#he needs to be in the woods or else he’ll DIE

[teastarfall]

art dump before i go to bed snore mimimimi snore mimimimi

[s1llysmut]

NSFW Alphabet for Lucifer

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is immediately asking you if you need anything, getting you water, snacks, running you both a bath, cuddles. Surprisingly if you take a bath with him it won’t lead to more sex unless you initiate it. Don’t get me wrong, he loves having sexy time with you but he also loves those intimate moments after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favourite body part of himself is probably his tongue. He considers himself quite talented when it comes to oral. His favourite body part of yours is definitely your thighs. He LOVES to squeeze them and have his head between them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He LOVES to cum inside of you. He literally begs you for it every single time.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves to be pegged. Honestly is that really a secret though?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He is extremely experienced. I mean come on this is the king of hell we’re talking about, of course he knows what he’s doing! How else did he pull Lilith AND Eve?!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves missionary because he can see your beautiful face but he also loves being ridden. He just loves when you use him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely allows himself and you to be goofy. However if it’s your first time together and you laugh at a mistake he makes he might get a little insecure.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t shave but he does keep it well trimmed. It’s blonde like his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is extremely romantic. He is such a sap I swear to god. He would unironically do those cliche rose petals and candles. Don’t laugh at him okay? He’s trying to be a good partner.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I have a feeling he gets morning wood like every single damn morning so I feel like he masturbates mostly in the mornings. Only if you’re not there to help him though.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He loves being praised. He’s a sucker for it. Tell him he’s making you feel good and he’ll fold entirely. BUT he also likes being degraded to a degree. Call him a good little slut and he’ll die.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere literally anywhere.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Praise, teasing touches, slight degradation, whispering in his ear, etc.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Knife play. He doesn’t wanna hurt you ever. No matter how much you reassure him it would still make him way too anxious.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves when you suck him off but he also loves eating you out/sucking you off. He loves your thighs wrapped around his head and as I said before he’s very skilled with his tongue.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

That depends on what you want. He however prefers to go slow and sensual. He wants to feel every inch of you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t mind them however he does prefer to take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes he will definitely take risks. He’s a sucker for you so he’s willing to try pretty much anything if it’ll make you happy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go probably quite a few rounds. I’m thinking maybe 5? He likes being overstimulated.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He probably owns a dildo and a fleshlight for himself when you’re not around.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He might tease you a little bit but like I said, he’s down bad for you, anything you ask you will receive.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

If he’s dominant he’ll be moaning and grunting , some panting here and there too. However, if he’s the submissive, he is full on whimpering and whining.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He would 100% let you step on him. He loves when you’re dominant so much.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s thickkkk. He’s about 7 or 8 inches long too. You’re in for a longgggg night.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has a fairly high sex drive. He likes doing it daily soooo good luck.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As soon as he’s sure you’re comfortable and content, he’ll cuddle up and sleep with you.

[marblepasta-creepyhornet]

EJ, Toby and Cody (plus whoever else you wanna write for lol) straight SIMPING for a plus size female reader? 🙏🙏

Read my mind, babes 💙

Creeps x Plus Size!Fem!Reader

———

EJ

No matter what you look like EJ’s always simping for you (he’ll only make it exclusively known to you and you alone). Not because of embarrassment, but only because he likes focusing any amount of love and attention he can muster to you only! 🥹

But, honey, if you’re plus sized, HE IS ON YOU LIKE BUTTER ON A SLICE OF TOAST- 😉😏

You’re thicc in all the right places and he wants you in anyway way, shape and form! He adores every inch of you 🥺

Let’s say you’re insecure, he will shower you with compliments, affection and love. But, if that isn’t your style, he’ll do anything you ask of him to help you feel better. 😩

He’d die if he saw you in a crop top and shorts! The way the shorts hugged your thighs that this man wants to be squished between, combined with your cute tummy showing, he’d be all over you! 😊 (I’d simp for you too (y/n))

If anyone in the mansion bullies you? It’s over for them. I’m serious, Jack almost killed Jeff when he felt the need to make a rude comment about you.

Toby:

He’s very vocal about your body! He loves to constantly remind you that you’re pretty and beautiful (it especially helps on days where you’re feeling insecure 😣). Like his words calm you down and help you feel better. He’s always making sure that you know that he loves you and doesn’t want you to doubt yourself :)

He will literally start fights if anyone makes a derogatory comment about your body 👊😤

This man will W O R S H I P you! When yall are in the bedroom, he’s kissing every part of your body and bringing the praise comments 🥺🥺🥺

“S-s-so pretty,” “All mi-mi-mine,” “M-my pretty gir-girl,” (need me a man or woman like this fr 🫣)

He’s a 100/10 simp for you!

Cuddling? You’re big spoon most of the time (not that you mind)

Circling back onto days where you feel insecure, Toby will help cheer you up by spending the day doing things you like.

He’s very committed 😌

Hugs from behind are a given, just accept it. He loves showing his love for your body through physical touch 🧡

Also- one night while walking through the woods, Toby heard some assholes making fun of you and he fucked them up- ANYWAYS 😗

Cody (X-Virus)

Like EJ and Toby, he’s all for worship, BUT he isn’t as vocal of the two-

(Also how you look literally doesn’t matter) sweetie, here’s there for your intelligence, but not in the way of using you, but in the way of him wanting to be near you 👀

He’ll have you sitting in his lap while he’s writing in his lab, you get lowkey paranoid that you’re too heavy and you’ll try to move, but bro is dragging you right back 🙂‍↕️

Now, I like to think that a bit like EJ, he likes to be creative in his free time, so one day while you two are in his lab, he’ll sketch you while you’re sitting around 🥹

ROMANTIC GESTURES!!! This man is all for buying you flowers, chocolates, and whatever else to show you that he loves you.

Also if he hears anyone talking shit, he kidnaps them as a lab rat for tortuous experiments ;)

As for cuddling? Say he’s sat on the edge of the bed waiting for you when you come into view from the doorway. He’s instantly wrapping his arms around you and gently pulling you into bed with him- 😭 (I’m gonna be sick-)

HEAR ME OUT! HE STEALS YOUR HOODIES! MF sneaks into your closet and just *YOINK* 🏃💨

It’s honestly so cute how your hoodies look so oversized on him- they go down almost to his knees and covers his whole arm to a little past the tips of his fingers.

But you don’t mind though because he’s honestly the best thing to happen to you and he appreciates you 😭

[scribefindegil]

[Image ID: A page from the Reigen manga. Panel 1: Reigen stands in a forest looking exhausted. He says, “At least I bought bug spray this time . . .” Panel 2: He sprays himself down. Panel 3: A closeup of his face. He’s dripping with sweat and his eyes are sunken. He says, “Preparations complete.” Panel 4: Reigen loosens his tie as he staggers towards the viewer. His face is sweaty and he has a haggard expression. He says, “All right then . . .” End ID.]

Okay listen it’s been a month since i read this and i CANNOT stop thinking about “At least I bought bug spray this time. . .” It’s just. It’s so Reigen.

This man is dying. He is being eaten alive by a curse that will kill him in less than 3 hours--probably closer to 2 by this point because this place is pretty far outside of Seasoning City. Since Serizawa couldn’t destroy the curse, he knows that Mob is the only person who could get rid of it--and he doesn’t think that he’ll get there in time, if he comes at all. Reigen’s last-ditch plan is to try to trudge into the most haunted forbidden evil woods he knows about in the hope that he can make the curse that’s killing him fight a different, worse curse, and if that doesn’t work at least he’ll die in a place far away from other people and the curse will be prevented from victimizing anyone else.

And what does he say when he arrives at the Evil Death Woods? “At least I brought bug spray.”

One of the things that makes Reigen’s character work is that he is Just Some Guy. A deeply bewildering, paradoxical guy who lies for a living, but still just a guy. Different characters in MP100 are trying to exist in slightly different genres, and for all his absurdity Reigen is the character who is the most grounded in the real world. He worries about his fire insurance during a psychic terrorist attack. He’s the one who goes “Hey, this is illegal?” and “Kids should not be dealing with this” and “You’re supposed to be adults, what is your PROBLEM?” when he’s introduced to the shonen-anime-villain Scars.

And he’s the sort of person who thinks, yeah, dying of a horrible curse in the woods would be bad, but you know what would be worse? That and bug bites. And he’s not . . . wrong, but it’s not something that anyone else in the series is going to think of. It’s such a normal worry in such an abnormal situation. It’s so grounded.

And it’s also . . . weirdly hopeful? I feel like a lot of people talk about this part of the manga like Reigen’s given up and is just marching to his death, but he really isn’t. Yes, he was willing to take on the curse to save Tome, and he’s well aware that he might die, but he’s still trying to get out of it with everything he’s got. He doesn’t have powers, but he’s really clever! He goes into a place with a time distortion effect in the hope that it will buy him more time! He manipulates the curse into turning around so that it gets attacked by the Mimic spirit but he doesn’t! If it had been a more even match between them like he’d hoped, he might have been able to get out of the woods even without Mob coming to save him.

He’s aware of the danger and how much the odds are stacked against him, but he hasn’t given up! And the bug spray feels indicative of this. He thinks he might succeed in getting rid of the curse. He thinks he might need to get out of the woods on his own. And if that happens, he’s going to be so happy about not getting covered in bug bites this time.

[sunlight-s0ngbird]

Don't fall away from me

Yandere Cowboy/bounty hunter x Female! Reader first time meeting headcanons This was requested by @lavandulawrites Summary: Elio had gone around the entire west for his job, meeting new people and knowing hundreds. It's odd that he's now meeting poor, sweet you. Warnings: Toxic relationship, yandere content, mention of violence but not descriptive, not specifically feminine and can be seen as gender neutral but has female reader in mind. Word count: 1.1k ⭒✮⭒

Elio knew the west like the back of his palm, it was almost instinct. He knows the faces of hundreds and knows how they celebrate him and his captures. Sadly, that day wasn’t today. He found himself in a saloon in Nevada, having yet again let an outlaw named Daya Gallager slip between his fingers.

It was almost immediately that he noticed you. You swooped into the room, selling objects you got from a pawn shop, which he didn’t fully believe was legal but that didn’t matter. Elio had never seen you before, he knew nearly everyone that was anyone and he didn’t know you.

You had made your way to the barstool next to him, setting your bag of trinkets in front of you and getting a drink for yourself with the money you were given. Elio couldn’t help staring.

“You from around here?” Elio asked you suddenly, his accent thick with each word. He knew it went against code to randomly ask someone about themselves, but he just needed to know! Turning his attention from you to the bottle in his hands, his lips drew back to a smile to make you feel a little bit more willing to answer.

“Yeah,” you nod and take the glass the bartender gave you. Elio slowly nodded and drank again. He should have known you; he knew everyone… maybe he missed you when he would have traditionally met someone. Oh well.

Elio spent the rest of the time getting to know you, learning you were a traveling pawn shop, getting things from buyers and going around the west with beautiful golds, silvers, and pearls. You were fascinating, truly. He couldn’t pinpoint what felt off about you. Maybe it was because you were nomadic or that you dressed so differently than he was traditionally used to. He couldn’t register why but didn’t want to let that feeling go.

He is beyond obsessive and knows about it. Hell, his father told him “If you want things done, you can’t take a simple no”, so why is it bad that he wants you on his arm? It’s not harming anyone, especially not him. He’d enjoy it beyond words.

When the night ends and you go off to leave the town, something just makes him want to follow suit. It’s your softness. Yeah, that’s the reason! You’re so kind and Elio has met so many cruel people, you need to be kept safe or else you’ll die like so many innocent people already have.

You had left for northern California since you heard some towns were getting larger populations and you felt they would be interested in your finds. It was only half the trip there when you found Elio following you through the woods.

“Elio?” You call over the sloshing of the river water. You move to sit on your knees, moving your legs from the water. He froze behind the trees before moving out from behind the greenery.

“Isn’t it odd seeing you. You’re moving northwest too?” He remarked and smiled, putting his hands in his pockets to stop them from getting so sweaty. He could only hope you didn’t ask questions about Daya’s whereabouts or if he was really following a bounty.

Once he gets the courage to confess his love for you, it could go one of two ways. You accept and he’s a lot kinder to you or you decline, and he starts following you around the west.

Elio is far kinder when it comes to you accepting, placing a kiss on your knuckle before stating (not asking) where you’ll go to have your first date. He’ll be extra sweet to you. He wouldn’t allow your hands to his face for a while, if you dared touch his face, you might have asked if he was sick. It wasn’t his fault, of course, it was yours for being so pretty.

Though, he doesn’t have a good history with relationships at all. Elio doesn’t believe you truly love him. He knows he’s nice and good at many things, he’s had women ask him out before, even some men too. But there’s only so much he can think is your own doing, especially when it comes to loving him.

Elio would hear you say, “I love you” and wonder if you truly meant it, and it would lead to so much distrust with constantly needing to prove that you should be satisfied with being with him and not needing to be with him just because he said so. That isn’t to say Elio doesn’t get jealous easily. He’s obsessed with you, why wouldn’t he get jealous when you talk to another man, whether he’s a buyer or not.

Declining wouldn’t have the same reaction though. He’s already shown so many signs he’s in love with you, so it just doesn’t make sense in his head. Elio would freeze and start asking why you did not love him. Was it because you realized he had been following you? Or was it his clothes or his history?! He wanted every single reason and detail as to why you wouldn’t want him. He won’t accept it, obviously. There must be something wrong with your mind if you can’t see that he’s a good person. Elio’s a good man and a good fit for a husband. He’s a good fit to be your husband.

He will treat you like cattle on several occasions. Elio was raised by a politician and knows how to be a good leader, but he also learned how to be a good herder. You’ll go down to the river, trying to leave his home, and you’ll find yourself right back in his bed. You plan on going to the saloon for a drink, wouldn’t you want to stay with him instead? It’s not safe anyway!

There are positives to living with him, he’s never yelled at you. Elio grew up learning kindness and patience and knows that someone isn’t as willing to listen if he gets so caught in his own feelings. His voice is naturally soft and tender to you, he needs to make you swoon before he really needs to take you.

Elio is naturally a soft and tender person. Even with the violent nature of his job, he’ll be able to lay in bed with you and talk so naturally, as if he didn’t feel like his heart needed to consume you.

“I love you,” you state with a smile, your eyes looking up at the stars hanging above the both of you. The heat in Elio’s cheeks flared at the suddenness of your statement. His deep brown eyes were only seen so wide by the silver stars above. They seemed to match the silver of your items.

“Prove it to me.”

⭒✮⭒

Yandere cowboy/bounty hunter masterlist Welcome board Thank you so much for reading, make sure to request if you feel you have an idea or any questions!

[lokischocolatefountain]

well if you are taking requests, itd be great to see more touch starved joel, joel who is so afraid of hurting you in bed but bruises you anyways, joel who flinches when you yocuh him after nightmares but then comes closer when you pull away.

I love this request 🥺🥺 You are very right and Joel Miller is a touch starved man and deserves to be fed. So, here you go

Our Normal

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Mature (Mention of violence, sexual situations)

A/N: I loved writing this and I hope the anon who requested it has fun reading it 💜 Also, I have a Javi request that was sent before this but the man was being so uncooperative so I had to ditch him for Joel for a while.

Joel was never a physically affectionate man. His love is shown through acts of service for the people he loves, through protecting them from everything in the universe. That changes when he becomes a father in his early twenties. Sarah is just so little and so fragile and he needs to hold his baby girl because if he doesn’t, he might just explode. He gives her hugs and kisses and cuddles. She always gets kisses on the forehead and cheeks when he tucks her in.

When he loses Sarah, his world is effectively over and touch is no longer about affection. People don’t yet know how the infection spreads, so they keep from touching each other. Someone approaching you might be infected. If they touch you, it might be over. Touch is no longer a hug from his daughter or a pat on the back from his brother. It is deceiving a young man with a fake injury and begging him for supplies before putting his hands around his neck and strangling him to steal his car. It is a punch to his face, a kick to his stomach and an arm putting him in a chokehold.

With Tess, it is different. It is a squeeze to his shoulder when he wakes up from yet another nightmare of his child, still a toddler, asking him why he let her die. It is a quick fuck on the ground in the woods to relieve some tension. It is her slipping into bed with him and holding him because they have both agreed they need this without any words being exchanged. It is more than anything he has ever had with other women in his life. But it is never spoken of, it never means anything more, it just is.

He is in Jackson and life has become normal yet he cannot adjust to it. After two decades of leading a life that is anything but normal, the comfort of three meals a day, a roof over his head and certainty that he’ll wake up the next morning is frightening. He knows he will never adjust. Everyone else seems happy living this normal life, but it is something he will never accept. People hug and kiss and marry. Tommy holds his newborn in his arms and kisses his wife’s hand like it’s normal, like the last twenty years didn’t happen. He wants it too. It shames him to want, but oh how he wants to touch you, to hold your hand and cup your cheek and graze your finger when you hand him something. But he cannot give in. If he allows himself to slip into such comforts, he will not survive when it is taken away from him again. If he accepts it as normal, it will mean that he will have moved on from the loss. The loss of Sarah, of his…Tess.

He touches you once. It is a necessity. It is during patrol and you were about to step on a trap someone left to catch animals. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back, but he keeps his hands on you for longer than necessary. You thank him a little dramatically for “saving my life” and he smiles. For the first time in a long time, it isn’t because of something Ellie said. He lets you go, grunts and walks along on the patrol route. His hand is twitching nervously by his side because holy shit he just touched you. When he lies awake that night, he recalls the roughness of your skin, thinks about whether it used to be soft before all this. Whether he would’ve liked your skin soft just as much he likes your now rough skin.

Someone in town in teaching pottery to pass on important skills so that nothing dies when one person dies. Ellie forces him to go with her even when he tells her he doesn’t give a shit about making goddamn pots. He stops complaining when he sees you’re also there to learn, even though you are more advanced than he is. Pottery doesn’t come to him naturally and Ellie laughs at him for spinning his wheel too fast and touching the clay too hard, making the thing collapse on itself. You laugh too, but then you help him. You place your hands on his and show him how to mold the clay. You show him how to trim the edges with the fancy tools. You place your creating next to his and Ellie’s in the kiln and shake his hand to congratulate him on his shitty bowl that would’ve been shittier if you hadn’t helped. He wonders what it would be like to slot his fingers in the space between your fingers.

It goes from joint patrols to joint pottery classes to joint drinks at the Tipsy Bison. You touch his arm, you place your hand on his, you brush your shoulder against his and it takes him a longass time while to realize you are flirting. He hadn’t been the subject of it ever since he became a single father wearing T-shirts covered in snot, baby food, mysterious sticky substances from Sarah using his shirt as tissues, Sarah’s blood— He panics, he flinches when you touch him. He apologizes, mumbles something about Ellie needing dinner and storms out of the place. He forgets to pay for his fucking drink and learns you decided to pay for him with more coffee than you’d planned on exchanging with the bartender.

He apologizes the next day, offers his private stash of old whiskey he found somewhere to make up for the coffee you’d lost because of him. But you surprise him, offering not just reassurance that it was alright but offering your understanding, telling him you were sorry for whatever you did to unintentionally trigger him and that if he told you what it was, you would never do it again.

You have your fair share of terrible days. You find him after patrol and ask to exchange your music cassette for some of his liquor. He gives it to you for free and you down half the bottle. You tell him you are afraid of being alone that night and he doesn’t have to ask questions to know that it’s something serious. He lets you stay. He holds you in him arms even though having contact without another person kills him. He realizes it kills him because he likes it and knows he doesn’t deserve things he likes. Not when his baby has become nothing in an unmarked grave he should’ve joined her in.

He never intends to have sex with you. It is no longer as much of a need as it used to be. He is older and his body has been through too much. Sex isn’t the need. You are. Holding your hand in his trembling hand isn’t enough. Touching your cheek when he kisses you isn’t enough. His hand on your lower back. Your hand in his hair, your head on his chest as you hugged— it wasn’t enough. No matter how much you gave, he wanted more. More and more and more.

You invite him to your bed and he goes. He knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’ve given him so far and definitely doesn’t deserve what you were going to give him next. He is afraid but he wants it so bad, wants you so bad. You are sweet, gentle, like you know he has a strange relationship with touch. You take your time when you get on your knees and nuzzle into his thighs and wrap your pretty lips around his cock. He tries to keep his hands away. He knows he should because if he got to touch you when you had his cock in your mouth, he would wrap your hair in his fist and fuck into your mouth, use you for gratification.

He digs into your thighs with his nails when he has them spread apart and his head between them, his lips devouring you like you were his favorite taste before the luxury of tasty things ceased to exist, like he was getting to experience his favorite taste after two decades of deprivation. He holds you in a death grip, leaves behind bruises and apologizes for them when he realizes what he has done. He tends to you, apologizes repeatedly, is gentler the next time.

He doesn’t sleep next to you. If he manages to fall asleep, he wakes up wishing he didn’t. Sleep without nightmares is a rarity. He could jolt up from bed or lie looking peaceful while his brain tortured itself with memories, both real and false. He doesn’t want you to see him in his most vulnerable moments. He doesn’t want to burden anyone with his anguish. He doesn’t want to look weak. He is supposed to be strong, be the protector, be the capable man you can rely on.

He wakes up after yet another nightmare and lies in bed, unprepared to face you as the weaker man he believes himself to be. You make him coffee and bring it to bed. You drink it with him. You hold his hand. He flinches, the effects of his nightmare persisting. So you pull away, allowing him his space when he pulls you back in. He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know if it is right to want you like this— being there for him, comforting him, giving him a shoulder to lean on. He shouldn’t, but he leans anyway. You don’t ask him to talk about it and he appreciates it. You don’t need to know the gory details to know he’s hurting. You don’t need to hear the turmoil in his head to hold him to your chest and let him cry.

Maybe not talking wouldn’t be enough in the normal world. But that is a world they will never have again even if the cordyceps ceased to exist at once. So he adapts in love like he adapted to holding a gun in hands that held hammers and nails with nails painted by his little girl.

He grows used to it, but he still flinches sometimes. You flinch sometimes too. You learn each other’s boundaries, apologize when they’re crossed. Sleep still eludes him and he remains starved of touch, but he satiates himself as little as he could without overwhelming himself. His hands sometimes tremble when he touches you. He could never fall asleep in the same bed as you. It isn’t normal, but it is the normal he has with you and you are both content in it.

.

.

.

My Masterlist

[readsrealm]

Buggy & The Roger Pirates Thing (maybe even a little Corabug!?)

Buggy always feeing like he doesn’t belong on Rogers crew. Like he was just brought on to be a playmate for Shanks (practically a pet). He’s not entirely wrong either most of the crew shows unintentional favoritism to Shanks and don’t really remember that Buggy’s there half the time.

The next island they visit they actually forget Buggy. Buggy himself doesn’t even realize until hours later, Roger Pirates far away and still unaware of their mistake. Buggy’s devastated, he kinda wanders around the islands small town and into its forest in shock and despair before coming upon a familiar face. A blond marine who he’d met in the town earlier who was now running through the woods. They had a good conversation earlier and all Buggy had really learned was the boys name. Rosinante.

Rosinante takes Buggy back to Sengoku who goes “WAIT A MINUTE” and then declares that Buggy’s been taken in for ransom. Buggy tells them that nobody is going to come for him.

They wait a couple days, then a week, then a couple weeks, finally two whole months go by and nobody’s showed up for Buggy. Sengoku is disturbed by this and does some digging. Apparently a vote to retrieve Buggy was placed and the majority thought it was too much work for the second cabin boy (the add on, the spare, the unpromising backup). There was also info that Roger and the losing side were upset with the polling results but weren’t going to do much about it.

Sengoku decides right there and then he’s gonna see why Roger let Buggy onto his crew in the first place and why they don’t want Buggy back.

And…..

Sengoku has no clue why they wouldn’t want Buggy to return to them. He’s crafty, smart, loyal. He’s a good kid by pirate standards. Clearly a trouble maker but the passion he has for chemistry and science is unmatched. The way he solves puzzles and can worm his way out of any situation socially is insane. His treatment of people around him and of Cora himself (even if it’s special treatment😉) is admirable. Not to mention the boys luck.

Sengoku suspect it’s cause of Buggy’s less upfront way of fighting and actually assessing situations is what put The Rogers off. Buggy may be cowardly but if he really is needed he’ll do his part. Plus his long range weapons (bombs, altered guns) are nothing to sneeze at.

Buggy ends up staying with the marines for a really long time even if in the beginning he said he was going to escape and get far far away from them. Instead staying, training and getting stronger.

Decades later Red Haired Shanks comes face to face with a marine with long blue hair and the nickname Ringmaster.

Okay first of all thank you for writing this.

now right now I’m crying because that’s just fucking sad.

them leaving buggy there and how they decided is disgusting and I’m literally devastated. Poor buggy wanna hug him so bad.

For me Roger here failed as the captain bc who tf cares what the crew thinks. He is the captain and he should have been defending Buggy but he didn’t. In here Ace was right Roger was a monster bc left a child who looked up to him like no one else ever did in a town from nowhere behind. I wonder how shanks reacted.

I kinda wished that- I don’t know if you watched the LA but there Garp is on the Plattform where Roger gets killed. I wish that buggy would arrive the Plattform when Roger finished his speech him thinking he will die with no regrets and with starting the new era but the moment he saw buggy his smile vanished and he knew he could no longer die at peace.

I have two things in mind of what buggy could say

He would smile at roger with a trembling body saying something like: “I hoped you lived a good live “captain”

or

2. He would be cold and saying shit like: “That’s it Gol D. Roger. You and your loved one will pay for your crimes” and he would mean it bc with people who believe in him he would get stronger and have more determination

I’m kinda surprised that Sengoku would take with if we think about what he did to Ace considering that wanted to execute him for being roger son not being the second commander of Whitebeard who was equal to roger. But I do not complain. If I think about it Buggy could be trained by Sengoku and Garp and Tsuru. Sengoku and Garp were also equal to roger. And while Sengoku could teach him to be smarter fight smarter, Garp could train him in strength combat and haki. Tsuru could help him to calm himself down and always keep his cool. So he could be powerful yonko level bc that what actually oda said. If Buggy would take effort he would be yonko level.

You know what a sad part of this is Buggy is the kind of character who gets treated bad by the “good” ones (in here the goal of the main character) but he would not get justice. He would die and maybe the others would regret it but probably not the same episode one person would say “he would want that you hate yourself…” like BITCH OFC HE WOULDNT BUT YOU SHOULD BC YOU DESERVE THAT.

anyways I’m getting of the topic I think Buggy is smart and a sweetheart if you treat him well. He maybe loves treasure in an unhealthy amount and can be a little arrogant but it’s like he is be mean but still would do everything for you if you treat him right. (I also believe that he would not have a pride problem to apologize if he did something wrong but that another thing).

again with the Plattform (I hope it’s Plattform English is not my native’s language) the thing is Shanks would see it. And I think no matter if choice one or two you choose he would be angry…even though he has no right too. But Buggy doesn’t care about shanks…well not anymore bc he has Rosi. While he hadn’t a bad relationship with Shanks his relationship with Rosi is much better. Shanks if not meant to be mean only teased him which lead to the whole crew teasing him and Buggy didn’t like that. I mean I don’t think he had a problem with some teasing bc that normal and fun you know? Everyone does that but they teased him about everything and it kinda hurt bc it gave off the feeling he wasn’t taking seriously at all. That he couldn’t be allowed to be sad or scared…genuinely.

With Rosi it wasn’t like that he got comforted motivated. Instea if being told that “a pirate isn’t allowed to be scared” or “are you hiding again” or “you wouldn’t be scared if you trained harder like shanks” he gets “it’s fine I protect you” or “don’t be scared buggy! Your strong and if anything happens I’m right here” and it helps bc it motivates him and them saying that they believe he is strong wants him to prove that and he doesn’t and he makes mistakes and learns from them and gets better bc that how it should be done

So if Buggy and Shanks would meet after decades Shanks would be furious at Buggy for doing this to their captain. But with just a few sentences Shanks anger turned into guilt

“Roger didn’t want me. He left me and abandoned me. No one wanted me”

So I think Shanks would withdraw and just go with it. But now he would feel emptier. It was one thing not having seen buggy and him officially cutting of the relationship was hard for Shanks but he shouldn’t complain he didn’t say anything when they voted to leave him even if he didn’t want that he could do more. Bc they would listen to him.

Buggy himself would live a good life being a very much known marine (vice admiral) having Rosi by his side (this is a Corazon lives AU) and be happy.

I even think that Luffy would be on Buggy’s side if he heard that story. But still would not stop being a pirate

[topguncortez]

A Supposed Miracle || Bradley Bradshaw

Top Gun Celebration | Main masterlist

synopsis: A year ago you survived the unimaginable, but you weren't sure if it was actually the miracle they said it was. Written as part of my 1 Year TG Celebration:)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: Uranium Mission, description of injuries, mentions of PTSD, amnesia, paralyzation, cursing

prompts: "I don’t care if we are fighting, or if you’re mad at me, I’m still gonna be there for you.”

Rooster wasn’t sure what he was doing. What had possessed him now, of all days, to show up at your front door, he wasn’t quite sure. The last time he had seen you, you were barely alive. Blood seeping from your body, your temperature near dangerous levels, breaths so shallow and pulse so weak, Rooster had to press his ear against your chest just to hear your heart beating.

When the two of you were rescued, you were whisked off into the belly of the ship while he was being flocked to by sailors commending him for a good job. 

“I didn’t do anything right,” He remembers saying to Maverick, as he sat on the cold metal exam table. 

“Yes you did, you both survived-” 

“I paralyzed her!” 

Rooster knew that it wasn’t all his fault, but he had no choice but to move you. You were sitting ducks in the middle of the snow-covered field, wearing your green flight suits. You had cried and begged for him to leave you there, telling him you would rather “die on the battlefield in glory” than live a life where you could no longer walk, or take care of yourself. But Rooster wasn’t about to do that when an enemy helicopter arrived and opened fire on the two of you. He didn’t think twice as he picked you up in his arms, despite your cries and hits against his body as he carried you into a wooded area. 

“You fucking dick, Bradshaw! You should’ve left me to die!” 

“You can blame me for saving your life later.” 

Three days. Seventy-Two Hours. Four thousand three hundred twenty minutes. two hundred fifty-nine thousand two hundred seconds. 

That’s how long the two of you were out in the snow-covered woods. Both of your beacons had been crushed when you intercepted the SAMs to save one another. Rooster, who had merely a concussion and some bruised ribs did his best to try and keep you alive. He wasn’t sure where all the blood was coming from, too scared to cut away your flight suit to find out. He did his best to stop the bleeding, switching from packing snow against your body, to pressing a hot wire against the exposed skin. The two of you split an MRE that somehow managed to survive the wreckage. He could remember you making a joke about it. 

“Not sure if we should be even eating something that can survive a jet fire.” 

But Rooster made sure to save the last Twizzler bites in the package for you. He had hardly slept, forcing himself to stay awake to make sure you were still alive, and keeping a watchful eye for any wolves or other wildlife. He knew that his defense against a wolf was going to be useless, but he had gone over in his head what he would do to make sure you lived. On the last night, you were out there, Rooster held you tightly in his arms, the both of you coming to the realization that you might not live to see another sunrise out in the woods. 

“You need to be the one to tell him,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your skin was sunburned and your lips chapped from dehydration, “He won’t try and fight you.” 

“He hates me, Reap, he always has,” Rooster said, gently rocking you back and forth. 

“Jake doesn’t hate you,” You shook your head, “He is intimidated by you. He knows that you are the better pilot. But if it’s anyone else that tells him I didn’t make-” Your voice broke, “That I didn’t make it. . . he’ll drink himself to death. He’ll want to know everything.” 

Rooster looked up at the night sky. All the stars seemed to be out, shining brightly above the two of you. 

“I loved you first,” Your voice pulled Rooster away from his analysis of the stars, “You broke me when you left. Didn’t say why or where…you just left.” 

“And I have regretted that day for all my life,” Rooster said. 

He could so vividly remember seeing your acceptance letter to USNA sitting on your desk when he came home from one of his classes at the local community college. He didn’t even know you applied, let alone were interested in the Navy. But he was so mad, so angry that you had gotten something that he had wanted his whole life. Instead of waiting for you to come home from work, he quickly packed a bag and left, not so much as leaving a note to explain. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago that the two of you had finally reunited. 

And now, you were going to die in the arms of your first love. 

“I love you, Y/N,” Rooster said, and he felt your body tense for a moment, before it relaxed in his arms, “I have always loved you. I have never stopped loving you. I will never stop loving you.” 

You squeezed Rooster’s hand, “I… Love…” 

Rooster looked down at your face, seeing the light go out in your eyes, “No… No, no, hey,” He shook your body, patting your cheek lightly, “You don’t get to do this,” He laid your body gently down on the ground, placing his hands in the middle of your chest and starting compressions, “C’mon, Reaper! C’mon! Don’t…” Rooster looked up at the sky, “You son of bitch, you give her back to me! You give her back to me right fucking now!” 

— — —

They called it a miracle. But it felt like anything but that to you. 

You spent a whole month, unconscious in the ICU in England, before you were moved back to the US, where you spent another two weeks hooked up to machines. When you woke up, you had no recollection of the last several years of your life. You didn’t know that the blonde man sitting next to you was apparently your fiance, or that you had graduated top of your class at TopGun, or hell, that you had even made it to TopGun, to begin with. You didn’t know what had happened out in the woods, other than that you were paralyzed from the waist down, and you would never fly again. 

The only person that you did recognize was Maverick, and even those memories were a little hazy. He had helped you get settled into your house (which had been totally renovated to be wheelchair accessible). Your fiance, whose name you learned was Jake, helped you get reacclimated to most things. He was nice and was doing everything he could to help gain some memories back. Over time you remembered certain things like Jake’s birthday, or that you had a 1972 mustang mach 1 sitting in Maverick’s hangar, or flashes of the last mission you were on. But the most prominent memory in your mind was of coming home to an empty house and that blue Bronco gone from the driveway. 

You had asked Jake about Rooster several times, and he just danced around the subject. He told you that Rooster was a part of the mission, and he had taken a different position instead of staying in North Island with the rest of the team. You also remembered that when Jake lied, his right eye would twitch. 

You had spent the better part of that year in intense physical therapy. Your doctor believed that you could probably regain some function and learn to walk with assistance. You thought that hell week at USNA was hard, but nothing would prepare you for this journey. Day after day, Jake would pick you up from therapy physically and mentally exhausted. Learning how to walk again at age twenty-seven was a lot harder than toddlers made it look. 

Between your doctor, various therapists, Jake and Maverick, by the time the one-year mark of the mission came around, you were able to stand and walk with the help of your walker. Being able to graduate from physical therapy felt better than any promotion you might’ve received from the Navy. 

But now here you were, a year to the day later, staring at the man who had been constantly on your mind. You had actually started to believe Jake’s story about Rooster taking a job somewhere else because, for the last year, he had been totally MIA. Jake had taken you to the Hard Deck and out several times with the dagger squad in the past year, and every time, Rooster wasn’t there. Nobody mentioned him. Nobody even talked about him if you were around. There had been no texts, no calls, and no letters from him in the past year. 

You were actually starting to wonder if maybe he was dead. 

“So you are alive,” You scoffed, “Congrats.” 

“Reap-” 

“No,” You shook your head, “You don’t get to fucking call me that. Do you even know the hell I have been through in the past year?!” 

“I’m sorry,” Rooster said simply, “I just couldn’t face you knowing that I put you in-” 

“A wheelchair?” 

He sucked in a breath and looked down at his shoes. He looked a lot like the man you remembered. Sandy brown hair, sunkissed tan skin, those sweet baby cow eyes that you had fallen in love with. He was wearing a pair of Levi’s that hugged his thighs just right, and one of those infamous Hawaiian shirts that used to belong to his dad. His Rayban caravans dangled off the chain of his dog tags that were tucked underneath his white tank top. 

Rooster licked his lips and looked up at you, for probably the first time since the standoff had started. You had cut your hair, it was shorter than what he remembered, sitting right above your shoulders. He could see that your face had some new-age lines to it. Your arms now had more black and colored ink than clear skin on them. And your eyes, those once soft and loving eyes, were cold and hard as you glared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Rooster said again. 

You shook your head, “Why are you here?” 

“Because I-” Rooster still wasn’t sure why he was here. He thought he would have more time to figure that answer out before you asked, “Because I wanted to see you. I heard that you are coming tonight and I-” 

You scoffed, “So you decide now, a year later, that you wanna show your face?” 

“Look,” Rooster was trying to keep his cool, but his patience was starting to wear thin with you, “I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if we are fighting, or if you’re mad at me, I’m still gonna be there for you.” 

“But you-” 

“You weren’t the only one who lost something out there!” Rooster yelled. You looked taken aback by the sudden increase in his voice, “Okay? You weren’t the only one out there for three days. You weren’t the only one. . . planning a fucking funeral in your head. You weren’t the only one who lost something out there.” You looked down at your lap, hearing Rooster take several deep breaths to calm himself. He knew that he fucked up but not coming to see you sooner, but he wasn’t sure how he could face you. 

“Did you tell Jake to lie to me?” You looked up at the man. 

“No,” Rooster shook his head, “I asked him about you almost every day for about three months. I wanted to know how you were, what you were doing if there was any update on your injury, or if you gained your memory back, but Jake just kept it to a minimum. Eventually, he told me to stop asking.” 

“Fucking Jake,” You rolled your eyes, “I broke up with him about three months after I woke up. It was just too hard to pretend to love a man when I hardly knew him.” Rooster nodded, “But to make you feel better. . . I asked about you too.” 

Rooster clenched his jaw, trying to push back the tears in his eyes. You held your hand out to him, and he walked forward, placing his large hand in your smaller one. You squeezed it, just like you did when you died in his arms a year ago. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

The two of you let out a soft chuckle as you spoke at the same time. 

“You first,” Rooster said. 

“I’m sorry for how I treated you when you found me. I just knew right away I was fucked and I didn’t see any point in living a life where I can’t fly. But I realized how fucked and selfish that was to tell you that. You saved my life, Bradley, a-and. . .” You blinked a couple of times, trying to find the right words, “Thank you for that.” 

Rooster’s jaw dropped slightly, and he gave your hand a squeeze, “I’m sorry for being too scared to come and see you. I let my own fear and self-hatred get in the way. And you saved my life too.” 

You smiled at him, “Do you want to come in for a drink?” 

“I’d love nothing more.” 

taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @phoenix1388  @desert-fern @mygyn @cherrycola27   @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines  @bradleybeachbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @bradshawseresinbabe @Munsonswhore86 @happypopcornprincess @Sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @thedroneranger @angelbabyange @callsignharper @genius2050

taglist form:)

I just wanna say a quick shoutout to @a-reader-and-a-writer for sending in this request and being just an all around awesome person. you guys don't see it on here, but I'm in a discord with Vee and she is one of the most reliable, and knowledgeable, and nicest people I have ever had the opportunity to interact with. I can always count on Vee to pop in with an answer to my questions or a funny one-liner or angst that hurts so deliciously good. She's an amazing writer and friend and fandom-dweller (. . . yeah that's the word). She's always so positive and works hard to create an awesome and safe space on her blog, on the dash, in the server. She's just amazing <3

[kotir-propaganda]

Mossflower has so much going for it, like I’m not even being biased because my blorbo is in it. I will die on the hill of it being Best Redwall Book for several reasons.

-It’s as early Redwall as you can get without actually being Book 1. As such, it avoids a lot of subjects and patterns that would later become repetitive tropes... but it also avoids the Book 1 jankiness of horses and human structures and the implied existence of Portugal. The world as we will come to know it feels more or less fully realized here. The abbey’s not here yet, but its foundation literally is- and we also get our first look at Salamandastron and the extent of Mossflower Wood as a whole.

-It has some of the most solid protagonists around. The legendary hero Martin is here, but he’s at a low point for most of the story and has to work his way up to that legacy! And this is where he does it, this is what future Redwallers remember him for, not the events of Martin the Warrior. Also, Gonff is here? Hello? Maybe the single most charismatic character in the series? Not to mention Dinny, how often does a humble mole actually get to go on a quest in these books?

-This isn’t even getting into how badass all the rest of the woodlanders are, too, but... they absolutely are. This is a small band of rebels that’s been driven from their little houses, they don’t have the luxury of those huge sandstone walls to protect them, but they’re still fighting like hell and outsmarting their enemies to boot. Some of them are seasoned fighters, but some of them are just ordinary families, all banding together to take back their homeland. And they keep it up the whole time! They’re not just waiting around for a guy with a sword to tell them what to do!

-The villains are probably the most nuanced in the whole series. Seriously. There are four whole wildcats here (don’t forget Sandingomm!) and only ONE of them is unquestionably evil. It’s absolutely implied that Verdauga was a fearsome warlord in his day, but if nothing else, he raised ONE kid who turned out to be about as Lawful Good as you can get, and he actually scolds Tsarmina for being mean to her brother!! I wish we could have spent a little more time with Verdauga, honestly, I have so many questions for this man.

-There are a decent handful of morally grey characters here, actually. Chibb spies for the woodlanders, but he’s not the most dependable and is motivated by payment more than sympathy to their cause. Snakefish allies with our questing heroes, but he minces no words in warning them that he’ll just as soon eat them if it comes down to it. Even Argulor is really just out here looking for a bite to eat and can you really blame him, because ashleg is a snack

-Tsarmina herself is irredeemably cruel, but even still there are multiple facets to her. On one hand, she’s scary- big and powerful and ready to rip into anything/anyone with her bare claws. At the same time she can be a clever strategist when she wants to be- poisoning her father and framing her brother, and later manipulating two of her obstacles, Argulor and Bane, into taking each other out. And still yet it can be kind of funny to watch her in action, as she gets humiliated by the resistance on multiple occasions. And maybe there is even a little pathos there, as we see her mind start to slip, and get some glimpse into the deep fear and paranoia that completely overtake her at the end.

-There are just great supporting characters on both sides. Mask is amazing, Fortunata is fantastic. And yeah, Blorbo Supreme Ashleg is here, and I don’t NEED to write a whole essay about him to promote Mossflower as a whole but... having him here is nice! It helps!! May we all follow his example and pursue happier lives for ourselves!!!

-Mossflower laid the foundation for so many events and characters of later books. I mean yeah, it’s a prequel. It’s there to support the first book and by extension, everything that comes after. But so many other great titles in the series have a direct line to Mossflower, from Outcast to Long Patrol to Lord Brocktree and more. Did you enjoy those books? You’re welcome. The threads were already there, just waiting to be expanded upon.

-at one point a wooden leg gets used as a projectile weapon and if you don’t think that’s the best thing ever, I don’t know what else to tell you buddy

[aidaronan]

24 for the Steddie/Spotify wrapped prompt!

Welp. This one got away from me and is less a ficlet and more of just... a fic, but here we go! 24 - Scary Kids Scaring Kids - Watch Me Bleed

Lucky Number 42

Tags & Warnings: Blood, Time Loop, MCD but it’s a time loop so…, maybe it's supernatural or maybe it's maybelline It’s March 27th for the 41st time, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sickly colors of the Other Sky. He won’t forget the blood either, the way it stains Eddie’s shirt and mats up his pretty hair. The way it gushes through Steve’s fingers as he tries to hold it all in yet again, as though if he just squeezes tight enough, it’ll finally—finally—work this time around.

“Guess we’ll try again, huh?” Eddie smiles, red pooling in the cracks between his teeth. “Fuck, Stevie, why’s it always so cold?” Nearby, Dustin sobs uncontrollably. Steve won’t forget that sound either. It’s seared into his brain, all of it. The same day over and over and over again, both of them stuck in it together. Changing everything, changing nothing.

“What is it you told me, Eds? 42 is the answer, right?” Steve squeezes his hand tight, his heart so full of love and yearning and clogged-up grief that he can feel it all spilling painfully into his chest. “That’s gonna be it for us. Lucky number 42.”

But whether he heard him or not, Steve doesn’t know. Eddie’s gone again, his eyes empty, his hand limp. Steve sinks into the dirt and hugs his knees, letting his forehead fall against his folded arms.

He has a mental tally running, everything that’s worked, everything that hasn’t.

There’s really only one direction left, the one direction Eddie wouldn’t entertain when Steve suggested it 28 days ago, 24 days ago, 15 days ago, 7... The more they fell for each other, the more vehement Eddie got about how that particular avenue was off limits, ‘un-fucking-entertainable, actually.’

It’s the only way though, has to be. There isn’t any other way left.

Taking a few deep breaths, Steve raises his head and crawls for Dustin, still crying, completely unaware of how many times they’ve been here before.

“I love you, Dustin. I love you and I’m sorry your childhood got absolutely shit on, and I hope you know you deserve better than all this.” Steve will say it again on the next loop, too, when it’ll actually (hopefully) count. But he needs to say it now. For himself.

“This can’t be happening,” is Dustin’s choked-out reply.

Steve wants to say that it’s okay, that he’ll fix it. But he and Eddie have also talked about how maybe all of it’s some kind of personal hell built just for them. So maybe there is no fixing it.

All Steve knows is he can’t watch Eddie die again, and he can’t watch anyone else die in Eddie’s place.

So…

So.

“I know.” Steve holds onto Dustin’s arm, waiting for the girls to make their way back to them so they can get out together, so Steve can shower and fall into bed and do what needs to be done. “I know,” he says again. And he does know. Fuck, he knows 41 times over.

It’s exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes later—it always is, give or take five minutes—when Steve finally lays his head on his pillow., curled protectively around Robin’s back. It’s another half hour or so before she cries herself to sleep.

Then countless unquantified minutes before Steve manages to drop off. On the edge of consciousness, he dreams a voice quietly speaking the number, “two.”

#

When Eddie asks the plan for the day, Steve lies. They sneak into the woods near the clearing and they have each other wholly, primally, sex forged from bonding in a way that only they could ever understand. And then they plan.

And Steve lies.

He suggests they rehash Day 13 with Day 42’s knowledge, plus Day 17’s solution for saving Max. He talks Eddie through the hang-ups, through the objections, feeling a sickening mix of resignation and guilt with every inch of ground he gains in convincing him.

In the end, Eddie nods. “Let’s do this then. Lucky number 42.”

“The answer to the universe, life, and, uh, all the other stuff.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh and looks at Steve fondly, cupping his cheek. “How many roads must a man walk down indeed.”

When they kiss for luck, Steve focuses on every single millisecond, on the way Eddie’s lips feel, on the hands on him—small of his back, back of his neck—and on the feeling of Eddie’s hair sliding hairspray-rough through his fingers. Every little breathy sound, every note of birds calling, bugs flitting.

Life.

It may not have been everything Steve wanted, but he got to have this. For one fleeting moment, he got to fall in love and to be part of a small family of misfits. Some people never got that lucky.

“I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you too.”

It feels like a blink before they’re outside of the trailer, Dustin locked in the bathroom in Right-side-up Hawkins. It’s just them and their makeshift armor—spear and nail bat against the swarm.  

Eddie looks at him and nods.

Steve looks back and chokes down a sob, summoning all the bravery he possesses. “Eddie. I’m sorry.”

“Wh—”

This is the easy part, years of sports and fighting all culminating in this moment. At full speed, Steve plows into Eddie, tackling him to the ground, covering his body with his own.

They’re already biting by the time Eddie reacts, fighting like hell, pushing with all the strength of someone who spent years hauling around band equipment and theater props. Eddie’s strength is mostly in his thighs though, a force he uses to drive the rest of him. If Steve keeps him on the ground long enough…

“You motherfucker. You motherfucking fuck! You fucking son of a goddamned…” A feral scream, a shove that Steve counters by squeezing Eddie’s arms tight against him. Eddie growls, broken and desperate, “Stevie, please.”

They’re both fighting hard and with all the love in their bones. Apologizing over and over, Steve forces his fingers deep into the dirt, gripping the roots of rotten hell-vines hard even while the bats chew, even while he cracks his fingernails, and his hands bleed along with his body.

He’s halfway dead by the time the bats drop, and he knows it.

Eddie pushes him off and gets onto his knees and Steve can’t help but smile because Eddie is gloriously and beautifully okay. There’s a bite on his arm along with a few scratches from their tussle, but that’s it. He’ll make it this time. He’ll make it.

“I did it,” Steve says, falling onto his back despite the fact that it’s nothing but open wounds. “I did it. You’re alive and no one else is gonna…”

Eddie replies with a broken scream, with hands that reach for the bloodied hole on the side of Steve’s neck, that try to turn him over to see where else they need to press.

“Don’t.” Steve grabs weakly at his wrists. “Please, just… Let me. See if it works.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Eddie blinks out several tears. “Fuck you. I said not this. Not this.”

“It’s the one thing we haven’t tried, Eddie. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to go, you know. Why we couldn’t break—” Steve coughs wetly. “God, it really is cold, huh?”

“Just… Just stay, okay, Stevie. Be stronger than me. Hold on, and that’s how we’ll break it, yeah? With you living.”

In the distance, Steve can hear Dustin finally bursting out of the trailer, crying his name.

He blinks up at Eddie’s brown eyes and smiles at the warmth of his hands on him.

Somewhere else, he can hear voices, unfamiliar and new.

“Oh,” Steve says, the edges of his vision going black, swallowing up Eddie’s face. “So there really is something else after all.”

#

Death, it seems, is darkness. Not terrifying but restful. Not cold, not warm either.

Just floating, quiet and peaceful.

“Two.”

A voice flows out of the void, a voice Steve thinks he may have dreamed once or even more than once. It’s quickly followed by more, all speaking rapidly from everywhere and nowhere.

“Four in cold blood. Undoing.”

“Two from love’s sacrifice. Healing.”

“And so it is. See how it all knits back into one.”  

“Then it is done. Send him back.”

Steve tries to open his mouth. “Where—?”

He never finishes the question.

#

Steve blinks awake to the rhythmic sounds of a machine beeping.

He slowly turns his head to find Robin curled up in a chair next to him, snoring softly with a book steepled open in her lap.

“Rob?”

She startles awake and locks eyes on him before exclaiming with a smile that goes instantly tearful, “Holy shit. Steve.”

From a lumpy bag by her feet, she unearths a walkie-talkie, nearly flinging it at him in her haste to use it. Her hands are shaking when she brings it to her face.

“Hey, uh, everyone. We’re… We’re having a good hair day.”

There’s a chorus of voices, all of them expressing some kind of joy and relief, all of them saying they’ll be there as soon as they can.

“Already in the van. Munson over and out.”

He’s there within five minutes, hair in a messy bun that implies he might have genuinely thrown it up while steering with his knees.

Standing in the doorway, he pauses, eyes on Steve. Steve feels like his entire stomach might drop out under the weight of that gaze. If he’d had any reason to wonder if Eddie remembered all the loops, he’d have no doubt now.

“Hey Rob, can I have a minute with Stevie boy here before the entire Scooby Gang shows up?”

“Uh…” Robin looks back and forth between them, furrowing her brow at Steve before getting up. “Yeah, sure.”

She softly closes the door on the way out, and just like that they’re alone.

“I should kill you all over again for what you pulled, you know?” Eddie says, sitting down and reaching for Steve’s hand.

“You should.”

“But then again, here we are.”

“Here we are. How long was I…?”

“Dead? Or here? Because you did die. I checked your pulse, listened for a breath, fucking everything. And then the girls showed up and out of the blue, you twitched a fucking finger, so Nance and I… You’ve been in the hospital for a week.”

“I had a dream. Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. I don’t know.” Steve thinks about it again, the infinite peace of the void. “There were, uh, voices, and I think they were saying you and I both had to be willing to die for each other. Like specifically two people in love. To undo Vecna. Are the gates…?”

“Closed, but that could be because Nance and Robin flambéed him alive.”

“Yeah.”

“More things in heaven and Earth though, Stevie. We did just repeat March 27 for a month and a half. Maybe someone was looking out for us. Or they just really fucking hate Vecna. There are many options for motive here.”

Steve rubs at Eddie’s knuckles with his thumb. He hadn’t even taken the time to put his rings on. “So many.”

“It’s over though,” Eddie says. “All of it. The suits cleared my name in five minutes and Hopper ripped the local PD a new asshole. Only question now is…” Eddie gives the spot where they’re holding hands a pointed look. “Now what?”

Steve thinks for a second, mouth twitching at every stolen happy moment in those 42 days of hell. Every smile, every kiss, every sneaky sweaty fuck. Every little conversation that made him laugh, made him feel, made him fall. “Do you remember Day 19 when I asked where you’d go if you ever left Hawkins?”

“I do. By then we’d already given each other hand jobs so I had exactly zero qualms about saying I’d go to San Francisco where I could be gay as hell and also make the heaviest of metal.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “I’m assuming I have to stay in this hospital for a little longer and probably sign, like, another pile of papers that say I won’t tell anyone the government broke Hawkins because they were experimenting on little kids. But after that, why not?”

“Why not? Just like that? ‘Eddie, let’s move in together and also let’s do that in California.’ That easy, huh?”

“We just lived through the end of the world 42 times, Eds. Why the hell can’t it be?”

Eddie laughs quietly and looks down at his lap, shaking his head, a few tendrils falling out of the bun as he does.

Outside of the room, Steve hears a series of sneakers squeaking on linoleum. The door bursts open and Eddie quietly pulls his hand away. But he’s smiling ear to ear when he leans back to let a gaggle of teens throw themselves semi-gently onto Steve for half-hugs.

“Well okay then, Stevie,” Eddie says over the sound of six other people talking at once. “If that’s what you want.”

[looseratinthegarage]

Hi! I've been thinking about this for awhile but how would slashers survive an zombie apocalypse with or without a s/o?

Slashers in a zombie apocalypse

Omg I had sm fun writing this!!

Michael Rz

•Terrified. Undoubtedly. Terrified. But! Would do remarkably well! He’d dig a hole somewhere and call it home.

•he’s a big man so food is an issue. But he manages.

•would have constant adrenaline if he has a s/o. He wants to protect you and keep you safe. If you die, especially if it’s because of him, he’ll…. He’ll walk unarmed into a swarm of zombies and fight them with his bare hands. Once he is inevitably turned, his body will wreak havoc while his mind is finally put to rest.

Michael Og

•lil man would be fine. He’d pick a house to make a base in and board it up.

•if the zombies are drawn to noise he’ll be totally okay. Dude doesn’t speak and is so quiet walking around. There’s no way he’d gain their attention…. Unless his unbathed stench brought them…

•I think he’d kill a bunch of zombies…. and eat them. Therefore turning into one. Unlike someone else on this list, he wasn’t trying to fuck around, he just needed food and went nom nom.

Jason

•Now this one’s interesting! Are we talking about zombie Jason? Or living?

•Zombie Jason is a fucking unit and would turn the most people. The only drawback is he kills extremely violently, he rips his victims apart, aka he makes a lot of crawlers or immobile zombinos.

•Living Jason I think would get very overwhelmed. He’d use his machete and or some sort of long ranged weapon that isn’t a gun.

•He’d do well for a long time, but Pamela would call to him from the other side, but only if he was alone or if y/n had been infected/died. He’d cradle his mom's head and possibly his s/o or a belonging of theirs and bury himself in the earth.

Hewitt Family

•Thomas goes into sheer panic. But less panic when he remembers how far from civilization they live.

•Thomas, Hoyt, and Monty if it’s before that even cut Thomas gave him will work together to make huge scrap metal and wood walls on the perimeter of their property.

•Luda Mae goes up into the attic to find scraps of cloth, old guns, and other helpful stuff. She’ll be handling the house and cooking as she normally does, while Thomas, Hoyt and again, maybe Monty, will patrol the perimeter.

•The tea lady moves into the Hewitt estate, and Henrietta brings her trailer into the encased property.

•they’re very stressed about how they’ll be able to provide food for everyone. They’ll turn one or more of the fields into crop land. Luda Mae, Thomas, Monty, and Henrietta will work the fields as well. Not Hoyt. Never Hoyt. I think he’s worried about breaking a nail.

•Long story short, I think they’ll do very well for themselves.

Sawyer Family (-choptop)

•Almost a complete disaster. Nubbins has a zombie chained up outside, he’s been calling it his gross dog. Drayton and Bubba tried to build a wall around the house, but couldn't do it by themselves. Bubbas panicking because they’ll have to eat his pet chicken. Drayton is taking his stress out on everyone. Grandpa is god knows where, no one’s remembered to check on him.

•Yeah they don’t make it.

Freddy

•he would either do amazing or instantly get turned, no in between.

•I think he’d bite a zombie- “how ya like that bitch” and then turn…. Like an idiot.

•Undead Freddy is far more nightmarish than living Freddy. Yuck!

•or on the other hand would kick some undead ass.

•his powers wouldn’t really help him? If my memory serves me well, the more people fear him, the more power he has. Zombies can’t feel fear, there’s only one thing they think about nom nom. Hence he’d have to use his claws or another weapon.

Yautja

•100% fine. Out of all of the boys, he’s good. Like- he’s going to be completely fine. Bruh doesn’t even live on this planet.

•He’ll make sure there’s not a scratch on his s/o, and gods forbid you get infected he can easily cure you with yautja technology.

•they can’t infect him, cus he’s, ya know, a fucking alien. So even if they do bite him, he’ll just be more pissed off then anything.

•He’s not worried about it, he can hop in his ship and just leave. Depending on your mate, he might let you bring family or close friends with you both. He’s not going to be happy about it. But he’ll allow it. Will also allow pets…..hesitantly….

[juggalomary]

did yall miss me. i hope you did bc im returning with a bang. anyways here’s this. warnings: mcd, child abuse. up on ao3 within a few days

A new day, a new disaster, that’s what soap would say. He was always an optimist. Never heard saying anything about how they were likely going to die on suicide missions. Even though it was so valiantly obvious. He has to be watching from his overwatch position right now.

Ghost was glad to have him on his 6. They’d been switching places more often, soap on overwatch and sniping the people trying to end his life. He never called out to him about these people. Sometimes they’d just end up dead.

He always knows it was soap though, who else could do that so accurately. Soap was the best of the best. He’s not going to let ghost die. He’s not that selfish, never was.

Soap was the best of the best, most morally sound. He held his religion above many temptations. Infil was filled with chatter most of the time, except for soap, running his thumb over rosaries and whispering to a power long forgotten by the other men.

Exfil, a shell shocked soap would sit silently, or wail for not his mother, or ghost, but for someone, god maybe, to end his suffering. He was already going to hell, that’s what a priest told him at 15. He confessed and was told his punishment.

Never repeating that confession to anyone else, in fear of rejection. At 16 he carried his older cousin's casket in between the pews of that same church. He got home and told to man up. He turned 17 and enlisted.

That led to right now, soap covering his 6 and ghost shouting for help. A bullet lodged into his spine, blood gushing from the wound. His screams would’ve revealed his position if he cared anymore. There was no way he would get out of this. He just needed to get to a position he could radio to exfil from.

The enemy must’ve heard his screaming for Johnny, there was no response from soaps end. He must’ve been comprised.

The thundering footsteps we’re getting louder needed to move.

He pulled his hands above his head, chin resting on the ground. Looking up from under his eyebrows he saw about 20 meters until cover.

Pushing his arm to unbend he grabbed for purchase on the grass. He needed to pull himself forward to get to cover. His legs proving useless he grabbed a handful of grass and pulls. It rips.

He keeps trying to pull himself forward, but with every futile grasp comes a handfull of dirt and roots. The footsteps grow louder. He can’t die like this.

He screams in pain and frustration. Johnny is comprised, he’s comprised. It’s a solo mission, he needs to call exfil there’s no price here to scoop his useless self off the floor. He could cry. He won’t cry.

He grabbed a rock and pulled himself forward a foot. That’s okay, he’ll to cover soon. He’ll stay awake, he’ll stay strong. He will not cry.

Another idea comes to mind. He pulls 2 knives from his kit and stabs one into the dirt to use as a sort of handle.

One foot at a time he drags himself to the tree line. Sitting up to access his radio he leans on a tree.

He calls laswell. He needs exfil. He needs to leave. He’s losing blood, but he can’t feel it, he’ll pull through.

His eggs were twisted in horrible ways, he didn’t feel that pain, but he also couldn’t move them. He’ll be okay, he can just rest his eyes for a few minutes. His eyes were far to tired.

Nothing from soap. Nothing from laswell, there’s no point in staying awake, he’ll wake up to the radio transmission.

His eyes fall open again.

“-nom, SIMON! COME IN!” A young woman was on the other side of his radio.

“Mom? Mom I’m scared, I don’t want you to leave me here with him again.” It seemed he was crying.

“Simon who’s there, I’m coming, we need to know where you are.”

“Mommy I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m in the woods mom. Please don’t let him find me. He had a bat mom.” Drearily weeping through the radio was not something that elete SAS lieutenants do. But his mom was back, he missed her so much.

She tried her damn best, especially since he was stuck with his bummy ass father. She tended to his wounds whenever she was sober. She took beatings for him when he was too young to know he’s a man and he should be taking it. She wiped his tears whenever he came crying. Somehow it wasn’t enough.

He still had his tooth knocked out, he still was given drugs before he realized what they were. He still had to see that sex worker die. He still has to kiss that snake.

Haven forgotten about that snake until right now the hissing in his ear was not of any relief. It should’ve, it would mean his radio was working. His hands were too heavy to really hit the button to turn it on though.

Tears were not allowed though. The snake was in his ear, not biting his lip, his mom was talking to him. And Johnny would be back soon.

“Ghost, Simon, do you copy.”

“Mom I’m not alone anymore”

Crunching could he heard, a dark figure approaching him. He had a pistol. He shot the gun, but the bullet shot right next to his ear. He let himself relax, foolishly.

The man in front of him was his father, but his face was skewed. One part of it was his father, and the other half was of price. The side with price reached out and told him to calm down and stay awake. Then price was gone and it was just his father.

He was screaming, not Simon, Simon would recognize who was screaming and it wasn’t himself. A blow landed on his head, he saw it but didn’t feel it. His father was standing there, his mouth was moving but he wasn’t saying anything. Then he hissed like a snake. Mouth open he saw the snake that bit him all those years ago, he started screaming for real this time.

The snaked closed is mouth and then said something in Spainish. This man was none other than a cackling manual roba. Scalpel in one hand he laughed. The scar on his ribs flared up as he was called every insult under the sun. He was told to not fear as, it would feel so nice soon.

Turning his head out of the grasp roba has on his face he was met with Vernon’s rotting skeletal face. There was dirt in his eyes, ears, mouth, nose. He was buried.

“GHOST!”

“Mom? Save me.”

“Ghost who’s with you right now.”

He opens his eyes, praying he can see at the end of this all. Scratched corneas would end his career, and his career is all that he had left.

In front of him, soap was sitting, thumbing his rosaries and mumbling a prayer. Without greeting he looks up. “Simon, I’ve missed you.”

“Ghost. I repeat, who is with you?”

“Johnny. Bye mommy, I’ll see you soon.”

With his final goodbye to the only person to truly love him, he can rest.

“Simon, I loved you too.” A Scottish lilt was the last thing he heard before the world went silent. He laid his head on the tree and closed his eyes. He hoped that Johnny was in the next 7 minutes. And price and Gaz. Maybe he can finally see them again too. Laswell will join them at some point. Then they can meet her wife. Maybe she’ll have kids after retirement.

He hoped he was happy.

-

Ghost was found 2 days later. Soaps rosary in his pocket and tear tracks running down his face wiping off the eye black.

Task force 141 was together, earthly and in spirit. Buried in the national cemetery one next to the other.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 6]

An In Stars and Time AU. In chapter six, the gang faces the King. (Spoiler warning thru Act 4)

It’s been a while since you actually fought the King. Why bother? It’s not like there’s anything waiting on the other side. Just a soppy little coda that doesn’t even resolve anything. No closure. No catharsis. No point. But Isa insisted, about the dagger. He practically begged you. If you go back on your word now, he’ll probably get a lot less cooperative. Which would be inconvenient. And you can’t think of any other way to skip the fight without letting the King kill everyone. (You could bear it, when they wouldn’t remember. But you can’t do it anymore. Not to Isa.) (It hurts to die.) The King is moaning again, whining about his stupid embarrassing ambitions. Ooohh, maybe the real victim is me actually! Maybe you guys should just lay down and die! It might have a little more appeal as a musical number. Give the fight a little razzle-dazzle. But it isn’t. It’s just a huge loser, crying. You zone out.

Watching Siffrin sleep makes Isa’s chest clench. Sif was always a tiny little guy, but they look even smaller in sleep. Hat off, guard down. Hugging their knees to their chest like they’re trying to disappear completely. They might even look peaceful, if not for the dark circles hollowing their eyes. And for the way they keep twitching and flinching, like even their dreams aren’t safe.

Sif circled the tree six times before choosing their spot, fastidious as a housecat. If Isa wasn’t totally spineless, he might have asked if they wanted to rest their head in his lap. N-Not because he wanted them to!!! Or… well. Not��exclusively. Mostly it was just because Sif looked so tired. Like it’d been a million years since they last got a sound night’s sleep. And also because it kinda made Isabeau want to cry, watching Sif look around warily before laying his head down on a tree root.

It probably wouldn’t offend them just to ask. Just a simple, Hey, Sif? You look pretty uncomfortable… and I’m just sitting here, so… it really wouldn’t get in my way if you—if you wanted—if you might be more comfortable resting your head on something a little less, um, made of wood? Like, I dunno… a chunk of moss, or a stack of leaves, or... or even j-just my…

But—nope! Haha! Nnnnope!! There’s no point, anyway. Sif would just say no, and then Isa would have to sit here, watching them, knowing that they’d rather stretch out on a bed of nails than entrust their sleep to him.

It’s probably for the best. Being Sif’s pillow would be distracting. (Like, really really really distracting.) And Isa’s got enough on his mind as it is.

If the time loops aren’t a divine blessing to help Mira beat the King, then what are they for? They must be related to Sif, or else he wouldn’t have been stuck here all alone for all this time. But then why would that change now? Why would it happen in the first place?

There’s a stifled squeak. Siffrin, whimpering in his sleep.

Isa’s palms itch. Of course he knows better than to wake Sif up. At this point, it seems pretty clear that restless sleep is still miles better than no sleep at all. Still, he can’t suppress the instinct to reach out, to pet and fuss and soothe. And… maybe Sif wouldn’t mind?

But he’s kidding himself. He already saw how Sif reacted when he tried. Siffrin is quicker and sharper than anyone, but when Isa reached out, they froze like a rabbit. Paralyzed. Afraid.

…Isa did that. He did that to them.

“Stop,” Isabeau whispers to himself, out loud. He needs to focus. Sif just gave him a lot to think about, and his notes won’t stick around for long. He has all these scattered shards, twisty little splinters of a larger picture that must exist. But it feels like all he’s got are edge pieces. Like he’s still missing something central, fundamental.

He just needs a little more data.

* * *

Sure enough, that article is right where Isabeau remembered: tacked to the wall on the first floor, surrounded by hand-drawn sketches and still-lifes.

None of the articles include anything particularly helpful (e.g., say, a list of weaknesses, or an explanation of how the King’s power actually works). Mostly it’s just about how he showed up out of nowhere, and how nobody really knows where he came from. But they do have plenty to say about his fashion sense.

Siffrin frowns at the photo. “Those patterns…”

"On his chest and gauntlets, you mean?" Isa asks, curious. They're not particularly eye-catching. Just a bunch of big diamonds.

"It's just a weird losange," Bonnie huffs. They’ve never had much interest in fashion. "What's so weird about that?

Siffrin just shakes their head. “Those are stars.”

* * *

Sif moves differently now. Isa couldn’t tell back in Dormont, but in the House, it’s unmistakable There’s a leonine grace; a predatory gleam. Sif weaves through the halls like a shark that’s scented blood. Cold, efficient. Utterly without fear. When they sense him, the Sadnesses scatter like minnows. They cower in corners and blunder into walls, blind in their terror.

He doesn’t slow down until they get to the library, where they hesitate in front of one of the shelves, running a finger down the sparkly, rhinestone-studded spine of a book. They don’t open it. But they don’t have to. Isa remembers this part. Mira read it to them just two loops ago. It was a diary, someone’s memory of the day that everyone forgot an entire country. Just thinking about trying to remember gives Isa the beginnings of a headache. And Sif—

Sif asked him to say it anyway.

They looked so serious. Desperate. Like they were hungry for something they couldn’t even name.

The picture tilts. A new variable, sliding into place.

…Oh, Isa thinks to himself. Okay. It’s starting to come together.

* * *

The King’s shadow darkens the entire House, but nowhere more than the third floor. His hair curls around every doorway like the twisting vines of some pallid, lightless plant that only grows deep underground. The air hums with Craft. It makes Isa’s skin prickle, makes the hair on his arms stand up straight. No matter where you go, you can always hear the clamor of the King’s sobs, a wrenching, discordant wail that sounds like it’s being wrung out of him with a wine key. It’s overpowering. Inescapable. Isa doesn’t scare easily—not in a fight, at least—and even he can feel the dread seeping into his blood. Some primal, animal corner of his brain is telling him to run. Run. Run. You’re in danger. You’re not a hunter here. You’re prey.

And just a few steps in front of him, Sif is leading the charge with an impatient little scowl. He looks distracted. Bored. Like they’re waiting in a too-long line at the market.

They know the way, too. Right turn, left turn, pick up the key and track back. A quick stop in Mira’s room, then north for another key. In the corner of his eye, Isa can see Madame Odile eyeing them suspiciously. Siffrin doesn’t seem to notice.

And then they’re at the King.

Isabeau promised not to get in the way this time, and he’s not about to break a promise. He keeps his mouth shut while Siffrin steps forward.

“Where are you from?”

The King looks straight at them. When he brushes his hair aside, Isa can see his eyes burn white. Silver-white, like Siffrin’s. “.....What about you, bright one..... Where are you from?”

Siffrin flinches.

The King laughs.

* * *

* * *

* * *

It’s been a while since you actually fought the King. Why bother? It’s not like there’s anything waiting on the other side. Just a soppy little coda that doesn’t resolve anything. No closure. No catharsis. No point. It doesn’t even tie up any loose ends. Isa’s stupid confession is foreshadowed for the whole script—now that you know what to look for, it’s honestly a little heavy-handed—and by the time the curtain falls, nothing has changed. Chekhov’s gun lies cold on the mantle. At a certain point, it’s just bad writing.

But Isa insisted, about the dagger. He practically begged you. If you go back on your word now, he’ll probably get a lot less cooperative. Which would be inconvenient. And you can’t think of any other way to skip the fight without letting the King kill everyone. (You could bear it, when they wouldn’t remember. But you can’t do it anymore. Not to Isa.)

(It hurts to die.)

The King is moaning again, whining about his stupid embarrassing ambitions. Ooohh, maybe the real victim is me actually! Maybe you guys should just lay down and die! It might have a little more appeal as a musical number. Give the fight a little razzle-dazzle. But it isn’t. It’s just a huge loser, crying.

You zone out.

* * *

You beat the King, obviously. It’s easy now. Buff. Attack. Block. Attack. Bomb. Attack. You’re never even in any real danger, so does it really have to take so long?

The others cheer, after you finish him off. You remember to cheer, too. In the corner of your eye, you can feel Isa’s gaze on you. You do not look back.

* * *

How many times have you been on this rooftop? Probably the number doesn’t matter. All that matters is that nothing ever worked, and nothing ever changed.

There’s too much in your head. You can feel thoughts ticking, tickling, prickling. Where the expanse of possibility should stretch endlessly into the horizon, there’s only history. Hindsight. Nowhere to go but back.

You look at Euphrasie.

Your whole nervous system clenches in on itself. Your blood cold and turgid; your windpipe crusted shut with blackened sugar. Your lips itch. Your throat burns. You Cannot Talk To Her Again.

Your hands twitch toward your dagger.

…But you promised.

“Isa,” you mumble, shuffling toward his corner of the rooftop. “Can I… talk to you?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course! Always!”

“No, I mean. Um. Alone?”

In the background, Odile whistles. You very graciously ignore her.

“Oh!” Isa squeaks. “Y-Yeah, I— Yeah, of course!”

You wonder idly whether he knows that you know what he wanted to tell you, back when that was still something he cared about. Probably he doesn’t. You have a history of obliviousness, apparently. But Isabeau does too.

It doesn’t matter. That’s not what you need to talk to him about.

* * *

You are keenly aware of your family’s eyes on you as Isabeau trails you down the steps and around the corner. You might feel embarrassed, if you didn’t know for a fact that this entire timeline was about to be wiped from existence.

“I can’t talk to her,” you announce, once you’ve decided that you’re out of range.

Isa blinks at you. “Um? To…”

“The Head Housemaiden.”

“...Huh?”

Oh. That’s right. You never explained this part. Probably because you didn’t want to be here. “You know how, even if we beat the King, I still loop back?”

Isa nods.

You nod at Euphrasie. “This is where it happens.”

“Wait, she—” Isabeau looks over his shoulder and then back, goggle-eyed. “Don’t tell me Mira’s mom kills us????”

You can’t suppress a snort. “Um. No. Not like that. I talk to her, and then it’s over.”

“Wa-a-ait,” Isa says slowly. “You mean… Do you mean without dying???”

You shrug.

“But… But wouldn’t that mean—”

“No.”

“But if we could loop back without—”

“No.” He doesn’t understand. Nothing hurts worse than talking to Euphrasie.

Isabeau hesitates. “But… But if she can—”

“I can’t talk to her again.” Just thinking about how hopeful you felt, the first few times—

But that was a long time ago.

Isabeau studies your face. You expect him to press you, but—he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says instead. He exhales slowly, brushes off his hands. “Okay! Then, um, what would you normally do here?”

For just a second, your eye flicks toward your dagger.

“Ah,” Isa says. “Okay, well. Thanks for… not doing that.” He takes a breath, lets it out. “So… what do you wanna do instead?”

“…You could stab me?”

“Sif.”

Yeah, you didn’t really think he was going to go for it. “I could jump off?” You’ve never tried that before. It might be nice to feel something new!

“No???”

You scowl at him. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“...You really can’t talk to her?”

You nod. You really really can’t.

“Could I talk to her?” he asks hopefully.

You shake your head. You know you’re being difficult, but—no. He can’t! And it wouldn’t work, probably, anyway. That’s not how it’s ever worked.

Isabeau heaves a breath. “Okay. Then we just… find another way, right?”

You shrug.

“But we couldn’t figure that out last time,” his eyes flicking toward your shoulder. “We’d have to try something… else, I guess. Um. Do you… have any ideas? About why it didn’t work, or… what we could try instead?”

You think about it. You liked feeling his hand on your shoulder, you think. You think you liked it. But your cloak is thick and sturdy. You could barely even feel him. “Maybe because I couldn’t feel it on my skin?”

“Oh,” Isa whispers. “Um. D-Do you think so?”

Another shrug. What do you know? The only time touch made you loop was—

(—shut up shut up THAT NEVER HAPPENED.)

Isabeau swallows. He wraps one hand around his arm, clutching tight enough to bunch the fabric of his sleeve. “Um…”

You huff a breath. “Sorry. Never mind. It was stupid.”

“N-No!! It’s not that!! It’s just that you’re… kinda all covered up? Except your—um.” He looks away. “Your… f-face.”

…Oh.

You shouldn’t think about it and you are thinking about it, now, irrevocably. Isa’s hand on your cheek. His very warm, very large hand, cradling the side of your face. Fingers brushing your cheekbone, your temple. If you asked him, with your face burning under his touch, to tell you what he’d promised to confess, would he finally do it?

But you can’t risk it. Not here, not now. There are no more second chances. Isabeau’s already trapped here with you. Haven’t you hurt him enough?

“...Sif?”

Carefully, you peel off your gloves.

“Ohh,” Isa breathes. “Are you… D-Did you wanna…”

“I want to stab myself,” you snap, before reining yourself in. “Sorry. No. I just mean, I don’t mind stabbing myself.” It doesn’t take too long, and it always works. And it’s… yours. Not just something happening to you. “But if you wanted to try something else…”

Isa’s hand flits closer. But he doesn’t grab yours. He just—holds it out to you, palm-up. There’s an appealing flush darkening his ears, sweat beading on his brow. It’s silly, really. There’s no reason to be nervous about something like you; something that’s not even a person. But he is. It’s… interesting.

You know that you should feel sorry. You know it should embarrass you. But there’s something appealing about seeing him like this. Disarmed, unarmored. Over-exposed as a shucked oyster. It makes you feel sort of… powerful.

(Disgusting.)

You meet him in the middle. Reach out and trace a line from the tip of his longest finger to the soft skin of his wrist, where his pulse thrums through it. You pretend not to notice the way that he shudders.

“Soft,” you mumble. You’d expected his hands to be tougher, scarred and callused like yours. Especially since he fights with his fists. But you were right about one thing. He is very, very warm.

“I.” His voice comes out choked and strangled. “—have a good skincare routine?”

You snort. The pad of your thumb circles his palm, just to make his breath hitch. You can feel his pulse quicken and that’s interesting, too, so you do it again before uncurling your hand and laying your palm flat against his.

Isa pulls in a shuddering breath. You can see him steeling himself, gathering his courage before he slots his fingers into the spaces between yours and then you’re—holding hands. You’re holding hands. It feels almost familiar. Has someone held your hand before? When you try to remember, the thought twists away.

“Um,” Isa says hoarsely. “So. D-Do you feel—um—loop-y?”

You think about it. “I think you’re being too careful.”

His eyes widen.

“I think it won’t work if you don’t surprise me,” you explain. “Like. Catch me off guard.”

“O-Oh,” he whispers. “Really?”

You nod.

You’re aware that you’re pushing him. Pushing his boundaries; shoving through his comfort zone and out the other side. But that’s because you don’t want to be here.

There’s a reason you stopped coming here. Started asking your questions and ending the loop, instead of beating the King at all. You’re tired of this. Tired of hearing the same fumbling aborted confession. Tired of watching Isa decide that maybe he’d rather not know you, after all. That he’d rather be safe than be yours.

You want to push him. You want to scare him, a little. Make him suffer, make him squirm. It’s only fair, isn’t it? He’s been toying with you for a hundred loops.

(...You’re disgusting.)

Isa scuffs his feet, shifts his weight. “Um. Um… Do you… have any ideas?”

You raise an eyebrow. “If I tell you, it’s not really a surprise, Isa.”

“Haha, yeah!!!!!! I guess you’re right!!!” He looks down at your joined hands and swallows. “And. And you’re sure we can’t just—“

You glare at him and he actually squeaks. It’s cute. No it isn’t, it’s cruel. You’re playing with him, like a kid pulling the wings off a butterfly. Sadistic.

“Okay, okay, okay. No Housemaiden. S-So it just has to be… something you’d never expect…” He falters. “…Promise you won’t get mad?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. It probably depends on what he does.

“Y-Yeah, of course. Of course. And you really won’t—um—I mean—because I could do all the talking…“

“She does all the talking.”

“Okay!!” he squeaks. “S-Sorry!! Then I’ll just—um. L-Let me just try…”

Tentative, slow, he wraps his fingers around your wrist. You have maybe half a second to process what’s happening before he raises your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your palm, right where it meets your wrist. Sparks under your skin. Lightning on your tongue. You’ve never been more aware of your own nerve endings.

You blink up at him, heat-dazzled, only to find his face burning. Eyes glossy with shame, and—something else. His gaze is locked on the place where he ends and you start but when he senses you staring he catches your eye and it’s— Oh, Stars. Oh, Change or Expressions or Gems, it’s— He’s so desperate. He’s so ashamed. He wants you so much.

(—Not you. Not you. He doesn’t want you, he wants the role you were playing. But it’s hard to remember when he’s so beautiful, and so close. And so hungry. You can see it in the ember of his eyes, burning for you. But he can’t, he shouldn’t, it’s wrong; you’re disgusting and wrong and you know but he’s—he’s looking at you like he can actually see you. Like he could see you and still want you.)

There’s a shift in his stance. Isa, tilting closer, squeezing his eyes shut. He draws your wrist toward his mouth and you realize with terror that he’s going to do it again—except that he can’t, because if he does it again, you can’t be sure what kind of sound you’ll make and the pressure building in your throat feels dangerously like a whimper, and—and if you whimper, then he’ll know; he’ll know that you—he’ll know that you—

[ f e e l   a   t u g   a t   y o ur   s t o m a c h ]

And you wake up in a field.

If you wanna get updates as soon as I post em, feel free to follow the series on ao3!

[jasontoddiefor]

LTIT Isekai Anon here this is just a potential idea and honestly if you do anything with what I sent previously I’d be on my knees before you ready to sell my soul but like picture if you will, and feel free to pick and choose anything from this deranged thought of mine:

I imagine the backstory starts off a lot like canon where Euihyun has a shitty, abusive father and a four year brother he is raising the best he can and a mountain of debt his father only adds to-up until he and his brother get run over by a truck that didn’t see Euiyoung crossing the street and Euihyun failed to shove his brother out of the way and so instead they both get hit instead of one or the other and-

Euihyun and Euiyoung both get reincarnated and isekai’d into a romantic fantasy omegaverse novel that he barely remembers the plot of but read because there had been nothing else to do because a customer left the book behind and he had downtime on his job so Euihyun doesn’t have grand plans or schemes up until he realizes he’s the side character offhandedly mentioned in an impoverished noble family that gets ruined by debt and he’s played this song and dance before and he’s not doing it again, he’s getting the hell out dodge even if he doesn’t have a coin to his name…and oh look there’s a conveniently passed out rich looking dude injured in the woods while he’s about to make his escape with Euiyoung in tow and fine he’ll put it off for a couple days to heal this dude and get some money as a reward. Enough to get him and Euihyun a nice home, maybe one by the sea. He is not aware that he is fully shattered the original plot of the novel beyond repair. Nor does he fully remember anything how this omegaverse thing works, but I’m sure that won’t have lasting consequences on him.

Northern Grand Duke Taeju is a man who’s parents have been on his back to get married to the point it’s slowly driving him to madness and then he’s nearly murdered and the only reason he doesn’t die is because this omega with one of the best scents he’s ever smelled nursed him back to health and is now demanding money for it, so he makes a deal: have a contract marriage with him for a few years and he’ll pay more than enough for him and his brother to live a comfortable life. This will not backfire on him at all. This will not get him attached at all. He’s definitely not going to turn into a horny, pining mess of a simp at all.

(I’m not saying Euihyun is pregnant before the year is out but-)

Euiyoung is 4 so he like barely knows what’s going on and accepts the explanation they are in a new world without technology and they can’t ever tell anyone about their original world pretty easily because it wasn’t like he was using cars or cellphones or really understood electricity and this world has a pretty decent magical substitute, and he likes this new man that took them away from their cruel father and means he can spend all his time with his brother, and he’s vibing for the most part because him and hyung dying after getting hit by that truck was just a bad dream that absolutely wasn’t real and Euihyun doesn’t have nightmares about at all.

Anyway Euihyun finds himself in a mansion bigger than his wildest dreams with an army of servants prepared to wait on his every need with a husband that is thankfully disinterested in him beyond a public show and he’s still on edge, they’ll be leaving here soon enough, just when the contract ends, and it’s cold but not as cold as an apartment without heat and threadbare clothes compared to the warm fireplace and thick furs and hot tea and hot chocolate always available and Euiyoung looks so happy playing in the snow, fed and warm and happier than Euihyun has even seen him and that is enough that maybe is enough for him to lower his guard around the contract husband who’s definitely not going to try and seduce him via immaculately pampering and spoiling his beloved baby brother. That would be ridiculous.

But maybe I’m just crazy

anon if you are i'm joining you <3

and this is SO good. i am obsessed. 10/10.

I can only imagine Taeju waking up like "where the fuck am I" and like. It's a nicer noble house but it for sure has seen some better days and is definitely not the forest he was hunting uuh a demon in? got nearly assassinated at in? something like that.

And then he meets his maybe-kidnapper-maybe host, who serves him a meal that seems less "you're sick so here you go" and more "we didn't have any more vegetables" and also what is a young lord doing serving a guest instead of a servant?

There are no servants, he learns a little later, as the head of the house is gone and funds have run out and all that's left is his definitely-host, who, rather conveniently he thinks, is of marriagable age, and his prospective-fiancé's little kid brother.

(The kid seems rather distressed that he lost his favorite toy? Some kind of lion from a show? Taeju is not aware of any theater shows with lions but he's also not interacting with children on the regular. But the kid babbles a lot at him while his genius-plan brother is gauging the prices of things to sell in the mansion.)

So once he's all healed up, and before his family can start tracking him down, Taeju pitches this: I need a spouse, just for year or two so my parents will shut up about me being single. I'll pay off your debt in turn. If I die before we divorce, you'll be paid handsomely. How about it?

And Euihyun, desperate, but not fucking stupid says, "yeah right" and "if you can't pay me now, just drop some coin off tomorrow" but does not actually expect this gesture of goodwill to pay off. He should've just taken rich guy's coat and sold it in the next village over.

"Tomorrow then," our dear bastard agrees and does show up the next day, in the carriage with the grand duchy's seal, pretending for all his servants to see that he fell in lust love at first glance with his sweet omega savior.

oh man anon im gonna have to re read the manhwa I remember like nothing about what exactly taeju's family and structure was like. besides that his dad is hilarious

[allthingsfangirl101]

Accidentally Turned On–Steve Harrington

Warning: sexual touching, language

We were frozen as the demobats flew away. All you could hear was our breathing. I looked around at my friends, trying to make sure they were all okay. My eyes landed on Steve and stayed there when I saw he was already looking at me.

"We need to get out of here," Nancy said, breaking the silence. I couldn't focus as they started talking about where we could go and how we could get back to Hawkins. I looked down at my hands to see them shaking. I knew what this meant.

"Y/N?"

And so did Steve.

"Are you okay?"

"I can't believe. . . We're back. . . This is where Will was trapped. . . For days. . . How are we. . . We're stuck."

Steve gently grabbed my arms and gently rubbed them. "We're going to be okay," he whispered. "We're going to get out of here. I promise."

"We have a plan," Robin said, walking over to us.

"What?" Steve asked.

"We're going to Nancy's house," Robin explained. "We're going to try and get some of her guns, maybe find a way to reach the kids for help."

"Sounds good," he agreed.

As she left, he reached over and grabbed one of my hands, instantly intertwining our fingers. He pulled me along and followed the others. We were walking along the edge of the woods when I noticed Steve start to slow down.

"Are you okay?"

My question got caught in my throat when Steve suddenly stopped, his breathing heavy.

"Steve?" I asked, my voice soft. I looked down, my heart jumping into my throat when I saw the bite marks on his side. His knees got weak and I barely caught him.

"Help!" I screamed. "Guys, Steve needs help!"

I slowly lowered him and helped him lean against the rock. I reached up and gently moved some hair out of his face. The others stood behind me as I examined his wound.

"It's going to be okay," I whispered. I looked up at him and said, "I know this is going to be hard and painful, but I need you to stand up, okay?"

Steve nodded and I carefully helped him stand up. He watched as I tore the bottom of my shirt. I was about to wrap the fabric around him, but I hesitated.

"Hey," he whispered as he grabbed my shaking hands. "Do it. I'll be fine."

"It's going to hurt," I said under my breath. I looked down at my hands still shaking in his.

"That's okay," he tried to reassure.

"I don't want to hurt you."

He let go of one of my hands and used his free hand to lift my chin. "You aren't going to hurt me, Y/N. You're going to help me. I trust you to do this. I only trust you."

I looked down and held my breath as I started wrapping the fabric from my shirt around his waist. Every time he gasped in pain, I echoed it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"It's okay," he said through his teeth. I looked up at him, keeping my hands on his hips as I stood up.

"I'm almost done, Steve."

I wrapped the fabric around his back but the earth started to shake. I gasped, Steve instantly catching me as I fell into him. I tried to ignore the blush on my face as our bodies were pressed together. We stayed like that, closer than we two friends have ever been until the shaking stopped.

"You good?" He asked.

"Yeah," I stuttered. "You?"

"Yep," he smiled. I looked down and cleared my throat. My stomach felt like a zoo as I finished wrapping Steve's wound, our bodies still a little too close. I tied off the makeshift bandage and looked up at Steve with a sigh of relief.

"Is he going to die?" Robin asked, bursting through the tension no one else seemed to notice was between Steve and me.

"He'll be fine," I chuckled, looking away from Steve. "We should get going."

The others nodded as they turned around and headed further into the woods. As we walked, I got closer to Nancy and Robin while Steve and Eddie stayed behind us.

"You okay?" Nancy asked.

"I'm fine," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. Nancy glanced behind us at Steve and chuckled.

"Y/N," she sighed. "I know you. I know Steve. You two have been friends long before Steve and I were ever a thing."

"What are you getting at?" I asked, harsher than intended.

"Yeah," Robin joined in. "What are you getting at, Nancy?"

"Look," she said, slightly uncomfortable, "when Steve and I were going out, I was worried. About you."

"Me?" I stuttered. "What are you talking about? Why would you be worried about me?"

"Because I saw things," she said. "You and Steve were close."

"We've been friends since we were little," I tried to explain.

"True," Nancy shrugged. "But I also saw how he looked at you when you weren't paying attention. Whenever a guy was talking to you, he'd get on edge. Almost like he was preparing to jump up and intervene at a moment's notice."

"He was protective," I stuttered. "He's always been. . ."

"Y/N," she cut me off, "it's okay. There's nothing between Steve and me anymore. That's in the past."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, playing with my hands. Nancy grabbed my elbow, stopping me. She glanced at Steve and Eddie before turning back to me.

"Because," she said, lowering her voice, "the two of you would be a lot happier if you just confessed."

"Confessed what?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"That you're in love with him."

Nancy walked away but I couldn't move. My mind raced at this new information.

Could I be? And if I was, how did Nancy know and I didn't?

"Y/N?"

I jumped at the sudden voice. When I turned to see who it was, I saw Steve looking at me with worry.

"Are you okay?" He asked. "Were you hurt?"

"No," I stuttered. "I'm fine. Just. . . Scared."

"Hey," he said, his voice dropping as he grabbed my hand. "You know I will do whatever it takes to protect you, right? No matter what."

That's why I love you.

"That's why you're my best friend," I said instead.

Steve looked at me in a way that made me feel happy, giddy, and nervous all at the same time. I looked away from him, my eyes landing on the makeshift bandage. I reached over to move it aside so I could get a look at his wound. I couldn't help but cringe when I saw it.

"Hey," he said, sounding a little shaky. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" I asked as I gently and carefully undid his bandage. I started rewrapping it tighter. I froze when he groaned.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. I got on my knees to readjust the bandage. I barely touched him before he groaned again.

"I'm so sorry, Steve," I gasped. "I'm trying to. . ."

"It's not you," he said, shakily. He looked down at me as I looked up at him. My stomach flipped when he bit his bottom lip and groaned again.

"It is you," Steve said like it was hard to get out.

"What?" I panicked as I stood up.

The second I was standing, Steve grabbed my face and pushed me against a nearby tree. I gasped when he leaned down, practically smashing his lips onto mine. When the shock wore off, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back. As soon as I started kissing him back, Steve deepened the kiss by pushing himself against me. That was when I felt his boner against my leg.

Suddenly it all made sense.

Steve broke the kiss and started kissing my neck. I leaned my head against the tree and turned to give him better access.

"Your groans," I moaned. I tried to finish my thought but I got distracted by what Steve was doing to my neck.

"They weren't out of pain," he moaned against my neck. He pulled away and looked into my eyes as we both breathed heavily. "They were because I was trying to hide how fucking turned on I was by what you were doing to me. Don't ever stop touching me, Y/N. Never."

I grabbed his face and brought his lips roughly back to mine. We let out matching moans as we started moving our lips messily in sync. As we got lost in the kiss, I slid my hands down Steve's body. I didn't stop until I got to his ass. I squeezed signally him to pick me up. I instantly wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Fuck," he moaned against my lips as he lowered me a little so my hips were pressed directly to his.

"Oh Steve," I gasped as he pushed himself further against me. I let out a small whine as he broke the kiss and slowly put me down.

As soon as I was back on my feet, Steve pressed his lips back to mine. As we kissed, his hands roamed my body. I moaned, biting his bottom lip when his hand found my breast.

"Fucking hell, Steve," I moaned as he started massaging my breast.

"Damn, baby," he groaned. He broke the kiss again and leaned his forehead against mine. "I've been dying to hear you moan my name. Do it again."

"Anything for you, Steve," I moaned. I grabbed his face, bringing his lips back to mine. Our lips instantly started moving in sync as his hand continued to massage my breast. With every squeeze, I felt his boner get harder against my thigh.

I broke the kiss and looked deeply into his eyes. I've never had a guy look at me with so much lust in his eyes. I breathed heavily as he reached up with his other hand and grabbed my other breast. He looked down and watched his hands massage me.

"I want you," he groaned, giving me goosebumps. My heart jumped into my throat when he slowly looked back up at me. "So bad, baby."

"I'm all yours, Steve."

He was about to lean in and reattach our lips but the others called out to us.

"Steve? Y/N? Where are you guys?" Robin yelled.

"We're fine," Steve responded. He sounded a lot more normal than I felt. He took a step back and turned right as the others ran over to us. My mind was going crazy as I could still feel his hands roaming my body.

"Steve's bandage came undone," I explained, my entire body still on fire. "I was retying it."

"Are we doing this or not?" Eddie sighed.

"How much longer, Nancy?" Robin asked.

"We're almost there," Nancy said.

I let out a sigh of relief as Eddie, Nancy, and Robin started walking away, no sign of them knowing what they interrupted. I was about to follow them but Steve pulled on my hand, bringing me back into his chest, and instantly pressing his lips to mine. This one was a lot softer than the ones we shared in our previous secret make-out session. He broke the kiss and kept his face close to mine.

"I love you," he whispered. "I've been in love with you for a very long time and it's been driving me crazy to keep it a secret. I shouldn't have been such a coward. I'm sorry, Y/N."

"I should've told you sooner," I said under my breath.

"Told me what?" He smirked.

"That I've been in love with you for a very long time and it's been driving me crazy to keep it a secret."

Instead of responding, Steve pressed his lips back to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he wrapped his around my waist. We broke apart when we heard someone clear their throat. We looked over to see Eddie smirking at us.

"I knew it," he chuckled. "Well, when you lovebirds are done, we have a psychotic freak to go confront."

"Yeah, we know," Steve said, holding in his laughter. I looked away, hiding my blush as Eddie left. Steve grabbed my chin and made me look back at him.

"We should probably go," I stuttered.

"Yep," he laughed. "I've got a psychotic freak to protect you from."

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

And if he really wanted company he wouldn't have abandoned all those immortals there. Or he would have gone back to get them out eventually but he didn't.

I’ll be real, I don’t think the worldbuilding or even character stuff introduced in KoS is particularly consistent with anything happening in TGT.

That being said, I think that can be explained by him having a particularly outsized idea of who can possibly be a real companion to him. A lifetime spent fearing vulnerability has left him with a white knuckle need for absolute control. He’s lonely but he doesn’t want a true equal, he wants someone who can simultaneously fulfill all his emotional needs, validate his perspective and choices, and never challenge him, all while being auspicious and long lived enough to deserve his attention.

Alina is not these things, aside from her chosen one status as Sun Summoner elevating her to his interest, but she’s young enough that he thinks he can mold her into it.

But consider that before that, his prospects are… no one LOL. I don’t think he’s never had any connections ever, but there are always strong caveats. Again, he will have no trust or show any vulnerability for immortal characters or anyone who might feasibly ever be a threat to him. And then anyone else is going to be short lived enough comparatively that it will have either 100% ended in tragedy one way or another or he just hasn’t bothered to care.

Like he barely views otkazat’sya as people, meanwhile until he does gain absolute power, he’ll mistrust any Grisha who will have something to gain from killing him for his bones. Meanwhile! A true, powerful immortal could be a threat, and can never be trusted. And by the time he is powerful enough not to worry about being killed for an amplifier, the jadedness of watching everyone die has probably fully set in.

And like again, we do see in Demon in the Wood how he’s set on a path of isolation. We literally see Baghra raising him to trust no one, and to view the unit of the two of them as fundamentally other and above all other people. And of course, she is herself emotionally stilted and distant from her own traumatic upbringing. We don’t have any real details for when he actually breaks with her. But at least for the length of a typical childhood, probably longer, he will not have had like any other real perspective or model for meaningful relationships. That’s going to be deeply ingrained!