problems, you come to me – am I clear?” He said sternly, leaning his elbows on his desk and creating a steeple with his fingertips. “I’m not stupid – wiser soldiers than you and I take years to get over this kind of shit, Rags. No on e would blame you off you needed more time.”

You frown, jaw set. “I’m ready, sir.”

He looks at you for a moment, eyes hard and unwavering – searching for any cracks in your resolve. Finally he nods, pushing up with his hands on the desk to stand. “Alright,” he reaches over the desk to shake your hand, “Welcome back, sergeant.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Good on ye!” Soap claps you on the back with a grin, “Glad tae have ye back!”

Soap and Gaz had negotiated with Price on the optics of a mid-week visit to the local pub. They never confirmed nor denied his verdict. You suspect permission wasn’t explicitly given. 

Nevertheless, here you were. The three of you crammed into the usual booth in the back corner, a spot with the best view of all possible exists and entries. An old habit. It wasn’t particularly fancy – some might even call it dingy. But you liked the exposed brick walls, the dented and paint chipped bar made it feel homey. You favourite part was the roaring fire in the centre of the wall at the back, cracked leather armchairs with slightly scratchy pillows arranged in front of it. There was a dartboard off to one side, the wall behind completely littered in holes from drunken misses. The health and safety concerns behind having darts in a pub was certainly still up for debate – though you’d certainly spent a few evenings versing Gaz at the game.

“Thanks mate,” you smile over your mug of mulled wine – another reason this spot was a favourite – “Price was a bit hesitant, but I don’t think he could say no to the med-cert.”

“You’d be surprised,” Gaz remarked, some foam from his beer clinging to his upper lip, “he held LT back from an op once, claimed he faked the certificate.”

“And had he?”

“I had.” The low voice makes you jump as Ghost himself slides in next to Gaz, in the space across from you. “In fairness, I was a lot younger than I am now – and stupider.”

“Can’t’ve been that long ago then, mate.” Gaz jokes, passing the Lieutenant the drink he’d bough for him earlier. Ghost gives his arm a punch but thanks Gaz quietly for the drink anyway, taking a small sip. 

“What held ye up?” Soap asks when the lieutenant shrugs of his jacket.

“Bloody paperwork,” he grumbles, “I don’t envy you, Rags. Just a couple of hours has me going mental – I can’t fathom a full day.”

You nod sympathetically, “Yeah, can’t say I’d recommend it.”

“Rags was just tellin’ us Price cleared ‘em for duty,” Soap says proudly, “I said we’d each buy ‘em a drink.”

“That so?” Ghost raises a pale brow at you, balaclava pulled up so he can drink. You blush under his stare. “Not sure how he’d react if you showed up to trainin’ hungover.”

You scoff, “It’s a week night, I’m drinking mulled wine.”

“Surely mulled wine can still get you drunk.” Gaz says, setting his empty glass down with a thud.

You shake your head with a laugh, “They cook it out, Gaz. There isn’t much alcohol left in here at all.”

“But surely there’s an amount you could have that’d do it – like kombucha – right?”

“What in the world is kombucha?!” Soap splutters, licking at the beer on his upper lip. You laugh as Gaz attempts to explain it. 

“Tha’ sounds horrid.” The scot says, looking ill. 

“It’s not bad,” you say, still grinning at Soap’s expression. “I’m sure there is an amount, Gaz, but you’d probably die of overconsumption before getting drunk, or something like that.”

“Boring.” Gaz mutters, flicking his empty glass away, “What’s the point in non-alcoholic wine, anyway?”

“Because they put spices and shit in it – it’s delicious.”

“Doubt that.”

“Here, try some,” you shove your half empty mug in his direction, some splashed onto the table, “it’s good, I promise.”

Gaz wrinkles his nose, pushing the mug away with a single finger, “I’m ok, thanks.”

You roll your eyes and reach out to take your drink back when a pale hand intercepts you. Ghost takes a long sip and licks the excess from his lips, watching you with something playful in his eyes. 

“You’d do well to expand your palette, Gaz,” the lieutenant drawls, setting the mug back down in front of you, “instead of only drinking beer like you’ve just turned eighteen.”

Gaz snorts indignantly, “Ok, grandad.”

Ghost just smirks, sculling the rest of his whiskey.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Though Gaz and Soap are smarter than to get drunk the night before an early training, it still takes Ghost and you a while to drag them away from the bar. 

“Social butterflies,” you scoff, slumping onto the couch in the kitchen after successfully directing the two men to their rooms. Ghost clicks the door to the hallway shut and flicks in the jug. 

“Horny bastards.” Ghost offers instead and you laugh.

“All it takes is for the pair to have a single sip of alcohol and suddenly the pub’s their oyster.”

The lieutenant hums in agreement. “Camomile?”

“Yes please,” you groan, kicking off your boots and sinking further into the couch. You sling an arm across your eyes but still watch the man as he potters around in the kitchen. You smile as he reshuffles the mug shelf to find your favourite mug. He finds it and turns to place it on the bench next to his when he notices you watching.

“What?”

You grin, snuggling further into the couch with a sigh.“Nothing.”

The lieutenant huffs, returning to the mugs. Steam curls around him as the boiling water hits the cool ceramic. God he looks gorgeous in such a domestic setting. You’ll never get over it. 

“Here,” a mug hovers in front of your face, you push yourself up and take it from him with a small “thanks”.

Instead of settling at the table like usual, the lieutenant nods at the other side of the couch. “Scoot.”

You curl your legs under you, careful not to spill your tea as the couch shifts as he sinks down next to you. 

“So,” he says, leaning into the arm of the chair and angling himself to face you, “Price cleared you for duty, huh?”

You nod slowly, unsure where this is going. “Albeit hesitantly, but yes.”

“Hmm.” He replies, taking a long sip from his mug. 

You frown, “What? You disagree?”

“I didn’t say that.”

You scoff, “Ok well that reaction heavily implied you did.”

He leans forward, eyes hard. “I just think – look none of us would judge you if you needed more time.”

“It’s been over a month!” You point out, exasperated. “Price wouldn’t have said yes if he didn’t think I was ready –”

–“I never said I thought you weren’t ready –“

“Then what are you saying?!” You cry, hitting the side of the couch with your free hand, Ghost watches you with wide eyes. “What is your problem?”

“I’m just saying – recovery doesn’t have a deadline.”

“I know that,” you snap, “but I can't keep babying myself. It's been long enough.”

The man across from you narrows his cobalt eyes, “Babying yourself? You call healing from trauma babying yourself?”

“No, I call wrapping myself in cotton wool and avoiding anything that reminds me of what happened babying myself.”

“Or maybe it's about bein’ cautious,” Ghost replies, voice stern and hard as steel, “about making sure you're in the right mental state before jumpin’ back into a warzone.”

“I've faced worse – we all have. I'm not going to let fear control me.” You’re glaring at him now and he glares back.

He shakes his head. “This isn't about fear, it's about being smart. You could be a liability out there if you're not mentally prepared.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, pushing yourself off of the couch. “So now you think I can't handle myself? That I'm a liability to the team?” 

“I never said that.” He growls firmly. “But if you're not thinking clearly, you put yourself and others at risk.”

“You're overthinking this.” You hiss, “I told you I’m fine.”

“You're not fine!” Ghost mirrors you, pushing himself to his feet where he towers over you, eyes shimmering. “You're pushing yourself into something you're not ready for.”

You push him with your freehand. He doesn’t budge and it only adds fuel to the fire. “And you're being overprotective, as always!”

The lieutenant steps closer, his voice low and intense “Because I care about you, damn it.”

You pause, mouth slightly agape – your retort forgotten. 

“I care about what happens to you out there.” He says, stepping closer, eyes softer now.

“I know,” you say, searching his eyes, “I know you do. And I don’t expect you to understand. I just need you to respect my choice.”

You watch as he sighs, shoulder slumping. “I do understand,” he murmurs, “and I do respect your choice, I just –“

You cut him off by stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him. He tenses for a moment but relaxes in your hold. “I know.” You whisper into his warm chest, “I know you understand.”

He sighs again, arms finally wrapping around you, a hand settling in your hair. “I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

You laugh into his chest, “I raised mine first, I should be the one apologising. “

He lowers his chin to rest on the top of your head. “I know you’ve been trying, I know you’re doing better. I just can’t help but think of how you were when we found you –“

“Shh,” you hush, rubbing small circles into his back, “I’m ok, you got me back. I’m safe.”

A deep breath shudders through his chest beneath your cheek. “Promise?”

You pull away, his arms loosen but still around you. “Promise.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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[soylent-crocodile]

Storm Soldier (Monster)

(Art by Anonynmous)

(I considered playing coy with my inspiration here, but let's be clear with it- this a fantasy 40k Space Marine, played not as protagonists but as tragic yet terrifying monsters for the more humanist playgroups most of my RPG experience belongs to. Statting them up as monsters, in my mind, helps distance players from the power fantasy of it; if you ever wanted a ragtag pack of underdogs to bring those marty stu marines down a peg, well, here's a monster to kill! And you if you want a sad little war machine your players can adopt and deprogram, it's the same deal.

By the way, I have them statted up as scattered force that can be dropped into any setting, but I'd love to use them as the terrifying enforcers of one of the more powerful political players in a world, like they are in 40k.)

CR8 LE Large Monstrous Humanoid

Also called storm marines, storm dragoons, and thunder warriors, storm soldiers are the result of painful fleshwarping techniques being used on young human soldiers, turning them into massive and obedient soldiers. Unlike with the creations of the drow, it is generally humans of a storm soldier's own culture who turn them into such monsters- leaders who value them more as weapons than as people. The process is traumatic and violent, and involves not only reshaping the flesh, but conditioning the mind to be loyal soldiers before all else. This leaves the storm soldier with a distant sense of her past life and a lot of buried trauma. They are functionally immortal, and often outlive the regime which created them. Storm soldiers are difficult to create, and those who do tend to spread their soldiers thin, with one or two storm soldiers assigned to a squad of mundane soldiers as linebreakers, guardians, and support.

This is not always the case, however. Centuries ago, a powerful shaman amassed a legion of these soldiers in a harebrained attempt to take over the world and unite it under his idea of order. His forces, however, became fractured- although sources differ on how, with some claiming the influence of a specific breed of fiend, and others believing it was a mundane power struggle. The result of this fracture was the death of the shaman, along with most of his generals, and the small remains of his forces scattered to the corners of the world. To this day they live in deadly xenophobic warbands; in particular, they have a hatred for elves, orks, and skeletons, although most still clash with each other in echoes of the original split. 

Storm giants notably have a strong emotional reaction to storm soldiers; evil groups of giants typically do what they can to scourge them of the earth, but good-aligned storm giants tend to feel extreme pity and often attempt rehabilitation of storm soldiers. Younger storm soldiers (that is, less than a couple hundred years old) are often a success in this endeavor, but those as ancient as the shaman’s army are almost universally too far gone.

Some rulers believe that storm soldiers can only be created out of men, although this is generally considered to be a laughable falsehood.

This hulking woman wields a massive shield and weighty warhammer. She towers over her companions, and her eyes are leaking a glowing fluid. Misc- CR8 LE Large Monstrous Humanoid HD10 Init:+0 Senses: Perception:+8 Stats- Str:20(+5) Dex:11(+0) Con:24(+7) Int:14(+2) Wis:10(+0) Cha:6(-2) BAB:+10/+5 Space:10ft Reach:10ft Defense- HP:125(10d5+70) AC:18 (-1 Size, +7 Armor, +2 Shield) Fort:+10 Ref:+7 Will:+7 CMD:36 Resist: Immunity: Fear, Fatigued, Exhausted, Electricity Offense- +1 Shocking Warhammer +15/+10(2d6+6+1d6/x3), or Slam +14(1d8+5 plus grab) CMB:+16 Speed:40ft Special Attacks: Clarion Shock +14(8d6 electricity, target is illuminated as with Faerie Fire) Feats- Power Attack, Improved Bull Rush, Weapon Focus (Warhammer), Vital Strike, Intimidating Prowess Skills- Climb +13, Escape Artist +5, Intimidate +16, Knowledge (Local) +7, Knowledge (Nobility) +7, Perception +8, Ride +13, Survival +13, Swim +13 Special Qualities- Illuminating Gaze Ecology- Environment- Cities Languages- Common Organization- Squad (1 Storm Soldier, 4 Human Warrior 6) or Thunderhead (4 Storm Soldier, 6 Human Warrior 6) Treasure- Standard (Large +1 Shocking Warhammer, Large Field Plate, Large Steel Shield) Special Abilities- Clarion Shock (Su)- As a standard action a storm soldier may pump a blast of glowing lightning into a target as a melee touch attack. Additionally, creatures hit by this attack are illuminated in golden light as with the spell faerie fire for 10 rounds. Illuminating Gaze (Su)- A storm soldier’s eyes glow in brilliant pale yellow, illuminating a 60ft cone in front of the storm soldier two light levels.

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 6

read on ao3 (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter 6: 'Hearing Damage'

“Get down.” 

Joel’s heavy hand pushed against Juliet’s uninjured shoulder, forcing her to the ground, sheltered behind an eroded vehicle cloaked in rotten branches and thick moss. He was crouched next to her, his hand wrapped tight around his gun, finger hovering over the trigger.

Juliet did the same, her gun now thankfully back in her possession. Juliet thought back to earlier that morning when Joel had silently handed it to her, the glare from his dark eyes reflecting the memory of the bullet hole she had left in the soldier’s head.

She gripped it tighter now, her hands sweating. 

Joel lifted his head to peer through the car’s clouded glass, careful to keep his gun from knocking against the rusted metal. Juliet stayed down, both to avoid Joel’s agitation and the attention of the infected currently stumbling across the road in front of them. 

They crouched there for at least ten minutes until Joel was sure the infected was out of sight, now hidden behind the collapsed building to their right. Neither of them would dare shoot a lonely infected, not wanting to chance the sound of the shot alerting other infected to their presence. So they sat, waiting for it to pass on its own while scanning their surroundings for others. 

Juliet understood it was a necessary practice but her legs burned from her ankles to her thighs, her bad shoulder now incredibly stiff. A quiet groan left her mouth as she pushed herself up. Joel’s head whipped towards her at the sound. The pressure of his gaze was lethal until it dropped to her shoulder and his eyes softened slightly. Juliet looked away, stretching her good arm. 

They started walking again, their steps quiet as they weaved around the piles of cars that littered the road. Juliet was too young to remember when they would clog the streets with traffic and fumes instead of just decaying glass and metal. Cars, vans, trucks were all part of the architecture of the world now. Their presence as permanent and enduring as the weeds and vines growing around them. 

They headed towards the museum, Joel had told her that morning that they would exit the city that way. His commanding tone had left no room for any arguments from Juliet or a chance to offer her own suggestions. Not that she had many, though, her entrance into Boston three years ago was a dark blemish on her memory she was desperate to remove. Juliet had just nodded, performing the continued act of obedience that would get her back to her old community. 

The light from the sun bounced off the broken windows on the crumbling buildings around them. Juliet turned slightly to avoid the glare and her eyes hovered over Joel’s side profile, the soft yellow glow from the sun was intertwined through the thick strands of his brown hair. It made him appear younger, less worn. 

“Do you come this way a lot?” Juliet asked, the question erupting from the butterflies in her stomach.

Joel turned his head to face her and then back to the road ahead, his feet continuing their rigorous stride. “I guess,” he finally replied.

So much for a conversation starter, she thought. 

“How often?” Juliet probed. 

Joel’s head turned quicker this time, the irritation unmistakeable on his face. 

“Often,” he deadpanned, staring straight ahead again. 

Juliet rolled her eyes, speeding up to match Joel’s steps. 

Okayyyyy.

…………………………………..

The sun beat down as they continued their walk to the museum. Juliet’s head was spinning from constantly looking over her shoulder. Thankfully no other infected tried to join them on their journey. The streets were eerily quiet, the only sounds that travelled in the air were birds squawking and buildings settling. She was confused, Juliet had heard from the more recent members of the QZ that the open city was entirely overrun with infected, too dangerous to even attempt to pass through in years. An egregious exaggeration, apparently. 

When they finally reached the museum Juliet was stunned. She had never seen it in the daylight before, never noticed how beautiful it was in a strange, twisted way. The building was infected with cordyceps, the twisted vines plagued every red brick and white trimming. Juliet should be disgusted, horrified even, by the staggering display of the infection that destroyed her world. But she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the fungus and its fascinating patterns. 

A sharp cracking sound pulled Juliet from her perverse curiosity. Joel was bent low over a dried out husk of cordyceps as he smashed the bottom of his gun into it. Juliet’s head turned, searching for any sign of infected who might hear them. The area looked clear, and Joel didn’t seem to care about the repeated crushing sound he made.

“What are you doing?” Juliet hissed.

“It’s bone dry,” Joel asserted, not taking his eyes off the decay at his feet. 

“Do you think there’s any infected in there?” Juliet asked, her pulse starting to pound. 

“Shouldn’t be,” Joel replied, then he stood up and kicked the dust covering the ground with his boot. “This should mean they’re all dead in there.” 

“Should?” Juliet questioned, her voice higher than usual. 

Joel didn’t answer, no reassuring words uttered. He just met her glare then swung his backpack off his shoulder and reached his hand inside.

“You got a torch?” He asked as he pulled out his own, smacking it a few times on his palm to get it working. 

“Yeah,” Juliet said as she did the same. Her gun and her torch now firmly gripped in her hands, her shoulder straining as she moved them on top of each other, ready to face whatever lurked inside the decrepit building. 

The door to the museum was cracked open slightly and a thick inky darkness poured out. Juliet steadied herself, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, then she turned back to Joel who was glancing at her shoulder. Juliet looked down and noticed the stain of blood which had soaked through her bandage and smeared her already disgusting jacket. Not a good sign. The ache increased at the sight. 

“It’s fine,” she murmured, then stepped forward, ready to enter the museum. 

A hand stopped her, stretching across her front, holding her back. Juliet turned to face Joel’s hulking figure now almost pressed to her side. His features tense. 

“From this point forward, we are silent” he began, his voice a low whisper. “Not quiet,” he continued, then paused with one sharp shake of his head. “Silent.” 

Juliet was struck by the severity of his gaze, his words deadly serious. She looked up at him and nodded. If following Joel’s rules would get her back to Ethan, she would agree to anything he said. He held her eyes for a moment before he looked away, blinking fast. 

Joel took the first steps into the building, the creak of the door hinges reverberated a ghostly echo around the bottom floor of the museum. Juliet cringed at the sound as she followed Joel close behind. He moved with practised precision, stepping around the lifeless cordyceps, his boots barely touching the ground with the pace of his stride. The glow from his torch ricocheted off the walls, sweeping every inch of the room. 

Juliet knew that he was looking for clickers, the silence was suffocating but she could hear no sign of the familiar ticking noise. Thank god, Juliet did not want another encounter with those monsters, she had barely survived the last time. 

A few minutes later they were climbing the large staircase up to the first floor, Juliet held her breath every time she had to step over another vein of fungus. Joel stared straight ahead, trusting that Juliet was following. His steps faltered, though, when a piercing groan of splintering wood and whining metal rang out in the stillness. Particles of debris began to fall above their heads, the dust settling in the ashy brown strands of Joel’s hair. He turned sharply, his eyes meeting Juliet’s before he mouthed ‘ run’. 

More plaster rained down on them as their steps pounded up the remaining stairs, not caring about the sound they made, it was swallowed by the crumbling structure as it thundered down. When they reached the first floor everything went silent. Juliet’s breaths left her mouth in ragged gasps as they both turned to look at the destruction behind them. The entire staircase was gone, now piled in a cloud of dust on the level below. 

Alarm covered Joel’s face, his torch panned the whole first floor in frantic movements. Juliet could see the window they were attempting to reach across the room, the light from outside offering a slight reprieve from the aching darkness of the bottom floor. Juliet met Joel’s eyes then looked towards the window, ready to make a run for it. She stopped when he held out his hand, her torch illuminated his clenched jaw. ‘No’ he said with the look in his almost black eyes, then he raised his finger to his ear, urging her to listen. 

It was at that moment that Juliet picked up the soft tick, tick, tick in the distance. She couldn’t make out what direction it was coming from, but the wet, strangled sound was getting closer. 

Juliet raised her gun in front of her, a cold focus seized her mind. Survival mode descended on her body, her limbs tightened, ready to fight. Terror choked every silent breath released from her tight lips. 

Joel began to move backwards, behind a glass display cabinet as he titled his head upwards, the motion a sharp command to follow him. When they were both pressed against the clouded glass, Joel turned to face her and raised his finger to his lips, his hand steady without a single tremble. Juliet leaned her head back against the cold glass and squeezed her eyes shut. She held her breath as she listened for the sound of clickers behind the darkness of her eyelids. A minute later, her eyes flew open at the echo of another click from the opposite direction of the last. Fuck. There were two of them. 

A second later, her body jumped in a hard flinch as the first clicker rounded the corner, its open skull turned in their direction. Juliet knew it didn’t have eyes but she swore the clicker was staring right at them. She shifted slightly, attempting to position her body in a more defensive stance. The clicker’s head lifted when her boot accidentally scuffed against the hardwood floor. Juliet’s mouth fell open. Then the clicker moved.  

It released a deafening squawk and stumbled towards Juliet’s frozen body, its movements irregular and hurried. Before it could reach her, Joel stepped forward, grabbing the creature by its festering arms and pushing it back towards the wall opposite them. The side of Joel’s gun was pressed against its oozing face but he couldn’t angle it to get a good shot, his hands desperately pushing at the clicker’s body to keep its rotten teeth from meeting his flesh. 

Juliet moved, terror electrifying the action as she raised her gun, took her aim and pulled the trigger. Three shots one after another, her aim never missing her target. The force reverberated up her arm and into the wound on her shoulder, a pained gasp leaving her lips. She dropped her hand as Joel stumbled back, the dead clicker now slumped against his chest. 

“Shit,” she choked out. “Are you okay?” 

Juliet raised her hand up to Joel’s back, attempting to turn him around to check for any bites, but he flinched and shrugged off her grip. 

“I’m fine,” he seethed as he turned around, now staring down at Juliet. His eyes traced down her arm to the gun in her hand, surprise blazed on his face. “Thanks,” he murmured, then looked away. 

Another click rang out in the dark room, the sound of Joel’s struggle and Juliet’s gunshot had alerted the other clicker. Juliet whipped her head around, searching for the window in the distance. They had to get out, now. 

“Go,” Joel breathed, and they ran. 

Their steps pounded against the ground in the previously silent room as they moved around various artefacts and display cases. The other clicker was gaining on them, its limbs flailing at odd angles when Juliet dared to sneak a glance behind her. They were both breathing heavy, Joel’s gasps coming out fast and rough.

They turned another corner and Juliet's torso was met with hard stone. The blow knocked her down, her gun slipped from her fingers and slid across the floor. The stone pillar she had run into lay beside her in a crumpled heap. 

Joel’s steps came to an abrupt stop as he turned and ran back to her. The clicker was faster, though. Its grey fingers gripped her calves and pulled her along the floor under its legs. Juliet used the momentum to flip herself over, now facing the split open skull just inches from her face. She released a strangled scream as her hands pushed against the clicker’s body. It was unbearable, the fear that pulsed through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t strategise some way to get this clicker off of her, she just pushed and pushed. 

She kept struggling until cold, oozing black liquid splattered her face and neck and the weight of the clicker fell onto her. Juliet was utterly frozen, her body locked up as the clicker was pushed to the side, rolling onto the floor. She opened her eyes to find Joel standing over her, his red face covered in a sheen of sweat.

Juliet sat up and vomited on the ground next to his boots. 

The clicker lay next to her, a blade now plunged into what was left of its skull. Joel made a face and bent down to pull his knife from its head. Then he hovered a hand in front of Juliet to pull her off the ground. The room spun when she stood and her body began to tilt, unable to stop herself from tipping over. Strong hands caught her before she could fall. Joel gripped her elbows as his gaze scanned the exposed skin of her neck and the front of her t-shirt, searching for any scratches or bites which would mean the end of their journey together. Once he was satisfied that she was clean, he let her go but kept his hands lingering around her arms in case she stumbled again. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice rough. 

It took Juliet a few seconds to respond, her mind still trapped under that clicker’s body. That was close, too close. Shock coursed through her as the adrenaline drained from her bloodstream. That could have been it, she could have died right there on that stained hardwood floor. What would have become of Ethan? What suffering would her father inflict on him if she never returned?

Joel had saved her life, just as she saved his only minutes earlier. His eyes bore into her now, waiting for her response. Juliet stared back, gratitude shining in the depths of her gaze. She held his stare as she nodded, then bent to the floor and lifted her gun. Joel gave her one last searching look, examining her still form for any other injuries, then he turned towards the window now only steps away. 

A renewed energy crackled between them as Juliet followed, the delicate edge of what felt like mutual trust beginning to forge in their prolonged stares. 

[basilibino]

Season 8 was like 6 years ago(I feel old) and I know ppl have differing opinions on the Mr Echo thing (but it was intended, made it to storyboard and blocked animation and then dropped, soooo) but. I can see his recruitment p easily tbh. Bc the whole reason Dr J was in that lighthouse was because he was resurrected, forced there, and ordered to build Skulkin vehicles by Samukai. But Samukai in the flashback we see has already been deposed as leader of the Skulkin/Underworld. Which means the orders to do so most likely came from Garmadon.

And since Mr. E is one of the head honchos, he's likely an early arrival to the team, so I don't think Harumi has a whole lot figured out at this point, she's just got her Trauma and some Bad Influence Friends and an obsession with Lord Garmadon. So. Like. Plausible deniability road trip that she's just visiting important markers of Ninjago's recent past, all of which involve Lord Garmadon in some meaningful way; its sightseeing, its cathartic, and it gives her time to develop her dream Motorcycle Gang/Resurrection Cult. She's not looking for anyone at the Lighthouse, but she is looking for vehicle blueprints so she can be the Koolest leader on the block. But oops she looks in the basement and there's an Echo.

And she's flipping out bc??? A Ninja???? In the Lighthouse basement??? I mean it makes sense that it would be this one but???

Except this rusty old robot has no idea what she's talking about with this Ninja stuff, he's just waiting for his dad to come back.

And Harumi pauses.

Because how long has he been waiting? He's not sure, he had no proper way to measure time in the basement, and he doesn't have the best view of his clockwork heartpiece. But it was after his father saw a strange ship docking; Echo was worried it was the People who had locked up his father in the first place, but instead his dad sounded happy when he saw whoever was out there. It could have been a front, though, as clearly it was never safe to let Echo back out. Then Dr J popped down briefly, while everyone above was resting, to tell Echo he was desperately needed elsewhere, that it wasn't safe to bring Echo, but that he'd be back in no time.

And the pieces are fitting together for Harumi. And she's like. Your dad's dead, bro.

And he's like. What? Did he die doing what was needed of him?

And she's like. Oh, no. He died a few years later.

And he's like. Why didn't he come back for me????

And she's like. Probably because they kept him away.

And he's like. Who's they?

And she's like. The Ninja I was talking about earlier.

And it surely can't be hard in universe to find pictures of Zane and Dr J post s2-pre s3, so she pulls one up and shows Echo who is freaking out bc why is that one kind of like him and Harumi explains that that was the droid his father created first, that he became a Ninja, and that hes probably the one who took their father away and kept echo waiting for years.

But Echo has doubts, shocked as he is abt a new older brother, he wants to believe the good in the situation so he's unsure. But Harumi mentions that the Ninja's failures to uphold more than their self preservation/interests has led to uncountable losses and devastation in Ninjago time and time again, before delving into her own story. And she seems so kind, and so hurt, and I do think there's a genuine connection btwn these two that forms from this shared emotional torment that they decide came from the Ninja, and now Echo is more receptive.

And then Harumi gets to start her Garmadon pitch because wait! If Echo was made here, then that could only have happened because of Lord Garmadon. And she reiterates that he's the reason she and her city could have even survived The Great Devourer. And maybe Echo's family-by-creation left, maybe they were untrustworthy and lacking, but that's OK bc if you look at it all a certain way, Garmadon is more of a father to Echo than Dr J was. And Echo is a vulnerable, overwhelmed mess who just found out his dad fucked off for years without him and also died, and also he has a brother??? Who their dad clearly seems to have favored??? Did they even know about Echo??? Did they delight in their life free of him???

Basically. Kinda Spinel-core but getting abandoned and left completely alone does that to you. Especially when the first person to find you after being abandoned is a deeply hurt and misguided teen who is probably kinda desperate for someone, anyone else to see the Ninja the way she sees them.