#an old man who's obviously not an old man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shehungers · 2 days ago

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OOOOOOH, YUI!!! this is my first review of any of your work and I know that we briefly discussed it before, but I knew when I took a peek that night that I was going to adore your writing style and I do!! this story was such a fun introduction to your writing and I'm glad this was what I went with first!

this will have little to no organization, so I apologize in advance for that.

the first thing I'll talk about is how you incorporated the fairytale au aspect of things. I know of zoro and one piece, but not enough to have an opinion on zoro's characterization in this vs canon material and so on, but the impression I received from this piece is that he's dutiful, righteous, and loyal. he may not always go about things in the right way but he has a strong conscience, tries to do the right thing, and is a good man at heart.

even tho zoro is a hunter, he fits the idea of a knight very well and I'm glad that you wrote him in as you did!! I love that he has this sort of, hm, obliviousness to the world and many things, as hinted at by him being embarrassed by mc's mischievousness in the beginning, once believing that the queen was what would be considered the epitome of beauty, and at the very end where you described him as "a boy born with a sword in his hand".

he's only ever known duty, to serve faithfully. so, throughout the story, when he's faced with mc who is set apart from past targets, that identity starts to unravel for him.

I really like mc as a character in this as well. from the beginning, there is a bit of an edge to her and a bit of inauthenticity that you make the reader aware of, but she comes across as charming and interesting to Zoro. I think the description that you gave about mc being all poisoned apples set off my "AHAAAAA" radar. she's also written as a bit mischievous, with an unusual sort of openness to her (e.g. the dancing and such) w/o really knowing zoro much at all beforehand.

the reveal at the end of her being the old witch's granddaughter, her being a witch herself, and the backstory is betrayal was done so well, so evocatively that I was thoroughly delighted by it. I'm so glad that you took that sort of route, and it really helps contextually with the rest of the story and the personality you'd built in the beginning!!!

a couple of my favorite details in this story were:

1) the mirror, mirror scene where it's mentioned that magic lies. that it will often conform to show what the user wants to see, as opposed to what it really is. that plays in very nicely at the end, again, where Zoro is like what about the heart? and mc's just like, old broad probably won't know the fuckin difference lmao.

2) the magic wine. how, for someone with no ill-intent, it will always simply be wine. but it obviously becomes malicious shapeshifting spell otherwise. that entire scene unraveled beautifully. the reactions and brief distrust were exquisite and appropriate. but, I think what I liked most about it was how he came around to his senses slowly by the eating the apple pie before launching into a panic.

the way he shuffled towards the door and used his foot to keep it open was a nice touch that stood out to me as well lmao.

admittedly, the pigsty segment was a fav as well because I love shitty men facing the consequences for shitty actions. and it's highly appropriate to turn shitty men into the pigs that they are, y'know? the realization falling on Zoro like a gradual downpour is amazing.

yet another detail I particularly enjoyed was how focused he was on mc's hands and the calluses on them. and then the smooth handles on the wooden bucket. him wondering about it, implying the countless days with it, and the many times of luring men into the woods to test them. Little things like that stand out!!!

I think you did spectacularly with the fairytale aspect of this story. you opened up the story in a remarkably potent way, like the pages of a storybook fluttering open with an omnipotent voice speaking to us before launching us into the stories within. wise words. warnings. truths.

from there on out, you certainly retained that dreamlike quality that often accomplices fairytales. it had its moments of whimsy, that saturated watercolor feel, the absurdity of the mirror and the gingerbread house and the pigsty with the berries (which is a very strong image in my head). you captured it in Zoro's attitude, his unwillingness to carry out the task for his queen and his gilded armor.

LIKE CHEFS KISSSSS

the writing itself was wondrous, elevated without being pretentious, your prose was gorgeous:

"sunshine of your smile", "midnight dark of your eyes"???? are you fucking KIDDING ME????? absolutely gorgeous. strong wordage, powerful delivery. you are not unnecessary with your descriptions. they hit just where they needed to and really lended well to this fairytale narrative

this was my other favorite:

"reverent palms", "exhaltant fingers", "wild birdwing beat of your heart..." GIIIIIRRLLLLL INSANE

your pacing and flow were excellent. I always say that if I can continuously scroll and move with my eyes as I read, and not hit a "snag" that's always a good sign that the see structure of your sentences is clean, or clear enough that I don't need to double back and reread them. I ran into absolutely zero issues.

THIS WAS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL, FUN READ, YUI!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING ME TO READ THIS BC K HAD SO MUCH FUNNNN

Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I’m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

#.reviews #.recs

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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 2 days ago

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I love that you are writing for Dr. Abbott! 🩵

Can I pretty please request him with a younger reader like mid 20’s (or just the general idea of an age gap because I love me an old man) where he finds out he’s her emergency contact. He’s obviously older & he thinks she should pick someone her age instead in case something happens to him but he’s the only one she wants in every part of her life and reassures him. I hope that makes sense & isn’t too lame!

Not lame!! Loves an older man!!! They can be so sexyyyyy!!

Listed

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x MedStudent!Reader

Summary: Dr. Jack Abbott isn’t a man who lets his guard down easily. He’s precise. Composed. Rational. But when he finds out you — bright, mid-20s, and entirely too stubborn for your own good — listed him as your emergency contact, something in him unravels. Not because he doesn’t care. But because he cares too much.

He didn’t mean to see it.

You left your chart open on the counter when you got called away to Imaging, and Jack just needed the last lab values to sign off on your pre-op clearance.

He scrolled. Found what he needed. And then his eyes caught on something else.

Emergency Contact: Dr. Jack Abbott Relationship: Personal

His brow furrowed. Personal. Not “supervisor.” Not “colleague.” Just… personal.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t bring it up that day, or the next, or even the one after that. But it stuck.

Because he knew he was older. Knew people talked. Knew that in some ways, he’d always have a foot out of the world you were still building for yourself. And part of him had convinced himself that was good. Safe.

But seeing his name there, in black and white, in a space reserved for the one person you trust when everything goes wrong—It scared the hell out of him.

He finally brought it up when you were sitting in his office after hours, half-eaten takeout between you, the city lights bleeding through the window.

You were cross-legged in his chair, scrolling through your phone and humming under your breath when he said, quietly—

“You should change your emergency contact.”

You blinked. “What?”

He kept his eyes on the food. “I saw it. On your chart. The other day.”

You tilted your head. “Okay… and?”

“I just think,” he said, voice too even, too careful, “you should pick someone closer to your age. Someone who’ll be around for a long time. Just in case.”

You stared at him. Slowly put your phone down.

“Jack.”

“I’m not saying it to be dramatic—”

“No, you’re saying it because you’re afraid,” you said, soft but sure. “That you’re not enough. Or not right. Because of the age difference. Because you think I should want someone who can run a marathon with me or go to brunch with my college friends.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look at you.

You stood up, walked around the desk, and sat on the edge in front of him. Your voice was quieter now.

“You’re the one I call when I have a bad day. When I’m scared. When I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked up at that, meeting your eyes.

You shrugged, small and honest. “Why wouldn’t I want the person I love to be the one who’s called if something happens to me?” The word love hit him like a sucker punch.

“I don’t care how old you are, Jack,” you said. “I care that you’re you.”

He swallowed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “It is.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for days. Maybe he had.

You slid your hand into his, thumb brushing his knuckles. “You’re not temporary, Jack. You’re not just the for now part of my life. You’re the forever part.”

Silence.

Then—“I’m not going to live forever,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No one does,” you replied. “But you’re here now. And that’s who I want.”

He looked at you for a long time after that. Like he was trying to find the cracks in your certainty. But there weren’t any. There never had been.

And finally, quietly—He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go.

#the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfic #the pitt #the pitt headcannon #dr jack abbott #dr jack abbot fanfic #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot imagine #dr jack abbot x reader

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maskedcrawford · 1 day ago

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I'm So Proud of You

Seunghyun x Reader

Summary: Seunghyun gets his interview with Netflix and you're more than happy to celebrate with him.

Warnings: Pure fluff and cuteness.

A/N: This was so fun to write, thank you my dear for your request and for your patience! I appreciate all y'all's love and suppport <3

Requests are OPEN

Watching your husband over the last few months slowly morph his morning routine was a pure delight. He’d gone from either reading negative media or some days completely ignoring it and the world, to watching funny memes online about his character Thanos from Squid Game. He even showed a few to your 4 year old daughter during breakfast.

Then Netflix asked him to do an interview reacting to the said memes and videos; to which he was happy to oblige. You had even ordered special Squid Game track suits with the number 230 on the back for you and your little girl to wear when he went to film the interview. He couldn't help but giggle at the two of you as he was overcome with emotion at your bold and proud support of him.

You both sat on the side lines watching his eyes light up and his smile grow as he watched; some of them familiar and some of them he’d not yet seen.

It had been a long road, you weren’t sure if Seunghyun was ever going to get back into the industry, but with Squid Game making him feel obviously very loved and appreciated, it seemed to boost his confidence more than ever.

He stood up from the chair, sauntering over to you with a confidence of the man you remembered years ago when you first met him. You couldn’t help the wide grin that splayed across your face. He was like a new man; one that remembered his place in the world, one that remembered he had a place to begin with. His smile, warm and inviting, was such a welcome change from the gloomy and dark demeanor that would grace your house hold. Not that he wanted to be that way, but Seunghyun would tell you himself that his mind was a dark place.

“They really like it,” his voice pulls your from your thoughts as he walks off set to peck your sweet glossed lips.

“They should, you did a wonderful job. I’m so proud of you, baby!” you smile.

“Good job, Appa!” your daughter pipes up and he smiles down at her. He crouches down to her level as she holds out a piece of paper to her.

“Thank you, Jagiya.” She hands him a picture she drew, it wasn’t much, a lot of random colors and lines, very 'abstract' as your husband would say. He gasps at her craftsman ship.

“Did you do this? Or was this Picasso?” Your daughter giggles clearly entertained by her father’s affection toward the art work.

“Nope, that was all her, the blues and yellows and reds, all her.” You wink at your husband who beams up at you. His heart swells in the moment, his life feels fuller than ever.

“Let’s go out to dinner, tonight. To celebrate!” You smile at he nods.

At dinner that night, Seunghyun splurges getting a bottle of wine and taking you to the fanciest restaurant in town.

“To a fresh start!” you raise your wine glass and your daughter raises her grape juice, she insisted on having a drink that looked like yours and Seunghyun being the big softy that he is, couldn’t tell her no.

“One day you’ll get the fermented grapes,” he would constantly tell her.

“What’s that mean?” you couldn’t help the giggle at her unimpressed tone.

“It’s what Eomma and I drink.” His chuckle at her innocence really did warm your heart. Every time he would say this, she would ask the same question, never caring to remember it. She's 4 after all, she has a lot on her mind between school, animal crackers, and her daily scheduled horsey play dates with your father.

You clink your glasses together gently, both of you tapping your daughters cup too.

“I’m so proud of you, Oppa,” you grin as you both sip the wine. His smile is reciprocated and you’re sure this will become one of your most favorite memories.

That night Seunghyun tucks your little girl into bed, and you watch him from the doorway, telling her a little bedtime story, about a prince who lost his way to his castle, met a lovely maiden named y/n and how she helped him find his home and purpose in life.

“Eomma, that sounds like you!” she gasps as she leans up looking past her father. You smile and nod your head.

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” you spare a knowing glace at your husband whose ears are slightly pink but his eyes are full of adoration.

“Goodnight, baby.” He kisses her forehead and you both exit the room. You cuddle up on the couch together that night, your back against his chest with a blanket draped around your legs. Some show is on in the background and your husband decides it’s time for a little more wine.

“I don’t mean to go on and on,” he begins with a blush forming on the apples of his tanned cheeks, “But I’m still just so surprised. I mean, they like me,” he chuckles and you can’t help the little giggle that comes out of your mouth. It’s like watching a kid at the candy store get everything he wanted and more. He's truly come back to life due to the love from his fans.

He tops off your glass and you smile up at him.

“Baby, you deserve it. You’ve always been wonderful, but the media, stupid as they are," you grumble and roll your eyes irritably, "Tried to make you forget it. You deserve every single ounce of love and admiration you’re getting.” You turn your body into him and put your hand on his cheek. He leans into your touch and kisses your palm.

“You’re biased,” he teases.

“Yeah, well, either way I’m going to compliment my favorite actor,” you wink and your lips collide for a gentle, featherlike kiss. One that when you both pull away he’s wearing the same grin that he had earlier in the day from the interview.

“Thank you for sticking by me through it all,” he whispers as he gazes longingly into your eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’d follow you to the ends of the Earth.” You mumble back, your heart feeling full and complete.

Tags: @topluvr @breakmeoff @loveesiren

Comment if you liked to be tagged in future fics! <3

Masterlist

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giveamadeuschohisownmovie · 3 days ago

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A collection of some of my favorite dumbass comments that I found from either the Marvel subreddits or the Marvel side of YouTube:

1) Someone was convinced Foggy is going to be revealed as Muse

2) Someone thought Adam was Muse, even though he was seen in Fisk’s cage

3) Someone asked who Adam was after four episodes of him being mentioned as Vanessa’s side guy

4) Comments about how Frank Castle is too emotional and that he should just be this emotionless dude shooting people all the time

5) This is an old one: someone said the Netflix Punisher show was too tame on violence. Just as a reminder, this was the show where a man’s eyes were gouged out after his neck was sliced open. Then, literally the next episode, a man’s face got dragged through broken glass.

6) “Daredevil needs to have more connections to the MCU, or else it’s not canon.” —> “Ew, a Ms. Marvel tie-in? I can’t believe Disney is forcing these tie-ins down our throats”

7) A variation of point 6: “Ms. Marvel’s presence would ruin the grittiness and darkness that the show is going for.”

8) “Kate Bishop should be the leader of the Avengers, not Sam Wilson.”

9) People complaining that Matt Murdock, the superhero lawyer, has episodes where he’s lawyering.

10) Remembered that Tony Stark died in Endgame but forgot Black Widow was in the movie (this was my own cousin who made this comment, smh)

11) Claims to be a fan of all the Netflix Marvel shows, but has only watched Daredevil and Punisher

12) “Who the fuck is this guy? Why is this article posted on the Marvel spoilers subreddit? How is this Marvel related?” —> article is an interview with Iain De Caestecker talking about playing Leo Fitz in Agents of SHIELD

13) “When you really think about it, Thanos’ plan was kind of whack. I mean, how would wiping out half of all life solve the problem of a lack of resources?” Hmm, it’s almost like he’s a madman and we’re not supposed to root for him since he’s obviously the villain.

14) *watches the trailer for the 1st Black Panther movie* “So, I wonder what Bucky is gonna do in the movie since the last time we saw him, he was in Wakanda…”

15) “I don’t like the 60s feel of the new Fantastic Four movie.” Movie is literally set in the 1960s.

16) “Wolverine was meant to be with Jean Grey. I should know, I read the comics. Especially the Dark Phoenix Saga.” Sadly, this one wasn’t from Reddit or YouTube, that’s from the Fox X-Men producers. Forgot which one who said it though. (EDIT: It was Simon Kinberg)

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sillygoofyqueer · 8 hours ago

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@ca-the-nerd your wish is my command!!! Okay so AU where A-Yuan has been adopted by music teacher Lan Zhan who is also composer Lan Wangji but doesn't really do much composing outside of a hobby anymore, because of the kid. ANYWAY, everyone has always asked A-Yuan who his mama is, and so obviously A-Yuan has asked Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan (who has actually explained adoption as best he can to a four year old) is like "uhhhh...I'm working on it." So A-Yuan just assumes that Lan Zhan is tryna pick out the perfect the perfect mama for him, and also goes on the lookout for a possible mama! Completely unrelated to this situation, A-Yuan is in love with this show called "Evil Inc." that portrays actor Wei Wuxian as the Yiling Patriarch, a competent and would-be scary villain if he was not surrounded by silly henchmen that accidentally muck up his plans in their attempts to be helpful! (He loves them all anyway, ushering them along like how a mama cat looks after her kittens). The four year old toddler watches this show EVERY DAY, sees this guy being the nicest man to the ones who are stopping him from taking over the world, starts telling anyone who asks that the Yiling Patriarch is his mama. At first, everyone's like "awwh, is he now?" and laughs it off, but then he starts drawing pictures about it and everything and then the teachers are like "this is getting annoying", turn to Lan Zhan and are like (smug and RUDE because booo bad nursery) "we know you're an adoptive father all on your own but you have to teach your kid about lying." Lan Zhan of the Lan clan family with many rules against lying is so offended because his child does not lie, so he decides that he'll MAKE A-Yuan's desire a truth! Cut to Lan Zhan staring at Wei Wuxian's Instagram or whatever and being like "hmmm...am I about to do this?" and Nie Huaisang, who is there for moral support (and also to hide from his brother after spending so much money on a game), is like "yes you are." Lan Zhan messages Wei Wuxian being like "this is likely an unconventional message for someone of your calibre to receive, but I was wondering if you could pretend to be dating me because my son (picture attached below) is telling everyone that the Yiling Patriarch is his mother and everyone is accusing him of lying. He is not a liar, he just wishes to fit in." Meanwhile, Wei Ying, who scrolls through his Instagram messages sometimes for the shits and giggles, receives this message, sees the kid and is like "I would literally do anything for this precious kid." Cue him responding to Lan Zhan as if he isn't a famous actor and consequently coming up with a whole plan for Wei Ying to come down and hang out with them just to PROVE THE HATERS WRONG!!!! Also so Wei Ying can get a break from his hectic life. Just pretend to date for this kid's benefit, hang out in public together with A-Yuan, go to parent events together, start hanging out in private, fall in love- Waaaiiit.....that wasn't part of the PLAN!

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danadiadea · 2 days ago

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Idk why is the OP answering to my takes while not reblogging my post, but I'd like add to maxdibert's answer a bit, more about OP's misinterpretation and lies about the canon rather then about their victimblamey logic that denies the existence of reasons behind people behaviours, and the difference between the words "affected" and "determined" which is rather obvious to a 6 years old.

JAMES started the conflict on the train by striding into snily conversation, insulting Slytherin and confronting Snape when he made a "small disparaging noise" on James’ comments he literally had never asked for. Only then does Snape make a remark on Gryffindor, after that Sirius insults him, Lily suggests to leave the conflict and Severus complies. James and Sirius mock Lily, try to make Severus trip and give him a sexist nickname then. I'd politely suggest you to reread the books before adressing them. Also Snape is MUGGLE RAISED, what context are you talking about? Do you think his muggle father was subscribed to the Daily Prophet? He had known some stuff his mum told him, but he obviously didn't have access to fresh wizarding press. You seem to be chronically unable to see other people perspectives, truly.

YES, James DID bully other people, not only Snape! This is canon! And Snape fans talk about it all the time because it proves that a) James was an arrogant toerag b) him bullying Snape was never about the war or the ideology, but about mistreating others because he could. James hexed people for the fun of it and he was gross with or without considering Snape. This literally is a crown of anti-James' arguments.

Anyway, the first wizarding war had barely started at their first year, and a boy like James had no way of witnessing any war horrors to the extent it'd dehumanise him, at worst he'd read about some violence in press just like you do every day. Stop throwing the word "dehumanise" around like it holds no weight.

Harry does not reject violence at all, he is violent multiple times though the series, the only thing about him is that he refuses to kill. And you have severe problems with analysis, because James being a bully isn't narratively connected to the war anywhere in the text ever.

You know who is a character that made an extremely hard right choices every day, for 18 years, working to defeat Voldemort, except having everything to lose and nothing to win? Severus fucking Snape. He would've been justified if he gave no fucks about the woman who married his abuser and their son to me, but he did. Snape is a textbook example of doing right choices in circumstances where it requires inhumane effort, and not Sirius Black. Snape was choosing to work for people who mistreated him, to defend a boy who looked like his abuser's carbon copy, to be loyal to a man who silenced his murder attempt, to implement the plan on killing Voldemort all alone during his Headmaster year, being seen as a traitor and knowing he'd have to betray Lily by sending her son to die. If you are so enamoured with that dumb neoliberal idea that "everyone can make good choises, if someone doesn't it means they didn't try", then Severus Snape should be hoisted on your flag. Sirius chose... to stick to his best friend's (inherited from his parents) political option with full material stability and "morally correct" people supporting him, having fun while motorcycle racing with death eaters (see: Harry potter prequel). Oh yes, a real hero of overcoming the circumstances. And made exclusively amazing choices too, like let's say using his disabled friend as a weapon against a classmate he disliked. Frankly, sticking to a harmful political ideology as a dumb teen for a couple of years, when it's common enough so that even after the war the wizards chose a mild blood purist Fudge as a minister, is literally not morally worse in any way.

Saying that crimes of people who fight against harmful ideologies are less then crimes is absolutely fucking ridiculous. My greatgrandmother was raped by a soviet soldier who fought against nazi invasion, and an ethnicity she belonged to was seen as "traitorous" and "siding with nazis" in soviet propaganda. Was that better somehow then being raped by a nazi? Was that rapist morally good for being against nazism? You have literally no idea what are you talking about. Your naive talks about "good" and "bad" sides are laughable – there are the whole lot of people who fight against toxic ideologies because this is a way for them to inflict violence on others; who join not because they are morally good people, but because this closes their own practical ar psychological needs. Justifying stripping a 16yo boy naked – a halfblood, muggle raised, poor boy, whose only crime was to be in Slytherin, he didn't fucking genocide or invade or kill anyone, what the fuck was James supposed to "forgive" or "understand" him for?? if anything, Snape being condemned by the narrative for not forgiving James and Sirius is "absolute forgiveness" propaganda – because Marauders, who basically saw only their homes and Hogwarts, were supposedly "dehumanised by war", makes a huge disfavour to people who are actually living through war experiences (to me personally, if you will). The war doesn't invalidate abuse, even if they did bully Snape for being affiliated with the DEs – which they canonically DIDN'T, James explicitly says that he bullies Snape for existing, Sirius and Lily confirm it – it wouldn't make abusing him correct! You masturbate on the idea of unlimited free will so hard, but to NOT abuse Snape wasn't a choice James could make? Understanding that devoiding someone of safe spaces and targeting them wouldn't make one more likely to not join Voldemort, and instead trying to help them or at least leave them alone is something "free will" doesn't spread onto?

And to adress your first point – I see absolutely enermous amount of people in my FYP who say that James and Snape had a "rivalry", that Snape deserved to be bullied for learning Dark Magic or for being a "nazi" or for "stalkering" Lily etc. I am pretty sure I am not hallucinating, yk? Those are the takes marauders fandom repeats religiously to ignore that James Potter was nothing but an arrogant jerk who gave at least one of his victims a trauma just because he could, and never once considered how it might affect them. He was not a child of Satan – he was a typical privileged garbage who was sure he had the right to mistreat others, and he disgusts me just as every real life privileged garbage mistreating others for fun does, regardless of their political views.

Isn’t that funny that Snape stans are obsessed w James as much as Snape himself was obsessed with him

#anti james potter #severus snape meta

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 2 days ago

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114 for 🍎:

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Old friend? Like, from his childhood? Someone who knows a part of Eddie no one else knows? Buck hates them. He hates them! They get to know Eddie. They got more years with Eddie. They get to be here with Eddie when Buck is not!

Wait.

Buck cannot spiral about Eddie’s friendships right now. He came here to spiral about Bobby. He can worry about Eddie replacing him later.

Eddie guides Buck into the house, towards the living room. There is a very handsome man sitting on Eddie’s couch. Like a smoke show, really. Cheekbones and sharp features and… Yeah. Eddie, bless him, probably has no idea how hot his friend is.

“Uh, Manuel, this is Buck,” Eddie says. “Buck just drove from LA because of a, uh, family emergency, so-”

“Say no more,” Manuel smiles, standing. “Nice to meet you, Buck. Eddie, we’ll catch up later.”

Buck doesn’t look at Manuel. He looks at Eddie’s coffee table, where there are two stemless glasses of red wine.

Weird.

Eddie drinks beer with his friends. Maybe tequila. Why is he drinking wine with this guy? Obviously this guy, this Manuel, doesn’t get Eddie. Buck’s doubt is assuaged.

“Bye, Manuel,” Buck says, waving.

Manuel raises a curious eyebrow, but allows Eddie to walk him out. They say a quick goodbye, then Manuel is gone.

Eddie shuts the door and walks back to where Buck is still just standing, staring at him.

“So, by old friend, how old?” Buck asks. “Like, is this your childhood best friend, or…”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Seriously? You drove across the country with the news that our captain is your biological father only to ask me about how I know Manuel? Nothing I say could be nearly as interesting as what you’re holding onto.”

“You’re right,” Buck says.

“You sit down, I’ll grab beers,” Eddie instructs.

“Not wine?” Buck teases.

Eddie’s cheeks go a bit pink. “Nope. This calls for beer.”

🍎

“Charles Timothy Nash, likely uncle?” Eddie reads the DNA profile match.

Buck nods. “Bobby’s brother. He doesn’t have any other siblings. I’d just met the guy, coincidentally.”

“Wow,” Eddie exhales. “What did Bobby say?”

“Nothing,” Buck replies. “I didn’t tell him.”

“What?” Eddie demands. “Why the hell not?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Buck asks, jaw tensing.

“No!” Eddie exclaims. “Buck, this is the same Bobby who was there for you when you found out you were adopted. Who stood by you through all your injuries when your parents were nowhere to be seen. He already loves you. You already know him. This is a good thing!”

“That’s the exact reason it’s a bad thing!” Buck insists.

“Literally how?” Eddie asks.

“Because he gave me away!” Buck shouts. His eyes spill over with tears. “He is the first person who ever made me feel like I had a home or a place in the world, and it turns out he’s also the first person to leave me.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump. “Buck… He would have been young.”

“Older than you with Chris,” Buck states.

“Yeah, and I’ve done a great job,” Eddie huffs.

“You have,” Buck argues. “Because he knows you love him, even if he’s mad.”

Eddie sighs. “I think you owe it to yourself to hear his side of this. We didn’t even know he had another kid. Maybe he doesn’t either?”

Buck hadn’t considered that. Did Bobby used to be the kind of guy who could get a woman pregnant and not realize? Buck used to be that kind of guy. There’s not a zero percent chance he has a kid out there he doesn’t know about. Maybe he inherited the behavior…

But it doesn’t sit right with Buck. The image he has of Bobby isn’t someone who would ever be like that. Catholic, responsible, very monogamous. But clearly there’s a huge part of Bobby that Buck just doesn’t know at all.

Then there’s the other thing.

What if Bobby finds out, and he’s disappointed? What if Buck is fine as a friend, a coworker, an employee, but not as a son? Buck can and has handled rejection from a lot of people. Including his parents. But he thinks coming from Bobby, it just might kill him.

“No,” Buck says. “I’m not telling him.”

Eddie sighs. “I mean, it’s your choice.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “It is.”

“But, for the record, I think it would go well.”

“Can I stay here for a bit?” Buck asks, ignoring that.

Eddie nods. “You can always stay here, Buck.”

#daisies and briars writes #for all the love you've left behind fic

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yanderedrabbles · 1 day ago

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Yandere Movie Week [review]

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Yandere Scale: 8/10

Overall Rating: 7/10

Fear does exactly what it's supposed to. Not perfectly by any means, but well enough that I don't mind spending an hour and a half in its world.

A very fun world too - cute fashion, a great score, pleasing cinematography and a male lead who slowly becomes more despicable the longer the film goes on. Alyssa Milano, Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon look incredible the entire movie. And I guess their acting isn't bad either.

We start off with a man out on a jog. And we know it's going to be a thriller because a) shaky cam and b) very dramatic music just two minutes in. Great start. After that, we're introduced to Nicole (Reese Witherspoon), a high schooler with a slightly strained relationship with her dad and teenage angst lite.

She's cute. The girl next door with a daddy's girl bracelet and a kid brother who loves her. If she didn't have the bad luck of running into a bad man, I'd say things would have worked out just dandy.

But no such luck. Not for you kid.

Enter David.

He walks on screen to audible screams from the audience (me). He's hot. And the way he's introduced is hot. Shady bar, music in the background, leather jacket delinquents playing pool. From the get go, he screams bad boy. Rubbing (read: jerking off) his pool cue - at hip height - while looking at our female lead? C'mon, that's too easy.

I won't go into detail, but they obviously end up in a relationship. And it's hot stuff. At one point, he has his hand up her her skirt while they're on a rollercoaster. Yeah, we all see the symbolism. Coming (down) must be pretty fun on a ride like that, huh Nic?

It's not great the entire movie - their first conversation is stilted and awkward, filled with clichés. But the build up in tension is what does it for me.

There are plenty of little things that tip you off from the get go. David isn't as nice as he seems, not by a long shot.

It starts with a few tense looks between him and Nicole's dad. Just a father being a bit picky, right? Nope. He turns back the office clock so he can have a little more time with Nicole before curfew. He flirts with her best friend. He tells Nicole to, "Get me a coke." Bossy. Commanding.

I'll be honest, if I didn't know the synopsis of the film, I'd say dear old dad was being overly protective. Nope. Those red flags are about as red as they can get.

When things start going off the rails, the movie handles it pretty well. The scenes are decently tense, even though they're missing that little bit of careful handling that would make them terrifying.

As a yandere, David does everything you'd expect. He's manipulative. He's violent. He doesn't know where to draw the line in anything. Oh, and he's hot. Did I mention that already?

He's a Levi's and t-shirt kind of guy, with a great car, a nice voice, and biceps you want to sink your teeth into. When it comes to deranged stalkers, you can do a LOT worse.

The third act is a ball of a time. There's room for it to have been a bit more tense - it suffers from being a little too short, the twists not having enough time to breathe. The pace doesn't feel quick in the so much happening, I'm at the edge of my seat sort of way, but in the oh no, we only have the budget for thirty more minutes of run time sort of way.

Still, it's very enjoyable. David says and does plenty of very yandere things. I'm absolutely stealing some of his lines.

In terms of style, the movie is a knockout. I think it's a big part of what carries my recommendation. The cinematography is really pleasing, with lots of reds and dark greens. Very 'Seattle on a rainy day.' The sound track is totally 90's, with a nice mix of rock, pop and indie. It gives the movie a sense of place and time that exponentially improves the story.

How does it hold up as a piece of yandere media? It doesn't do anything radical or new, but the classics it sticks to are done well enough that it's worth the watch.

Oh, and David is very hot. I don't know if I mentioned that.

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

#Yandere Movie Week Reviews #Yandere #Yandere x Reader #Yandere Movies #yandere blog

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jianghushenanigans · 2 days ago

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In defence of Shan Gudao

I can hear what you’re thinking. “Shan Gudao??? What the fuck is wrong with you???”

In my defence. Well. People defend the actions of villains who have done much worse with less valid motivations.

Look at him. He's crying. (Granted he's about to throw his son in a murder pit but still.)

TO CLARIFY I am not denying that Shan Gudao did things that are bad. He’s in general not a great guy. I’m just saying that a lot of what he does is reasonably understandable given everything that happens to him. This is very tongue-in-cheek and should only be taken as seriously as you want to. But also I’d kill for more fics/meta/etc that dealt with Shan Gudao as a 3D character with complex motivations (Which he can be!!!!! If you try hard enough!!!!!)

Warning: here be spoilers. (Obviously)

Things that Shan Gudao does that are Not Good: abandoning his preganant not-girlfriend; bullying a disabled child; joining the evil foreigners; not dying even when he said he did; killing his shifu; and throwing his son in a murder pit.

Abandoning his not-girlfriend and unborn child

To begin: casual sex is not a crime. Sleeping with the girl who won’t stop following you around and is clearly has a crush on you a bit of a dick move, but the first thing Shan Gudao actually says to He Xiaolan, as per the flash back, is something along the lines of ‘you’re bad at martial arts and should go home’. He’s not her keeper, he’s not her babysitter, he’s not her lover. She falls in love with him – because she’s into negging, apparently – but they don’t actually have any sort of two-sided relationship going on at any point.

(And honestly who can blame her for falling in love. The man looks like this. He should never have grown that moustache.)

He Xiaolan returned to Tianji Manor ‘heartbroken and pregnant’. But, notably, she didn’t actually tell Shan Gudao about Fang Duobing. He didn’t know his son even existed. This screams, ‘he finally agreed to sleep with her after she kept following him around, and when he still didn’t return her feelings after that she realised it was over and finally gave up’. He didn’t abandon her: she left him. If she left him because he didn’t return her feelings, this… isn’t really his fault? The most he could be blamed for is not communicating his feelings but honestly we don’t get to see much of them at all and what we do hear about them suggests that He Xiaolan was the one doing the chasing and he wasn’t encouraging her.

Sidebar: I’m aro + ace and the idea of blaming Shan Gudao for not returning He Xiaolan’s feelings makes me feel kinda ill. To clarify I am not blaming He Xiaolan in this situation either. It’s fucky for everyone involved.

Also, Shan Gudao did not grow up with healthy relationships to model. We don’t know much about his upbringing other than that he was living on the streets until he was around 12 or 15 or however the timeline works when Qi Mushan found Li Xiangyi, and even if we did know about that, he doesn’t remember it. The only ‘romantic’ relationship he has actually ever seen is whatever the hell was going on between Qi Mushan and Qin Po. He might not have even recognised that He Xiaolan actually had romantic feelings about him, because his only example was a couple who used their two disciples as a way of fighting each other.

And finally regarding this point: eight years after Fang Duobing is born, when Shan Gudao finds out that he does in fact have a son, he wants to take him with him. This is not the move of someone who willingly abandoned his pregnant not-girlfriend. Obviously he does change his mind when he actually meets Fang Duobing, which leads us to…

Bullying his disabled eight year old son

Yeah this one’s pretty indefensible, other than the fact that Shan Gudao never had a father/uncle/shifu/parental figure who ever said anything nice to him either so he didn’t really know any better. This is a reason but not a justification. Stop being an arsehole to the child.

Joining Feng Qing and the Nanyin rebels and attempting to take the throne

Picture, for a moment, that you woke up with no memories in some guy’s house, and he says he’s your shifu now, and this 5 year old who says you’re his older brother. And then your shifu begins training you and it’s not only immediately obvious that this 5 year old is better than you at martial arts, but also your shifu does not like you and does not want you in his house and only took you in because of this child who he thinks is the best thing that ever happened to him. And you grow up and this child continues to show you up in every way and gets lots of praise for it and your shifu thinks you’re such a burden to train he gives you to his wife so they can use the children as a way to compete with each other.

And then you leave home and some guy sees this token which is literally the only thing you own that you had with you when you woke up with no memories, and says ‘You’re important. You’re the person we’ve been looking for all this time. We want you with us. You deserve the world’.

Like, I’m sorry. Who wouldn’t say yes in this situation? Shan Gudao, neglected and ignored and alone in the jianghu, was ripe to be groomed for this sort of thing. Why wouldn’t he get swept up in the daze of finally being someone that mattered to someone other than a child?

As far as literally everyone other than his shifu and shiniang are aware, Feng Qing is telling him the truth. But because they didn’t bother to tell even Li Xiangyi about this, let alone the other boy they didn’t even want, there was literally no way anyone could have known any better.

And the truth is, the descendant of Consort Xuan/Nanyin heir did have a right to the throne by blood in a way that the present Emperor of Da Xi very much did not. And how would Nanyin get the throne back if not by a coup? If the heroes had been the ‘true heirs’ to a throne then the coup would have been presented as a good thing to do. But I digress.

Joining Feng Qing and attempting to claim the throne he was led to believe was rightfully his actually makes sense given everything we know about Shan Gudao. They gave him a family and a home in a way that the dysfunctional shit going on on Yunyin Mountain never managed to provide.

Faking his own death

Technically not really a crime. Yeah Li Xiangyi got a bit sad about it but then we wouldn’t have got to see Cheng Yi weeping as he cradled his shixiong’s corpse in his arms. So really, we should all be thanking Shan Gudao for his totally normal and rational plans.

Killing his shifu

This is, technically, the worst crime that Shan Gudao actually commits. This being said. Looking at it from Shan Gudao’s point of view, Qi Mushan deserved it actually. I have already ranted about the fucked up way Qi Mushan and Qin Po raised their disciples and especially Shan Gudao and there’s no need to rehash all of it. But there are always a few extra things I have to say about Shan Gudao and his fuck-ass shifu.

At the end when Shan Gudao is, unsurprisingly, having a massive breakdown about how everything he has been told and made part of his personality for the past twenty years has all be a lie, Li Lianhua says ‘no one was ever competing with you’. And to an extent this is true. Li Xiangyi was not competing with him, from his point of view: they were just training together. But Qi Mushan and Qin Po were competing with him each other using him. For Li Xiangyi, the younger child, the always-victor, this had the effect of bolstering his pride and arrogance, but being young (and proud and arrogant) he wouldn’t necessarily have noticed anything else about it. For Shan Gudao, who was forced to always compete with this child he could never beat, who was the tool that meant Qin Po would never be able to win? No wonder this fucked him up immensely.

When Qin Po finally decides to bother telling Li Lianhua about his heritage, she looks at Shan Gudao and LAUGHS at him and says ‘do you really think you were a nobleman from Nanyin? You were just a little beggar Qi Mushan and I took from a group of beggars’. Like wow, I can’t believe you have delusions of grandeur despite the fact that everyone in a position to know anything about you either refused to tell you anything or genuinely believed what they told you to be true. You pathetic beggar child. You should have known your place.

He should have killed her also xoxox

Throwing Fang Duobing into his torture-dungeon-pit-thing

This was also reasonably uncalled for. He’s not a particularly great dad. Do we blame this on the fact that Fang Duobing, like everyone else, chose Li Xiangyi over Shan Gudao? (If so that’s definitely on Shan Gudao, no wonder he didn’t pick you, stop bullying children) Or do we blame this, once again, on his shifu and shiniang using him as a tool to fight each other with? I will choose the latter for the sake of making a point.

ONE FINAL NOTE

Shan Gudao was looking after Li Xiangxian and Li Xiangyi on the streets. This child in episode 30, who is buying food for Li Xiangyi,

is the same as this child in episode 39, who is Shan Gudao.

He’s not someone who was inherently incredibly selfish. He wouldn’t have wasted his own resources on taking care of an unrelated child otherwise. He got an illness that gave him a brain injury bad enough that he forgot his entire past, and then was raised in competition with Li Xiangyi, however much Li Xiangyi was unaware of it.

In conclusion: everything is Qi Mushan’s fault. Thank you for coming to my TED talk

#mysterious lotus casebook #mysterious lotus casebook meta #shan gudao #i wrote this on sunday and then went to upload it after sleeping on it for a few days and the realised i totally forgot about the whole arc #where he murders a small child to get his hands on that unbreakable metal to make himself armour and his brother a sword #like come on sgd i'm trying my BEST here can you not be awful for like five minutes?

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worlds-we-write · 18 hours ago

Text

Beneath the Ashen Sky

Chapter 3:The Breaking Point

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader summary: A new threat puts Jackson on edge, forcing hard decisions and stirring old instincts. As tension builds, you and Joel find yourselves on uncertain ground—closer than ever, but still holding back. Chapter WC: 3.3K Tags: slow burn, protective!Joel, stubborn!reader, emotional tension, Joel Miller x reader, post-outbreak Jackson, unspoken feelings, almost confession, grumpy x grumpy, mutual pining, power struggle, soft angst, near-kiss, building chemistry, hurt/comfort elements, raider threat, Joel being Joel™.

Series Masterlist

Joel wasn’t a man who ran from things.

Not from fights. Not from hard choices.

But this?

You?

This was something else entirely.

Since the moment he muttered those words – I can’t lose you – Joel had done everything in his power to ignore them. To pretend they never left his mouth. To act like nothing had changed.

So, he did what he always did when something felt too big, too raw, too dangerous.

He shut it down.

He avoided you.

Not obviously – not enough for people to start asking questions. But enough that you’d notice.

When you passed by him in the town square, instead of his usual nod or gruff acknowledgement, he’d look away first.

When he heard your voice in a crowded room, he’d force himself to walk the other way.

When Maria mentioned your name – asked how you were doing, asked if he’d checked in on you – he just grunted, kept his head down, kept his hands busy.

That was the key. Keeping busy.

If his hands were moving, his mind wasn’t.

So, he worked.

Did double patrols.

Fixed every damn thing that needed fixing.

Helped Tommy reinforce the town’s perimeter, even though they didn’t really need it.

Anything to keep his mind from wandering.

Anything to keep your voice from creeping in.

Anything to stop the memory of your blood on his hands from replaying every time he closed his eyes.

But it didn’t work.

Because no matter how much he distracted himself, he still saw you everywhere.

Still heard you.

Still thought about the way your fingers had clutched his shirt, weak and trembling, the way your lips had parted slightly when you whispered his name in the infirmary.

“Joel…”

Just thinking about it made his chest go tight, his hands clench into fists.

He told himself it was just leftover adrenaline.

Told himself he was just pissed that you got hurt.

Told himself that was all it was.

But deep down, he knew better.

And so did Maria.

Joel should have known Maria would notice.

She saw everything.

So it wasn’t a surprise when she cornered him near the armory one afternoon, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“You avoiding her?” she asked casually.

Joel stiffened. “Ain’t got time for this, Maria.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “Right. That why you’ve been keeping your distance all week?”

Joel gritted his teeth. “Ain’t your business.”

Maria tilted her head. “Yeah? ‘Cause last I checked, when someone damn near bleeds out on our land, and you look at ‘em like the world’s about to end – make it kinda hard not to notice.”

Joel felt his jaw clench.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t know how.

Maria sighed, stepping closer. “Look, whatever you’re trying to do – pushing her away, pretending this ain’t a problem – you think its working?”

Joel glared. “Ain’t nothin’ to push away.”

Maria laughed softly, shaking her head. “Sure, Joel. Keep telling yourself that.”

And with that, she walked off.

Leaving Joel standing there, chest tight, mind racing, fists clenched.

Because she was right.

And he hated that.

Even after all that, even after forcing himself to stay away, to act like it didn’t matter…

He still found himself looking for you.

Not on purpose. Not really.

But his eyes still drifted toward the stables when he passed by.

His head still tilted slightly when he heard your voice from across the town square.

And when he saw you struggling to lift something, pushing yourself too damn hard when you were supposed to be recovering –

That was when he broke.

Healing was frustrating.

The wound on your side was deep, but the town’s doctor had done a good job patching you up. You were sore, stiff, and moving slower than usual, but you were alive. And after surviving alone for so long, after years of learning to rely on yourself, the last thing you wanted was for people to start treating you like you were helpless.

So, the second you felt steady enough, you got back to work.

At first, you stuck to small things – sweeping the stables, organizing supplies, anything to stay busy. Then, when that wasn’t enough, you started lifting, carrying, fixing – trying to shake the feeling that you were just taking up space.

You weren’t the only one who noticed.

Joel did, too.

But instead of saying something, instead of calling you out directly, he hovered.

It started out subtle – him standing near the stables longer than necessary, showing up at the town’s workshop at the same time as you, sitting at the far end of the bar when you were helping stock bottles.

Then, it became more obvious.

Every time you struggled, Joel was there.

When you reached for a sack of grain that was too heavy, he grabbed it first.

When you lifted a wooden crate, his hands were already on it before you could protest.

When you climbed onto a ladder to secure a loose beam in the stables, he was suddenly at the base of it, arms crossed, watching like he expected you to fall at any moment.

You let it go at first.

But when it kept happening – over and over – you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you following me, Miller?” you asked one afternoon when you caught him leaning against a post outside the stables, watching as you brushed down one of the horses.

Joel didn’t blink. “Nope.”

You gave him a flat look. “Really? Because it kinda seems like everywhere I go, you’re there.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight. “Ain’t my fault you keep doin’ stupid shit when you’re still injured.”

Your blood simmered. “I’m fine.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. “You ain’t fine. You’re barely healed, and you’re already pushin’ yourself too damn hard.”

Your grip on the brush tightened. “I don’t need you watching me like I’m gonna drop dead any second.”

“You almost did,” Joel said quietly.

His words knocked the breath out of you.

You hadn’t expected him to say it like that.

For a second, neither of you moved.

The only sound was the distant hum of Jackson – the wind against the rooftops, the faint murmur of people in the square.

Joel’s gaze was steady, unreadable. But there was something in his eyes – something dark and unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

Something that told you he wasn’t just saying this to piss you off.

He was saying it because he meant it.

Because he was still thinking about it.

Still thinking about how close you had come to not making it back.

Your fingers clenched. “I’m not weak, Joel.”

He exhaled sharply. “I never said you were.”

“Then stop treating me like I am.”

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Ain’t about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

Silence.

Long. Heavy. Tense.

Joel looked like he wanted to say something, like the words were right there on the tip of his tongue – but then, just as quickly as it came, he swallowed it down.

Instead, he just shook his head, turned on his heel, and walked away.

No explanation. No argument.

Nothing.

And that?

That pissed you off even more.

The next time you saw Joel, it was in the workshop.

You had been lifting a wooden crate, wincing slightly at the pull in your side when – he was there.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t ask if you needed help.

Just took the crate right out of your hands, as if he’d been waiting for you to push yourself too hard.

“Joel,” you started, exasperated.

But the moment you turned, you realized how close he was.

Close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw, the crease between his brows, the flecks of gray in his beard.

Close enough that his body heat pressed against yours, even in the cold air of the workshop.

Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of wood, leather, and something deeper – something purely Joel.

Your breath hitched.

Joel stilled.

The crate was still between you, but his hands hadn’t moved.

Neither had yours.

Your fingers were almost touching,

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

You should’ve pulled away.

You should’ve stepped back, made a sarcastic comment, broken the moment before it turned into something else.

But you didn’t.

And neither did he.

Joel’s gaze flickered.

First to your face.

Then – lower.

Your lips.

Your stomach flipped.

He didn’t move. Didn’t lean in.

But you could feel it – the pull.

It was right there, hanging in the air between you, electric, and suffocating.

If you moved even a fraction of an inch closer, you knew – knew – what would happen.

And you didn’t know if you wanted to stop it.

Your pulse pounded.

Your fingers twitched against the edge of the crate.

And then –

Joel stepped back.

Fast. Abrupt. Too sharp.

Like he had just caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.

“Be careful next time,” he muttered, voice low, almost strained.

Then – he was gone.

And you?

You stood there, stunned, breathless, completely wrecked.

Because now, there was no denying it.

Whatever this was between you and Joel – it was real.

And sooner or later? It was going to break.

The nights in Jackson were quiet.

Most people were inside by sundown, fires burning low in the hearth, the town settling into an easy rhythm of safety and routine. But you couldn’t sleep.

Your body ached from the slow healing of your wound, but it wasn’t the pain that kept you awake.

It was him.

Joel.

The way he’d been watching you. The way he hovered, making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard. The way he stepped too close, touched too lightly, lingered too long.

The way he had looked at you in the workshop—his eyes heavy, his fingers grazing yours, his breath just a little too uneven.

He’d pulled away before anything could happen.

But you weren’t stupid.

He wanted it.

Just like you did.

And that?

That scared the hell out of you.

You wrapped your coat around yourself and stepped outside, breathing in the crisp night air. The sky was cloudless, the moon casting a pale glow over the quiet streets. You walked toward the wooden railing near the town square, resting your arms against it, letting your mind drift.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Familiar. Measured.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Joel.

"You shouldn’t be out here alone." His voice came from behind you, rough and low.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the distant lights of the watchtower. "I could say the same to you."

A beat of silence. Then—the sound of boots on wood as he stepped closer, standing just a few feet away.

"You should be resting."

You smirked, glancing at him over your shoulder. "You should stop acting like I’m gonna drop dead if I step outside."

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. But you knew him well enough now.

He was biting his tongue.

Trying to keep something in.

"You ain’t takin’ this seriously," he muttered finally.

Your smirk faltered. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Joel shifted, his fingers curling against the wood of the railing. "You almost died, and now you’re walkin’ around like it never happened. Like it don’t matter."

"It does matter," you shot back, turning to face him fully. "But I’m not gonna let it stop me from living my life."

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Dammit, you don’t get it."

"Then make me understand."

Your words hung in the air, thick and charged.

Joel stilled.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then—he stepped closer.

The distance between you shrank to almost nothing.

Your pulse jumped.

You could see every detail of him in the dim light—the crease between his brows, the rough line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. His eyes were dark, searching yours, and there was something raw there.

Something unspoken.

"You think this is easy for me?" His voice was lower now, rougher. Like he hated admitting it.

Your throat went dry. "What?"

Joel’s gaze flickered—to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Watchin’ you get hurt. Almost losin’ you. You think I just—" He exhaled harshly, like he was struggling to find the words. "I can’t—"

He cut himself off.

But he didn’t move away.

And neither did you.

You should have.

You should have laughed it off, made a joke, broken the moment before it turned into something else.

But instead—

You leaned in.

Just slightly.

Just enough to see if he’d stop you.

Joel didn’t.

His breath hitched—so faint, so barely noticeable that if you weren’t this close, you wouldn’t have caught it.

But you were this close.

And you did.

The air between you was thick, unsteady.

Your fingers curled against the railing, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

And then—

A door slammed somewhere down the street.

A voice called out.

And just like that, the moment shattered.

Joel pulled away so fast it felt like a slap.

The warmth of his body disappeared, replaced by the cold night air. His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides like he was angry at himself.

He took a step back.

Then another.

"This ain’t—" His voice was gritted, low. He shook his head once, muttering, "Fuck."

And then—he turned and walked away.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t say anything else.

Just left you standing there, breathless, wrecked, and completely unraveling.

Because you had been right.

He wanted it.

He just wouldn’t let himself have it.

The morning after that almost-kiss, you woke up with your head still spinning.

Joel had walked away. Again.

But this time felt different.

This time, you had felt him lean in too. Had seen the way his eyes darkened, the way his breathing shifted, the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting every damn instinct in his body.

But he left.

Because of course he did.

Joel Miller was stubborn as hell.

But you?

You were just as bad.

And if he thought he could just walk away from what was happening between you, he had another thing coming.

Still, before you could even decide how to handle it, Jackson got hit with something bigger.

By midmorning, the tension in town was thick enough to cut with a knife.

You weren’t the only one who noticed it.

People were whispering. Maria had been seen speaking in hushed tones with some of the patrol leads. Tommy was checking weapons near the gates.

Something was wrong.

You spotted Joel near the armory, his stance tense, arms crossed, face locked into that permanent scowl of his.

Your stomach twisted.

You already knew before anyone said it out loud—danger was coming.

And Joel knew it too.

Maria called a town meeting by noon, gathering patrol leaders, volunteers, and anyone else willing to fight.

You stood near the back of the barn where the meeting was held, arms crossed, listening as Maria laid it all out.

"Spotted a group of men camped a few miles outside the perimeter," she said, voice steady. "Too close for comfort. Could be nothing—but we don’t take chances."

You felt Joel’s eyes on you before you even looked in his direction.

And when you finally met his gaze?

It was unreadable. But sharp. Focused.

Waiting.

Maria continued. "We’re doubling patrols, setting up additional security around the perimeter. Need volunteers to ride out and assess the situation."

You started to raise your hand.

And then—

Joel’s hand clamped around your wrist.

Firm. Unyielding.

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t rough, but his grip burned.

And when you looked up at him, you realized—his jaw was clenched tight, his eyes full of something sharp and unreadable.

Something dangerous.

"Don’t," Joel murmured low enough that only you could hear.

A warning.

You narrowed your eyes. "Let go, Joel."

He didn’t.

"You ain’t doin’ this," he muttered, voice like gravel.

You yanked your arm back, glaring at him. "You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do."

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Ain’t about that. You’re still hurt."

"I’m fine."

"You ain’t."

Your chest tightened. "Joel, I don’t need you to—"

"Yes, you do."

His voice came out rough. Strained.

And when you really looked at him, really looked—you saw it.

This wasn’t just about the patrol.

It was about you.

About what almost happened.

About what he was trying so damn hard to fight.

Joel’s fingers flexed at his sides, his whole body coiled tight like a live wire.

"You ain’t goin’," he repeated, quieter this time.

And for a moment, you almost backed down.

Almost.

But then, Maria spoke.

"Alright," she said. "Looks like we have enough for the first patrol group—Luke, Carter, Danny, Joel—"

Joel’s head snapped toward her.

"The hell you mean, I’m goin’?"

Maria barely blinked. "I mean you’re one of our best shots, and we need you out there."

Joel looked pissed.

You almost smiled.

So.

It was fine for you to stay behind, but when he had to sit out?

He couldn’t stand it.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear.

"Guess I’m not the only one who’s bad at listening," you murmured.

Joel glared.

You turned before he could say anything else, walking away before he could argue.

But you felt it.

The way his gaze stayed locked on you, heavy and unmoving.

Like he wanted to drag you back, hold you there, say something else.

But he didn’t.

Because Joel Miller was stubborn as hell.

And so were you.

Joel was leaving at dawn.

You knew it. He knew it.

And yet, somehow, you still found yourself outside your cabin that night, standing on your porch, watching the town settle into darkness.

You weren’t surprised when he showed up.

"Still awake?" he muttered.

You exhaled, crossing your arms. "Could ask you the same thing."

Joel leaned against the porch railing, his eyes flickering to yours. "You mad?"

You tilted your head. "You care?"

Joel’s jaw ticked.

A long silence settled between you.

Then—softly:

"You gotta stop makin’ this hard on me," he muttered.

You swallowed.

"What?"

Joel’s fingers tensed against the railing.

"You," he said, voice gritted, strained. "You keep pushin’. Keep makin’ me—" He stopped himself, exhaled sharply. "I can’t—"

Your throat went dry. "You can’t what?"

Joel didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

But you felt it.

The weight of whatever this was.

The tension. The frustration.

The undeniable pull that neither of you would acknowledge.

Not yet.

Finally, Joel cleared his throat, stepping back. "Go inside. Get some sleep."

And then—he was gone.

Just like that.

Again.

But this time?

This time, you knew he wasn’t just walking away.

He was running.

And you were going to make him stop.

AN: I’m really loving the slow burn that’s brewing between them—like they’re both standing on the edge but afraid to fall. Things are about to get even more intense in the next chapter, and I can’t wait for you to see what’s coming! As always, let me know what you think—comments, reactions, theories, or just screaming into the void with me are all welcome! 😭🔥💬 Stay tuned… things are only getting messier. 😏🖤

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nightbutterfly09 · 1 day ago

Note

Hello! your work is something! I don’t want to miss the chance to share a possible idea!

The reader is a genius striker, while he (for example, Isagi, Sae, Reo) is your most devoted fan, ready to follow you around the world. While she play in championships, he sneaks into restricted areas of stadiums to wish she luck and support she in every way possible.

English is not my native language, sorry if it is not written clearly!

Hii thank you for your request! Don't worry, english isn't my native language either!!

Apologies if it took long, I wanted to make sure I don't dissappoint TxT

Also, some others also requested some things which Im super happy about! It means a lot to me so thank you everyone. I can't guarantee speediness, but I'll do them with due time.

I hope you'll enjoy 🩷

Characters used: Yoichi Isagi, Reo Mikage, Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi

(I feel like Isagi’s got a little long.. upsiees)

_____________________________________________

Yoichi Isagi

He simply adored the striker named Y/N L/N. The thought of liking this woman even better than Noel Noa hit him like a truck. He loved both, but if he needed to decide between the two, he’d surely pick you. His girlfriend of two years.

You had a match in Rio de Janeiro, and he had one back in Japan. Regardless to him, that didn't matter. He threw that out the window without a lingering thought, and bought tickets. Sometimes you had to scold him. He is throwing his life away for you, in the literal sense.

“Yoichi! Who in their right mind would do that?” You sighed, reaching the end of the same old conversation. “I’ll play in the next one, it’ll be alright.” He protested. It’s just the same old disagreement. He wanted to fly out with you, no matter the consequences.

It wasn't that you were severely against him supporting you with all his might, you just wanted to be realistic.

The next day, there he was. With you on the plane. Sitting closely next to you. He leaned his head onto your shoulder.

“Good luck my love~” he yawns. “Luck for what?” You chuckled. For this match you needed more than just luck. The opposite team was strong. You’ve been defeated by them once, back in the day, and you can’t let them take another win. That’s straight out disrespectful. At least, that’s what you always said.

When the loud cheers for your team made the stadium erupt in shouts, whistles you bathed in the recognition. With each win, it was like you became someone more important. Your dream, to be number one wasn’t so unachievable after all. That’s how Yoichi’s gaze lingered on you.

He was watching from the stadium’s highest stands, where no one but the staff could be. He enjoyed seeing you from so high up. Because when you turned, your gazes met. Without a single soul covering anything.

The man smiled down at you and subtly waved. He looked proud. Proud of his striker. His eyes told you many unspoken words. He was like an open book, without any complicated words.

Maybe, after you’ve changed, the flight will have to be delayed. At least if he isn’t opposed. Which you guarantee he isn’t.

_____________________________________________

Reo Mikage

Everyone knew how obsessed this chameleon was with his wife-to-be. That was quite obvious even to someone who only heard of the player.

Your next match was in Italy. Japan and Italy are obviously miles away. But when you told him you’d be overseas for a month (as your training camp was also held there) he didn’t flatter an eyelid. He straight up nodded and purchased the tickets.

“What are you doing?” You asked. Flabbergasted. “I bought first class tickets.” He smiled. “Best for the best.” With a shrug he was ready to leave the topic. Not on your watch.

You grabbed his phone and quickly clicked out from the webpage. “No way. You have your job too! Not to mention the company!” You frowned at him.

“Stop looking at me like I did something horrible. I can’t just leave my girl to fly alone, live alone, and be lonely. If I have the money, I'm going. Naturally.” He didn’t falter. His voice told a thousand reasons why he can’t back down. The conversation had no further space for an argument.

Even if you really wanted to stop him, you knew it’s hopeless. Once Reo wanted something, he would be sure to bring it to his deathbed even. “Still.. what will your manager say?” You trailed off not wanting to look at him. “He’ll understand, if I have anything going on i’ll jus cancel it. If it’s a meeting, since this is the 21st century, I can just attend from my laptop. If it’s about soccer… well no one would mind me missing out for once.”

He was determined. No backing off now. His argument was fair and it was already set in stone. Still, you feel his manager. You would’ve already quit with how he acts sometimes.

The numbers were close but you ended up winning. You were the one to hit the last goal, therefore you were swimming in the glory again. The loud celebrations of the audience filled the air around you. Only when you met those dark purple eyes did the outside noise come to a halt.

He was watching you from where he wouldn’t be spotted. Perhaps, he didn’t want people to pay attention to him, when his gemstone is out there doing her best. Your heart fluttered as he smirked. The moment caged you two into your world, completely shutting out everything and everyone else.

Truthfully. You felt great that he watched you. You wanted to thank him for coming.

_____________________________________________

Michael Kaiser

The man heads over heels for his partner. Undying love, undying attachment. There was no way he could release you from his grasp. Not even for that one stupid match. Not when he was so down bad for you.

It was impossible to stop him. You were fully aware why he is so broken and damaged. But there wasn't any reason to love him less. Quite the opposite, you always thought he should be even more cherished.

But to let him accompany you for another match overseas… Now that was a little risky for you too. In the end, his decision. But he’s been missing practice, and matches frequently.

“Are you sure it’s okay to skip again?” Though it was more of a rhetorical question. With a grumble he responded not even looking up from what he busied himself with. “Don't care about others’ opinions.” “Surely your manager’s opinion counts!”

“He is there for my career, not for my private life.” With that you really couldn't argue. “Anyway, I will be at the usual spot, so find me”

And there he was. Looking straight at you as you. As you shot the ball straight into the goal.

The eyes of the world were heavy on you but the only thing you cared about was your boyfriend. He waved lazily and smiled. A rare smile coming from him. Regardless, it enchanted you each time.

_____________________________________________

Sae Itoshi

Your boyfriend was never one to show his deliberate feelings. With him everything was a little puzzle. When it came to them anyway.

The only thing he was brave to show was his love for soccer. He always bought every merch of yours. He wouldn't admit it but when he was far away from you he often wore those signed shirts.

No one could imagine he’d go crazy over a player but ever since the first time he’s seen you he always hoped he could someday pass the ball to you. That was when he first saw you in Spain.

Ever since then, playing as a midfielder was for the sole purpose of passing to you. Even if he knew that's impossible.

He was overjoyed when he and you started talking. First it was only about your jobs, but later it all got a little deeper.

At every match you had, no matter where it was, the soccer addict was willing to shake up all the priorities he set in stone. All for a girl. All for Y/N L/N. All for his girlfriend.

He was there each time, hiding from the watchful eyes so all the glory could be yours. Because he was sure that if he were to appear people would take their eyes off of you. You didn't ever deserve that.

He needed everyone to look at you. To be amazed by you. He needed to see everyone’s gaze locked onto you. Even if he wanted you just to himself. Even if he hated sharing.

#f!reader #have fun reading #bllk x you #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #fanfic #blue lock fanfiction #isagi yoichi #isagi x reader #reo mikage #reo mikage x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader

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