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girlboybug · 2 years ago

Text

Ultraviolence

"he hit me and it felt like a kiss."

or the one where ellie finds refuge in your farm house, whereas joel only finds a challenge of self restraint when he meets you.

what’s playing 🎧 : ultraviolence by lana del rey

pairing : joel miller x female!reader

word count : 9k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, mean!joel, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, manhandling, rough sex, spitting, slight voyeurism if you squint, f!masturbation, m!masturbation, spanking, fingering, slight dom/sub dynamics, panties fetish, creampies, unprotected sex, breeding kink, light restraining, choking, tummy bulge, impact play if u kinda squint and tilt ur head, degrading, light praise, daddy kink im sorry yall (not rlly), unspecified age gap, dirty talk, fluff for 2 seconds at the end :p

TRIGGER WARNINGS : reader has emotionally absent/verbally abusive dad, takes place after the david incident but there's zero mention of it lolz just background for yall, joel is mean and rude tbh, kinda very toxic but im addicted to old toxic men sowwy (plz dont ever let a man treat yall like this irl!!) anyways this is all i can think of, lmk if i missed anything! otherwise pls enjoy!! <3

a/n : wouldn't be a fic written by user girlboybug if the reader didn't have raging daddy issues lolz

there’s creaking at the front patio, the old wood worn down by countless stomps from your boots never failed to act as an alerting system for any trespassers. your heart sinks when you force yourself to get up, the responsibility to inspect the origins of the noise falling on your shoulders alone.

yippie.

your hand finds its hold around the neck of your dad’s shotgun, sock covered feet waiting a pregnant pause at your door, swallowing down the brunt of your nerves thickly. you inch out the door, holding the shotgun as steady as you can, eyes fighting to not fail you by succumbing to the night blur that glazes over your vision.

your sights land on a figure of a man, anxiety hitting you with the heel of its fist into your nervous system once his silhouette becomes clear before you. you pointedly aim at him, praying that the act seems intimidating enough. “you’re trespassin’” you call out, prompting him to raise his hands beside his head, keeping his movements slow and careful as to not give you a reason to shoot.

“just lookin for shelter ma’am,” he replies, his voice feels deep when it hits your ears, not stopping short of rich. “not buyin’ it. now i’m not gonna repeat myself, leave before i blow your goddamn head off,” you shoot your threats in the place of bullets, but your tone gives out on you, giving in to your fear, cracking in on itself mid sentence.

a young girl moves from behind him, her hands also beside her head. “ellie,” he whisper yells, trying to move back in front of her. your hard glare falls into a guilty gaze, and your shotgun falters downward. “thought i told you to stay behind me–” she cuts him off, probably causing a vein on the side of his temple to burst with stress when she moves in front of him to speak.

“we’re just looking for somewhere to stay for the night, and we’ll be out of your hair by morning. we promise.” the now named girl swears, looking at the man that dwarfs her in size for extra confirmation. “promise her joel,” she hushedly instructs and he huffs, looking back at you. “promise.” he adds gruffly.

they look like father and daughter, and you don’t have it in you to turn them away, and despite the possibility that lingers in the back of your mind that this is all a ploy to rob you blind, you settle on the fact that it’s worth the risk to let them in.

your shotgun rests beside you, no longer using it as a shield from the fear of an impending threat. “okay,” you verbally decide, and ellie lets out a sigh of relief, leaning into joel. he holds onto her with a sense of care, of protection, and your heart pangs at the sight as they climb up onto the patio.

your lips drop open unintentionally when the man that now has a name and a face to go along with it, stands before you.

he’s tall, he’s handsome, much older than both you and the girl. “thank you ma’am,” he says, a curt nod from the top of his head, and ellie offers a small smile, joining in his nod. “thank you,” she whispers, and you smile back, moving to the side to let them in.

immediate comfort envelopes the pair, a quiet breath of it being expelled from them, and you close the door behind you, locking it to make sure that the warmth from inside doesn’t morph into the frigid wind outside.

“there anyone else with you?” joel questions, unintendedly sending a worried alert in your mind, your body language showing a visible uncomfortableness at the question.

ellie notices, nudging joel with her elbow. “dude?” she mouths, eyebrows furrowed, silently asking, what the fuck?

you find yourself trusting her more than you do him, which is just enough of an amount to get you to believe he doesn't mean to sound as sketchy as he comes across. “just me and my dad. he’s asleep upstairs,” you respond, and joel looks back at you, pursing his lips, nodding.

“i’ll show you where you guys can sleep, and i can even get you a change of clothes.” you say, flickering between the two of them before turning on your heel. they trail behind you quietly while you lead them to their temporary rooms.

walking up the stairs, and past the stretch of the hallway, you stop at one of the spare rooms, pushing open the door. “there’s this one, and then,” you lean over, pushing open a door to the room just beside it. “this one. up to you guys to decide whoever gets which,” you send them off with a nervous smile, rubbing your palms over your pajama bottoms.

“thank you,” ellie calls out, lowering her voice but keeping it at an octave audible enough for you to hear. you turn back, smiling at the young girl before going into your bedroom. you grab a pair of pajamas for the pair, trying to be quick so as to not keep them waiting.

you return to them, finding them both in the same room, sitting at the side of the bed. ellie’s head is leant against joel’s arm, his stare resting over her. the pang hits you again, but you push past it, gently tapping your knuckles over the door. his stare moves from her to you.

“these are for her, and here’re some of my dad’s old clothes for you. they should fit, but if not you can uh, let me know and i’ll find something else for you.” you set them down beside him, and he nods, a tight lipped inch of a curl over his mouth spreads just slightly, acknowledging your actions.

“these should be fine,” he places a hand over the folded clothes, where your’s was and you find yourself swallowing hard again. his hand is big.

“alright, well goodnight.” you wish kindly, making your way out the door, nodding a polite bidding. “night,” he responds, traces of southerness apparent in his vowels. “thank you,” he makes sure to say before you leave.

for everything he wants to add, but he doesn’t, which is okay, you can hear it through the crickets and the quiet peacefulness that passes through the room.

you leave him with an equally hushed response of no problem, the door closing behind you at the curt ending of your reply.

–

your eyes snap wide open, a low wince falling out at the sting from the rude awakening your body is being subjected to. your name rings as a harsh echo, and you’re quick to your feet, remembering the girl and the man staying in your home, unbeknownst to your dad. “shit,” you groan, hurriedly rushing across the hallway and down the stairs.

and there was your father, loud, angry, and yelling at…joel? if you remembered his name correctly. “who the fuck are these people and why are they tellin’ me you let them in last night?” he all but shouts, and you feel small, humiliated.

“i did, i’m sorry, they don’t mean any harm, they just needed a place to stay for the night.” you answer meekly, and joel’s fists tighten, every fiber of his being wanting nothing more than to plummet his fists into the side of your dad’s jaw.

“lord,” he exhales, shutting his eyes and pinching his nose bridge. he walks towards you, a finger pointed at your face when he speaks.

“if they wanna stay they better make themselves useful, if not, i want them out my goddamn house in 5 minutes.” he snipes irritatedly, eyeing you down with annoyance, making sure you saw the seriousness in his face before he leaves, trudging out the front door. ellie watches with sympathetic eyes as you flinch when he slams the door shut.

it’s quiet for longer than you’d like for it to be, but you’re unsure of what to say after being belittled in front of people who are virtually strangers.

“what a dick,” ellie exhales and joel looks at her, eyes wide, lips tight with chastising ready to be released. “ellie!” he chides and she raises her arms in disgruntled defense. “what? he is!”

you laugh, and they turn to you surprisedly. “yeah, he is. i’m sorry about that.” you sigh, and joel shakes his head. “no, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to impose and cause you all that trouble.” he apologizes, genuineness in his softened tone, a pane of his thick drawl behind it, and it soothes away the feeling your dad left you with.

“it’s alright, it’s just how he is,” you say, attempting to pacify their concerns, but ellie, blows out a quiet breath, eyes slightly wider when she tilts her head side to side. “massive asshole,” she mutters, and you giggle before joel can chide her once more. she smiles at your laughter, and joel just sighs his 100th sigh.

“you guys can sit, he’ll be gone for most of the day. i can make some breakfast before you have to go?” you offer, motioning towards the dining table, desperate to move past this topic. “mighty gracious of you, but we should get goin,” joel inadvertently rejects your offers, and you frown.

ellie turns to him, a hopeful stare chipping away at his decision. “dude please, there’s only so much chef boyardee i can take.”

you stifle a laugh at her pleading, tying an apron around your waist.

“fine.” he sighs, and ellie whispers a successful yes!

–

as time went by, you grew closer to ellie, but almost as a trade off, it seemed as though joel drifted further and further from you, leaving you with no idea as to why.

you’ve been nothing but kind to him, and the more you tried to do…well, anything, it only pushed him away instead of bringing him in closer.

granted, you did do things that prompt some kind of annoyed response from joel, like right now, as joel stands in the bathroom, his eyes falling to your discarded panties on the ground.

he marches out the bathroom, searching for you. “ellie, where’s the girl?” he asks, and she can hear the irritation building in the base of his voice. “uh, outside, she’s picking some fruit, why?” she queries, turning around from her seated position on the couch to face him.

he strides towards the door, eyes glaring straight ahead. “no reason.” he replies sardonically, and ellie rolls her eyes, flipping back on the couch.

your dad had gone into the next town over to collect more supplies, do some more trading and other various things, but you didn’t care, he’s gone for the time being, and you’re happy, at ease, with more time to look after your garden and spend time leisurely picking at the fruits that hang from the trees above you.

you’re resting on your knees, overalls rolled up to your thighs, bandana covering your hairline, nimble fingers plucking at the strawberries from the array of bushes. the rays of sunlight blanketing over your skin suddenly vanishes, and you turn, hand over your forehead when you look up at joel.

“oh hi joel! strawberry?” you chirp, offering a plump strawberry, and he exhales through his nose, eyes raking over you.

you have a habit of almost never wearing bra’s, and you just about live in overalls and shorts, always accompanied by some tight fitted top.

god, you make his life so hard.

little pink ribbons are tied over the top strap buckles of your overalls, and you look so adorable that it almost makes him angry.

“no, thanks, look, i know it was your bathroom before it was mine, but for the love of god, please stop leavin’ your…undergarments on the floor.” the subtle twang increases just a notch at the way he rattles about your sightly panties.

your face gets hotter than it was from the sun and you drop your arm, looking away embarrassedly. “oh my god how embarrassing, i’m so sorry, i’m just not used to sharing my bathroom, but that’s not an excuse, i’ll take care of them, i’m sorry joel,” voice pretty and soft, just like you, and he sighs, staring at you for a thick standstill, before going back into the house. “messy girl,” he mutters to himself.

he finds his way back into the bathroom, eyeing the suspect in question, feeling the strings in his chest pull in tight. he picks up the pair with a curl of his finger, eyeing it like a foreign object.

he clenches down on his teeth when he stares at it, the pink striped cotton is soft, a little bow adorning the front of it.

he feels dizzy.

he honestly considers pocketing them, but immediate disgust kicks in and he drops them, walking out.

dirty old man.

–

you are inescapable, easily running joel’s patience down into the dirt beneath his boot. your dad is still gone, but joel and ellie listened when he said to be useful.

they help you around the house, almost doin ’more than you, joel would grumble, but no matter how much he busied himself with chores, there was hints of you in everything.

when he’s feeding the chickens or collecting their eggs, he can look not too far out and see the clothesline where you air dry their laundry, not a single thought about letting your bra’s hang from the wire, taunting joel.

he imagines you in it, the racy little red number, nipples perked behind the flimsy material, shoulder’s beckoning to slide the straps down.

“shit,” he grunts, looking down and seeing the smashed egg in his fist, squeezed to pieces from the intensity of his perverse thoughts.

sometimes he thinks you do this shit on purpose, mocking an old man with something you would never give him, and he feels like banging his head into the wall.

and in this moment he feels it’d be an especially good time to do so, exhaling sharply from his flared nostrils while he searches around for you, calling out your name, only to be met with no reply. he can’t find ellie either and he’s panicking, he’s panicking bad.

he shouts your name from the very depths of his stomach, and he pushes every door he sees open until he stops at your bedroom door, pushing inside and growling with anger when he sees you laid upside down in your bed, hands resting on your tummy with thick headphones clamped over your ears.

he stalks towards you, bending down and ripping your headphones straight off your head. your eyes snap open and you jerk upwards from the bed, clambering off the bed in the most unflattering way possible, rushing to get to your feet.

“joel what the hell? what’s going on?” you ask, and he scoffs, mad that you have the audacity to be annoyed here.

“where the fuck is ellie?” he grits out, and you sigh, snatching back your headphones when you answer. “she’s in the stable with my horse, she’s fine joel.” you promise, and he squints his eyes, shaking his head frustratedly.

“y’can’t just send her off somewhere on her own like that and not even think to tell me, and – dammit, don’t wear those goddamned headphones when i’m callin for you, god you are so irresponsible,” he rants, his voice trailing up a ledge of loud anger, and it’s your turn to get mad.

“okay joel, you need to stop fucking yelling at me, she’s still on the damn property, she isn’t gone in the next town over, i’d never put her in a situation where she could get hurt and secondly, you don’t get to talk to me like that and tell me what i can and can’t do in my own house.” you’re in his face now, making an effort to stand up for yourself, but joel isn’t tolerating any of it.

“you listen here little girl and you listen good,” he moves in closer, and you suddenly feel overly aware of his proximity, almost immediately backing down to move away, but no, you wanted to talk back like a big girl, you’re going to face the consequences of one.

“you best lose that nasty fuckin’ attitude of your’s, i don’t care if this is your house or not, it ain’t an excuse to act like a goddamned thoughtless brat.” he’s breathing heavier now, his face too close to your’s, chest dangerously nearing your own.

your eyes nictate back and forth in his, desperately suppressing the tears that imperil at your waterline, biting on your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. “you’re such an asshole,” is all you can manage to fire back through a weak excuse of a response.

he scoffs at you, stepping back before marching out your room. “no shit sweetheart,” he sneers with a lowered baseline of exasperation.

you fall back on your bed when he’s gone and out of earshot, holding your face in your hands, allowing yourself to let out the tears that almost spilled out in front of joel.

your fists wipe the tears away, angry that they were even there, each stream down your cheek is a reminder of who caused them.

refusing to give in to the pain that gnaws at your chest from his spewing anger, you get up, walking out your room, deciding to make your way around back to the stables.

ellie was saddled over applejack, your only horse, with joel sitting behind her, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her steady, keeping her safe.

the gnawing bites down harder inside your chest, and you’re unable to fight against it. instead you cradle yourself, comforting the ache while leaning against the bulk of the tree behind you, watching them interact.

his gaze over her is so soft, so full of care, of love, and he’s laughing, which enables her laughter, and you find yourself smiling as you watch them despite what had just transpired.

you watch as ellie plops the cowboy hat you had left on applejack’s saddle over his head, and your back gets stiff against the bark of the tree when she does.

he fixes the hat atop his head, and it annoyingly suits him well.

he looks like a proper cowboy.

your eyes drift down to the way his hips roll with each trot from applejack, his back leant naturally, looking relaxed, confident, like he knows what he’s doing, and that he knows he does it well.

his hand runs over the side of applejack lovingly, his strong hand smoothing over her coat, and you feel like crumbling down into the soil of the earth, breathing in a little harder when you imagine those rough, strong hands of his on your skin instead.

you reach up, pulling a peach from the tree above your head, settling down to sit and just watch the two gallop along with applejack.

joel’s eyes find you, they always do, and almost like she just knew, ellie decides to lead applejack back over to where you are. joel’s hands tighten over the reins, jaw clenching when they make their way over to you.

“well hi there sweet girl,” you coo, petting applejack when she bends her neck downward, greeting you happily.

you bite down into your peach, laughing quietly to yourself when the juice spills down your cleavage. joel follows the way the juice rolls down your chest, disappearing behind the pesky coverage of your tank top, and he feels like it's a punishment for his previous yelling.

you hand the rest of the peach into applejack’s mouth, cooing an, aww there you go sweet girl.

“damn these look good.” ellie whistles, reaching up to pluck a peach down.

she drops it, and she groans when it hits the ground. “i got it, don’t worry!” you remedy, turning around to bend down and grab it for her. joel feels like dying when he sees the heart curve of your ass, it’s almost too perfect, and he wonders if this is how his heart finally gives out.

kinda looks like a peach… he thinks to himself, eyes tracing over the form of your ass for as long as he can before you’re turning back to face them.

you go up on your tippy toes, quickly grabbing another peach, handing the new one to ellie and tossing the one that fell over to joel.

“you get that one,” you half tease, half huff, and ellie laughs, waving her clean peach at joel. his eyes settle on you while you talk to ellie, ignoring his presence.

his teeth sinks down into the peach, his stare trickling over the way you’re squeezed into those stupid fucking tiny shorts, and he thinks about a different type of flesh to bite into.

–

nighttime visits your household once more, but it’s anything but peaceful for you and joel.

ellie knocked out as soon as she collapsed in her bed, but joel’s wide awake. he wants to sleep, wants to forget this day even happened, but he can’t. he replays everything despite his efforts to pretend that the events from today didn’t even occur.

however, guilt drags its spindly fingers across the muscle of his heart while flashes of his loud anger directed at you forces itself to be acknowledged behind his eyelids. with a disgruntled huff he rips the blankets off his body, climbing out of bed.

he pushes past the door, making his way to your room to apologize for his harshness.

the closer he gets to your room, the more he hears a concerning sound gently echoing from behind the door. his brows fly up and he grips at your doorknob, turning it. his knuckles tighten over the knob, his body standing still and stiff in the cracked entrance when he sees you.

you’re sprawled in your bed, sheets hanging off you, covering not a single thing, leaving joel to wonder if what he’s looking at is real or not, and if it is, should he even be looking at you like this?

he knows the answer to that, it's a big fat resounding no, but joel doesn’t exactly have the purest morals of all time, so he stays in spite of his conscience telling him to close the door.

he watches your head roll side to side tirelessly, back arching off the bed, bucking your hips into your hand, struggling to pleasure yourself the way you need. your fingers keep sliding off your poor clit, too soaked to keep a good grip on it.

it sounds sticky, even from where joel stands, it’s all so fucking dirty, your sweet little whimpers going straight to his cock, pushing up against his sweatpants that already hang low off his hips.

he palms at himself, trying to alleviate the throbbing ache. his eyes follow the curve of your bare chest, your tight tank top under your chin, pretty tits in the air, hard nipples that are begging to be in joel’s mouth.

you whine to yourself, eyes watering with frustration when your fingers refuse to stay put on your needy clit, trying to instead fill your fluttering hole that clenches around nothing.

joel’s fingernails dig into the doorframe, physically restraining himself from going in there and shoving himself so far into you that it hits your cervix, stretching you nice and open for him.

he thinks about how he’d make you take it, how you’d claw down his back while he fucks you like you deserve.

he feels disgusting, like a goddamn pervert, but he again wins the battle against any morals he has left and stays to watch. you sound so wet its fucking ridiculous, he just wants to lap it all up on his tongue and drink you in.

but what he really wants, is to make you beg, to make you cry.

you further test his will, when his name floats from your trembling lips, his jaw going slack at the unreal moan. his hand falls to his straining cock, squeezing it, silently pleading with you to be good and say it one more time for him, to confirm he heard you right.

and you do, you whimper his name, an airy little, joel, while grinding down on your finger, trying to angle your hips to hit a spot you hardly ever have success in satiating.

good girl, he grits without a sound, his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock.

you think back to him yelling at you, ignoring the pain of the memory, and instead rewriting how the fight ended. your brain conjures up an alternate ending, where he bends you over the foot of your bed, smacking his hand over the fat of your ass before he rams himself inside you.

you think about his back curling over yours, his cock too deep inside you, muttering for you to fuckin’ take it.

he’d have his face in the crook of your neck, his beard would tickle your skin while the dirtiest words you can think of would be listed off in your ear.

his beard, your hips rise in the air desperately, your mind now imagining his stubble between your thighs, how his mustache would brush over your clit until it’s raw. “please, want it joel, want it so bad,” you moan to yourself in a pleading fluttery little voice, and joel almost steps forward at your begging.

i’ll give it you, he promises to himself, wishing he could tell you instead.

he can’t fucking take it, he drinks in the bare sight of you once more, memorizing each curve, the way your voice trembles, the way your legs shake, the plump of your thighs and chest, and fuck, he thinks he’ll pass out before he can even make it back to his room.

he carefully closes the door, striding hurriedly back to his bed. he shuts his door, making an immediate dash to his awaiting mattress.

he pulls the blanket over his hips, tugging down his sweatpants and letting his cock spring up. he uses his precum as lube, too impatient to spit in his hand. he fists at his fat cock, pushing past the roughness from his palm, pretending that it’s your soft hand wrapped around him.

he thinks back to what he just saw, imagining that he did step inside, closing the door behind him before making his way to you.

you’d probably get scared at the sudden sight of him in front of you, but he imagines that you’d be too desperate to care about his actions.

you’d grab his wrist, bringing his hand to your poor little cunt. “touch me, please joel?” you’d plead with those watery eyes of yours, and he would, he’d touch you until you couldn’t take it.

but he’d make you take it, he’d stretch you out on his fingers before he’d get his cock in you. he can only fantasize about how good your tight little cunt would feel all around him, how snug you’d be, gripping him in, but no matter how hard he tries to pretend, he knows his imagination does your pussy no justice to how good it’d actually be.

he starts fucking his hand, head falling back into his pillow, his bicep’s flexing with straint while he goes to squeeze his cockhead, traveling back down to his shaft, struggling to please every inch of himself.

he wonders if you’re a virgin, wonders if anyones gotten to see you like how he did, or did they get to experience it themselves?

he gets jealous at the thought, but he erases it, instead thinking of the possibility of no one ever getting to touch you but him.

yeah, he likes that, he likes thinking about being the first and last cock you’ll ever have deep inside you. shit, he growls, thumbing over his leaking tip, he’s close.

he starts panting, chest falling more rapidly with heavy breaths, his hand working over himself faster now, the slick from his pumping fist around his cock is embarrassingly loud, but he uses it and pretends it’s the sound of him in your pussy, and that does it for him.

he cums in his fist, slowly thrusting into the tunnel of his hand before he releases himself, and he groans, letting his body sink deeper into his bed.

fuckin’ disgustin’ he mutters to himself.

–

he can barely look at you the next morning, he feels hot all over when you so much as walk past him, your scent always trailing behind you and filling his senses.

you smell like the sweetest form of vanilla and it makes him unstable, feeling like he’s gotta hold onto something to remain upright when you’re near him.

you make your own soap, and, of course you make your own fuckin’ soap, he thinks to himself, growing weaker by the second when you talk about how you used vanilla beans in your recipe for soap.

you offer to make some for him, but he declines as politely as he can, finding any excuse to establish some space. he can’t be near you, not now, and not later, he needs time to remind himself what self control is.

he decides to chop some firewood, the nights are getting colder and colder anyways, and he thinks this’ll be a good distraction for him.

he pours all his frustration into it, swinging the axe from behind his shoulder and down into the blocks of wood, chopping them up into logs.

sweat lines his forehead, his biceps bulging from the tight constraints of his rolled up flannel, and you watch from the window, staring at him as he leans back, taking in a few deep breaths while he wipes his forehead before continuing.

you swish your thighs together, walking away when you realize if you don’t move now, you’ll stay the rest of the day just watching him.

after a few hours outside, joel is beat, he thinks he deserves a break. he trudges back inside, sighing when he’s greeted with the fresh air conditioned breeze.

your legs hang off the arm of the couch, head resting on a cushion and buried in a magazine.

he eyes your legs while he walks into the bathroom, almost unable to tear away from them. but when he walks through the door, he closes his eyes immediately once they land on the ground, as if the sight before him physically hurts.

he exhales with aggravation when he sees your white cotton panties on the floor, and your cream lacy bra hanging off the towel rack, mocking him.

he’s had enough.

he stomps out the bathroom, and you brace yourself for the latest lecture when you hear the nearing ruckus of his boots connecting to the wood floors.

he yells your name, his voice curling around the curve of an upward rage. “what joel,” you yell back mockingly, he stands above you, looking furiously down at you.

“what did i tell you about your goddamn panties and bra in the fuckin’ bathroom,” he shouts, jabbing his thumb back towards the bathroom. you huff, swinging your legs from the arm of the couch, rising to your feet. “i’m sorry!” you throw your arms up annoyedly.

“i’ll get ‘em, i understand it’s annoying but joel you don’t need to yell over every. fuckin’. thing, you can talk to me like a normal person,” you contradict your own words, pointing a finger at him while you shout back.

he grabs your finger, pulling your wrist down and away from his face, beaming anger glinting in his eyes.

“thought i told you to get rid of that nasty fuckin’ attitude little girl,” he spits, words hanging in the air like a venomous gas, and you all but growl with irritation.

“i’m not a little girl and you’re not my dad, y’don’t get to talk to me like that you fucking dick,” you bark back, feeling a sudden fear when you see the way he’s looking at you.

his top lip curls with disdain, and he nods slightly to himself, like he’s just mentally made his decision.

he grabs you by your upper arm, dragging you along with him back around to the couch. “let me go,” you try pulling your arm from him, but it does nothing, his grip is stronger than your efforts.

he sits down, pulling you into his lap, grabbing you roughly and repositioning you so your tummy rests over his thighs. “what are you doin–” he holds your jaw, forcing you to crane your neck to face him.

“i’m gettin’ real sick of your fuckin’ back talk, you say you’re not a little girl yet all you do is act like one, a real rude one at that,” he grits in your face, and you feel small, wishing the couch would just swallow you whole.

“i ain’t your dad but you need some serious fuckin’ discipline,” he lets go of your jaw, letting you fall back into the cushion. he unhooks your overalls, pulling them down and under your ass.

he exhales lowly when he sees the hypnotic curve of your ass, clad in baby blue polka dotted underwear, it’s too cute that it makes him sick.

he doesn’t even think when his hand runs over your ass, smoothing over your skin, squeezing the thick flesh in his large palms. you whimper under your breath, squirming in his hold. “stay still,” he orders, his tone cold, riding on a mean line of pointed annoyance.

“you’re gonna say you’re sorry with every one of ‘em, you hear me girl?” he asks, resting his hand on your ass testingly.

you nod quietly, but it isn’t good enough, he’s grabbing your face again, forcing eye contact. “when i ask you a question you answer.” he sneers, teeth baring for a second and you squeeze your thighs together, feeling your clit ache embarrassingly from the harsh treatment.

“i hear you.” you reply meekly, and it suffices, because he’s letting go of your jaw, refocusing on the new task he has at hand, or rather, in his lap.

he rests his palm over one cheek, causing you to suck in a sharp breath, the warmth from his hand tingling your skin.

your clit is right up against his knee, and you want more than anything to rut on it, roll your hips to gain any kind of friction, but you figure you’re in enough trouble as it is so it’s best to hold back these desires.

he raises his hand, slamming it back down and eliciting a loud smack that resonates around the room. you cry out, gripping onto the cushion under you. “i’m sorry,” you whimper out, skin prickling with heat.

he does it again, his heavy hand rising up only to crash back down against the fat of your ass. “i’m sorry,” your voice trembles, your eyes already beginning to water, despite the fact that you’re just barely getting started.

he slaps over your ass, hard. his rough calloused palm emitting an even stronger sting over your soft skin, and you cry out, kicking your legs against the armrest of the couch, feeling the anger increasing with each rough impact from his palm.

“i’m so-orry,” you hiccup, wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks. he continues with the abuse on your ass, feeling a twinge of guilt at the way you cry but manage to say your apologies with each relentless hit to your bottom one after the other.

“you gonna listen to me when i tell you to do somethin’?” he raises his voice, along with his hand, letting it fall down onto your pounding flesh when you don’t answer fast enough. “yes, yes gonna listen,” you wail, little feet kicking with pain.

“gonna lose that fuckin’ attitude of your’s?” he grunts, smacking your ass hard over where he just hit, watching you howl in anguish, back trying to arch away from the pain.

“yes,” you sob, nodding with earnest.

you’ve lost count of how many it’s been, the only thing that remains consistent is the hot pain that comes in waves over your bruising skin, the welts in the shape of his hand throbbing and aching in never ending flashes.

he rubs over your skin, soothing the soreness away, before he drops his hand against it once more, erasing the little comfort he was giving you.

you’re apologizing through loud wailing, not a care in the world for how embarrassing it is to be sobbing in joel’s lap, because it fucking hurts.

he swats over your ass, fast and rough, letting the sting of it settle into a prickling pain that spreads down to the backs of your thighs.

after a few more hard hits to your ass, he figures you’ve had enough, your crying making him feel a pang of remorse for not taking it easier on you. he runs his hand over your scorched bottom, mending the abused flesh in an attempt to calm you down.

you’re crying, lashes getting slick from your tears, lips growing plump with the loud hiccups of pain. he massages over your ass, gently this time, but your skin feels too raw to enjoy it.

his self restraint is weakening, he can’t stop himself when he tilts his head back, leaning into the couch to look down at your inner thighs. he sees a wet patch spreading over your panties, and he scoffs, bringing two fingers to it.

you gasp, trying to wriggle away from it, but he keeps you still. “interestin’” he half snickers, and you just about die of humiliation.

“reckon you want me to do somethin’ about this?” he murmurs, voice gruffly cascading in the teeming air. he circles over the wet patch, giving you a chance to turn him down, shut down his advances, but you don’t want to.

you bend a little, arching into his touch. “please?’ you whimper, all embarrassment gone from the pain, and he inhales a hefty breath, swallowing thickly.

he slides your panties to the side, drawing his fingers up and down your slick. you shiver, tightening your legs around him.

“can’t believe you’re soaked over that,” he taunts meanly, judgingly, and you whimper, your face getting hot from the base of your throat when he pushes in his middle finger.

“you’re s’mean,” you sniffle and he scoffs at your complaints, pushing his finger in deeper to watch you gasp and shake.

“i showed you what mean is,” he chuckles lowly, leaning down to make sure you hear him. he shifts his hips around, pressing something to your hip, making sure you feel it.

“and this ain’t mean,” he curls his finger right up into that little spot you struggled to reach last night. he starts curling his finger, right there, and suddenly you can’t breathe, you can’t even believe this is happening, but whether it’s real or not you don’t want it to stop.

“more,” you whine, pushing back on his hand with a devout need. his free hand grips at the bruising flesh of your ass, the plumpness of it filling the gaps between his fingers, and you wince, little hands trying to grip at the cushions for comfort.

“you’re a greedy little girl with no fuckin’ manners. do i need to do this all over again just to remind you to say please?” he raises his hand back up over your ass, and you’re shaking your head, turning back at him pleadingly. “n-no, no, i’m so sorry,” you whimper, the backs of your hands covering your stinging bottom feebly.

he laughs at your attempts, but decides he’ll let it slide. he moves your hands away, and pushes his finger back inside, filling you up to the knuckle. you moan deeply, relief at the pleasure entering you once more. the way he fucks you with his finger is all you need to even begin trying to ignore the resounding pain he instilled into your ass.

little pants leave past your lips, your cheek squished against the couch while you try to fuck yourself onto his fingers. “feel’s s’good,” you drool.

he can’t stop the downward spiral he’s letting himself fall into with you, he’s in too deep, and he’s just accepted that he wants to go deeper.

you’re rutting your clit against his knee just how you’ve been wanting to this whole time, and he watches you as a desperate little wet thing in his lap trying to get off with what he’s giving you.

"you know i saw you last night," he whispers in your ear, beard tickling your neck when he leans in real close, his finger picking up speed when he continues.

your face burns hot, and you can't bear to look at him. "oh god," you moan, half from pleasure, half from pure humiliation.

"heard you sayin' my name too, there somethin' you wanna tell me?" he pushes you a little further, watching and waiting to see how you reply.

you're so disoriented, you can't think straight past the embarrassment and the feeling of joel refusing to let up with his finger inside you. he rubs over that perfect spot right there, and it feels so good that it almost kills the shame that burrows itself under your skin.

"n-no? no, i dunno," you whine dumbly, and he rolls his eyes, flicking his wrist harder now, gripping the hand of yours that tries to hold onto him. "you don't know?" he parrots back mockingly.

"you just so happened to be tryin' to finger yourself while moanin' my name? that just a coincidence?" his words jab at your cheeks with taunts and you whimper, hiding your face away from him, still shamelessly grinding down onto him when he works another finger in you, stretching you out.

"i'm sorry," is all you can whimper, you feel stupid with his fingers in you, bullying your poor cunt until it makes that addictive pap pap pap sound. "apologizin' for the wrong thing, should've been sayin' that instead of talkin' back to me," he grunts, letting go of your wrist to smack the side of your ass.

you cry out, shaking in his lap from the slap, the pain echoing over the sore flesh. "i'm sorry," you draw out longly, chest racking with tears mixed with pain and ecstasy.

he pulls his fingers from out your tight hole, and you whine, looking back at him with those pretty, innocently guilty eyes of yours.

"quit your whinin'," he mutters, pulling you upright into his lap. he looks back into your gaze, and it only reminds him of how you're breaking him down into a weak, weak man.

his thumb runs across your bottom lip, dipping into it. "open," he tells you with a softer, hushed sternness. you obey, parting your lips for him.

he spits in your mouth, and you take it like a kiss, carrying the action like a caress. it mixes with your own saliva, ingraining himself in your dna.

he stares at you expectantly, hands lowering down to your ass, squeezing it indignantly, like a warning.

"thank you," you breathe out, feeling drunk on him. he seems pleased, his tight clasp over your ass gets gentler, but it's still firm, still there.

"got a real issue of rememberin' your manners there girl," he tsks, his thumb trailing down your chin, his other hand patting your bottom. "but i'll fix that, fix that right up." he promises, but it feels more like a threat, one that he intends on staying true to.

he lays you flat on your back onto the couch, and you allow him to, letting him do whatever he pleases with you, and he thinks he likes you like this, so sweet and so pliant.

he pulls your legs towards him, he feels hungry, feels impatient, he wants all of you and he wants it all now.

joel hasn't wanted anything in years, because if you don't want anything, you won't be disappointed when you don't get it.

but now he's got you in front of him and he can't take it. he wants you. he's greedy, and he's dirty, but he doesn't care, you've done irreversible damage that he expects will be somehow repaired if he can just get a fix of you, just enough to gratify his bodily needs.

your legs find their way around his hips as if you've done this before, as if his body has been with your's prior to this, connecting like they're supposed to. he slots himself between your thighs, feeling almost overwhelmed to finally have you like this for him.

you want to kiss him, want to hold him, want him him him, and although you've already got him, you still feel like there's more of him to be had.

he unbuckles his belt, the sound urging your legs to tighten around his waist. his eyes drag over you, slowly taking in the vision that's you, as he unbuttons his jeans. he pulls himself out, your gaze dropping down to him, feeling your heart sink immediately.

you never assumed he was small, not that you thought about what was under those jeans, (lies) but shit, this was just obscene. near unnecessary, because how in the hell does he function carrying that…thing around?

he sees your gawking, and an annoying pride fills him to the brim at your visible awe. "is that gonna fit?" you finally ask, and he laughs, pumping himself when he inches closer. "we're about to see aren't we?" he answers, moving your panties to the side.

you get stiff with nerves, holding onto his strong bicep. "joel i-i dunno if it'll fit," you admit, you sound scared, because you are, and he almost feels bad. almost.

"if you don't want this tell me now," he places your panties back, but you're shaking your head, pulling him back in. "no i do, i do, promise," you sound so desperate, so needy, and he's trying so hard to not just fuck you right now.

"just, scared…i never uh..you know." you motion between you two and he swears he nearly punched the air with obnoxious success. "this your first time?" he confirms, and you nod, feeling shy under his stare.

"not like i've been trying to save myself or anything, there's just no one around over here," you explain, not that you needed to, if anything joel is ecstatic with a primal possession that he gets to be your first.

"so you're jumpin' at the first man who gives you some attention? 'specially an old man like me?" he circles the tip of his cock around your clit, and your lips part, hips instinctively lowering down on him. "n-no, i," you don't have any words for him, his actions rendering you silent.

he starts slowly inching in, and your head falls deeper into the cushion behind you, nails crescenting into his forearms. he goes in with no resistance, you're so fucking soaked around him, gripping him in like a warm welcome.

"shit," he shudders, fully sheathing himself inside you. his hand lands beside your head, panting above you, and he looks so beautiful like this. he's so handsome, his eyebrows are in that furrow that they're always in, but this time it's for a different reason.

you look down at where you're connected, and you feel as though you're now one, he's a part of you as you are of him, and you never want him to leave.

you start rolling your hips experimentally, no matter where or how you move, you feel him deep inside, the fat head of his cock hitting there, over and over, and it feels so good, you don't think twice about continuing your little ministrations.

he forcibly pauses your actions, halting your hips down with a rough grip from his hands. he's glaring down at you, uh oh.

"greedy little girl," he grunts, starting to piston his hips inside you. you cry out, leaning forward to find solace in his broad chest, but he pushes you back down, pinning you still. he pauses for a moment, grabbing his belt. "wrists." he orders, and you listen without wasting a second.

he ties your wrists, pushing them above your head before he continues. he's groaning atop of you, fucking you with a purpose, and you take him, entire body bopping upwards with every harsh thrust being fucked into you.

you want to touch him so bad, it feels like torture, you want to put your hands under his flannel, explore the skin that lies underneath, but he's denied you of that privilege. "brat's got such a tight fuckin' pussy," he grunts, impaling you hard onto his cock, stretching you out so good you can't stop yourself from trying to meet his thrusts.

the moans that pour from you are endless, all you do is whimper his name, crying for him and it inflates his ego, but he can't have you being this loud. a hand clamps over your mouth, and you moan behind it, any touch from him is welcomed wholeheartedly.

"quiet down girl," he grits, leaning in close while his thrusts grow harsher. "startin' to think you left your panties for me to find, bet you wanted me to get mad, jus' wanted some attention huh?" he moves his hand away from your mouth, instead using it to grip your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pucker. "speak," he orders.

"n-no, no i just fo-forgot, promise," you swear, words feeling difficult to pronounce and even think of when he's got you stretched out on his cock like this, fucking you dumb.

he doesn't believe you, his hands working around your throat soon after you squeak your response. "no?" he teases, his hands growing tighter around the pane of your neck.

your wrists wiggle around the confinements of the belt, wishing you could hold the hands that have you cradled like a glove.

"f'you just wanted my attention, or just wanted to get fucked," he rests on his haunches, pulling you with him, letting you slip down further onto his cock, the corners of his lips curling when you cry out. "then just fuckin' ask, don't need to be pullin' stunts like that,"

his hands around your throat feel loving, they feel safe, and perfectly fitted around you, like his hands were made for this. the lack of air feels right, feels like this is what you needed, and you want more.

tears well at your pretty eyes, rolling down your cheeks while you grip at the buckle on his belt, his cock moving so deep inside that you feel him in the base of your tummy.

he releases your throat, and you gasp for the air you didn't even realize was depleting. he pulls the belt loose, and you immediately go to his arms, running over them. squeezing at the muscles, feeling impressed with how they flex under your touch.

your hands travel up to his face, his beard tickling your palms. "feels sososo good joel, never felt like this," you slur, eyes falling shut at the pleasure. "yeah? this all it took for you to fuckin' behave?" he groans, your hands running across his wide back, trying to feel him, feel the muscles that you've only ever gotten to steal glances at.

he's letting you fall backward again, hovering close to your level, his cock filling you to the hilt, and then some, and you want to tell him how full you feel, how good it feels to have so much of him in you, but the words are lost on you, there are no thoughts left to be had, just pure physical manifestations of what he's doing to you.

"kiss me, please?" you beg, and he doesn't argue, doesn't mock you or tease, but connects your lips, kissing you hard. you moan into his mouth, calf resting on his lower back while he pushes in and out of you. his beard brushes around your chin, your nails gently scratching at the back of his head, eliciting his turn to moan in your mouth.

he kisses you like he fucks you, rough. it's rushed, messy, wet, but there's power in the way he does both, making you feel hazy, dizzy, and overfilled with rapture all at once.

every push, and every shove into the couch is registered as soft, gentle caresses, loving affection, so graciously given to you by the rough hands belonging to joel and you take it all in stride, left wanting more, craving more roughness that just feels like love instead.

his face falls to the warmth of your neck, nipping, biting down onto your shoulder when he buries himself further than you even knew possible, inside of you. your mouth parts, a string of whiny moans leaving past them when he grinds into you, bucking your hips to meet his.

"finally bein' so obedient, should've just gave in an' did this sooner," he grunts into your skin, hands holding you down by your hips. his fingers find your clit, rubbing over the sensitive nerves just like how you did last night, and you choke on a moan, tangling your fingers in his salt and peppered hair.

"so good, feels so good, thank you daddy," you cry like a prayer into his neck, and he sends an especially hard thrust into your cunt, knocking the air out of you. you feel frozen in horror when you realize what's just come out your mouth.

"that's real nasty y'know that right?" the sick curl in the corner of his mouth contradicts the shame he throws at you, and the way his cock twitches inside you acts as further proof that there's no truth in his mocking.

you cover your face in his shoulder, but no, he wants you to look at him when he fucks you, he wants to see the way those pretty lips of yours mold around the word that rightfully belongs to him.

"don't get shy now," he huffs, holding your jaw, head falling back when he feels you clench down around him. his hands fall back to where they belong, wrapped snug around your throat.

he watches the way your eyes roll back, bottom lip being sucked in while you try fucking yourself onto him. "dirty fuckin' girl," he grits, squeezing you while your fingers curl over his, intertwining with him. "s'all right, i can be your daddy," he grunts, pushing in and feeling you squeeze him when he lays his promises to you.

you force your eyes open, gazing at him hazily while he pounds into you. he brings his hips down to yours relentlessly, no mercy in the way he fucks you. he's growing messy, falling out of tune when he slows down, shoving himself all the way in you, letting the sensation of the way you wrap around him be appreciated like it's supposed to be.

"my fuckin' cunt, you hear me? repeat." he releases your throat, and you gasp, sputtering while you nod. "yes, s'all yours," you hiccup, watery eyes making out a blurry joel in front of you. he presses his hand to your lower stomach, groaning to himself when he can feel his own cock piston in and out of you.

he lessens the speed in his thrusts, slowing to watch his cock fill you up. you squirm at the extra pressure, pawing at his wrists. "so much, it's so much daddy," you whine, and he grunts, feeling pride at the way he's got you so fucked out. "take it," is all he says, sounding gruff and strained.

"can i cum please? promise m'gonna be so good for you daddy, gonna listen an' everything," you cry, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips, pulling him in deeper. he grits his teeth, chest getting tight at your pleads.

"really think you deserve it?" he grunts and you nod, gripping onto his shoulders. "yes, please, i promise, promise m'gonna be good, please please," he concedes to your begging, bringing his fingers to your clit.

you gasp, panting in all the air that'll fit in your lungs when it all hits you. your skin is tinged with heat, legs trembling on either side of joel's waist when you feel the tides start to ripple closer to you until it crashes, pulling you into the ocean and you're drowning. drowning in joel.

"thank you daddy, thank you s'much, so good," you muffedly sob, face in the crook of his shoulder while he fucks you through your orgasm, fingers running over your clit, winding you up just to watch you fall apart.

"fuck, squeezing me so hard," he laughs breathlessly, slipping into a heavy moan at the way you're clamping down on him. "so good baby, take what you need, that's my girl," he groans, holding your waist down, fucking you with a rushed need. the backs of your thighs rest over him, and you feel weak, but fulfilled, watching adoringly as he uses your body to cum. bursts of pleasure still erupting inside you at the way he fucks you.

my girl

you whimper at the fleeting affections, unknowingly clenching harder around him.

"shit, shit, gonna fuckin' cum, gonna fill this pussy up, greedy little cunt can't get enough," he groans, head falling forward while his orgasm envelopes him, the slick from your mixed arousal loud while he gasps, grunting with a few harsh thrusts. he pushes into you with finality, cumming deep inside you.

he slowly pulls out, and it stings, you're wincing, feeling bare and cold.

he pulls your panties back over you, eyeing the way his cum pools against the material, and he feels good, feels like he's permanently marked you as his. he tucks himself back into his jeans, catching his breath before he turns his attention back to you.

he dresses your limp body back into your overalls, his hands now ginger and gentle over your skin, touching you like you've suddenly become glass. he sits at the end of the couch, pulling you into his lap.

he's careful when he sits you down, aware that your ass still probably hurts. he lets you curl into his side, the last bit of trembling slowly leaving your body from what just happened. his palm runs up and down your back, feeling content at the way you rest on his chest. "feel okay?" he asks quietly, and you hum a sleepy yes.

your hand rests on his chest, toying with the buttons. "you've always been a sweet girl," he says, feeling like he needs to clarify that, and you smile against his chest, feeling relief and giddiness at his admittance. "a messy one but, sweet nonetheless," he pats your back and you shoot him a joking glare.

he holds you closer by tucking his hand under your thighs, cradling you into him. he kisses your temple, the first gentle action of the day. he tells himself he'll indulge in that more when he sees the smile that spreads across your cheeks.

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel and ellie #tv tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #the last of us #songfic

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mollywog · 9 months ago

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Complicated

They've finally made it to a place where they’re stable enough that he doesn’t need to spend every Sunday out in the woods. The girls have stopped outgrowing their clothes and with the spring, Katniss’s morning hauls bring what they need for the week. He still loves it beyond the fence, but after years in the mines, six days a week, even a favorite pastime can make a man weary. So lately he’s forgone his hunts for time on the porch rocker.

But this morning he’s back in the woods at his wife’s insistence. She’d said she was worried about Katniss in an unusually cryptic way that suggested she wanted him to judge for himself. Katniss and Ruth are both headstrong, two peas in a pod, though he knows better than to speak it to either aloud. As a result, the tough conversations come better from him.

He’s paid particular attention all morning, but can’t seem to pinpoint the source of his wife’s anxiety. Though she has only just turned eighteen, Katniss seems to have grown into a woman overnight. Or maybe this has been a long time coming and he’s missed it in the dim light of evening. If anything, she seems to be alight from within.

It isn’t until it’s time to dress their kills that he understands his wife’s concern. Katniss’s glow vanishes, replaced by a palid green hue before she loses her breakfast behind a bush.

Shit.

He crouches beside her, his water flask in hand, “let’s sit down and talk Catkin.”

“Do we have to?”

“I don’t need the particulars, just a few questions,” Where her mother would lecture and fret, he knows there’s no use in the would’ve/should've - what’s done is done. “How far along?”

“Not long, but I’m keeping it, if that’s what you’re after,” she says, clutching her midsection protectively.

He nods, “and you know who the father is?”

“Of course,” she snaps and he’s glad to see she’s still got fire despite her exhaustion.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize you had a boy. Does he know?”

“Not yet.” He lets his silence speak for itself. “It’s complicated,” she adds defensively.

“Is he free?”

“One final reaping. Same as me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Is he free?”

She scowls, “No papa, he’s not married nor bound.”

He tisks, “Then I can’t figure what could be so complicated about it. Unless you don’t think he’ll do what’s right? Or maybe you don’t want him?”

She sighs, “it’s not that either,” she rubs her eyes, “I’m gonna tell him, but if I do it now he won’t want to wait to get married and that would ruin things for him.”

“Hmm, Is he a fool?”

“What? No!”

“If you trust him, you should tell him. If he respects you, he’ll heed your concerns. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure it all out. If not, you'll always have a home with your mother and I.” He means it, but he feels ten years older than he had just this morning, with the thought of their present security gone.

“Thanks papa,” she says, and he smiles despite his concerns. “I’ll think on it.”

Their trip to town is made in silence as he tries to imagine the man and the circumstance but comes up blank; not even a guess.

Their first stop is the Mayor’s, then Cray’s, then the butcher’s. He stands back and watches Katniss handle the trades. It fills him with pride.

When they arrive at the bakery, she falls in step behind him, and he takes the hint to lead. He’d bet she’s looking for a buffer if the baker’s witch of a wife is around, but fortunately for them one of the sons answers today; the youngest if he recalls. “Is your father in?” he asks.

The boy straightens, “Yes sir, but I’ll be handling trades from now on. Come summer, I’ll be the new baker.” The kid’s eyes flit to his daughter then back to him, “I just got word that my loan was approved. I close on the bakery July 5.”

“Really?!” Katniss’s voice catches him off guard and he turns to find her open delight at this seemingly trivial piece of town news, before she drops her eyes to her bag. He looks back at the boy who’s still beaming at his daughter and the pieces fall into place.

‘It’s complicated’ - hadn’t that been what Ruthie’d told him all those years ago when he’d asked her to marry him? He supposes it might have been even more so if her parents had been considering selling her the business and she’s been expecting his child.

The pair regain their composure enough to complete the trade, though neither quite successful at hiding their giddiness.

“Complicated huh?” He says as they walk back towards the Seam, “let me guess, a little less complicated come July 5?”

“Maybe so.”

He hums, “just don’t wait till then to tell him.”

What If?

#And it could be true now couldn't it?#everlark fanfiction #everlark drabble #canon divergence #unplanned pregnancy #katniss everdeen #mr everdeen #peeta mellark #this would have happened anyway

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arlequinelunaire · 8 months ago

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Verthandi in the Middle Ch. 1.1

SV Next>

CW: The first couple of chapters involve a serial killer.

_ _ _

Because I’m the one who gets stuck with the serial killer, aren’t I?

…Okay, guess I should back up. Long story short, short-ish anyway, I go by Vera Norin, well down here I do. I’m one of the three owners, okay, one of the only three employees of the Wyrd Sisters Agency in Stockholm. Says a lot that my older sister Ruth told us we’d all have equal say, but then named the agency after herself. Er, after one of her alternate names.

Put simply, we control fate. No, we don’t just see your fate like a fortune teller, and unlike them we’re the real thing. Control it. Wanna go from rags to riches with us as your fairy godmothers, send someone you don’t like from riches to rags, or avoid your appointed death? Arranged all that and more thousands of times, and big sister Ruth even gets to control the past. Because of course she gets everything.

Er, guess I’m not being much of a saleswoman here, am I? Hey, I’m still the best of my sisters in that department, probably. Like Ruth would just tell you a bunch of flowery mythic-mystic bullshit before getting to anything important, while my little sister Svea would just prefix everything with ‘SUPER-’, ‘AWESOME-’, and ‘EPIC-’ and add a whole bunch of exclamation marks and a digi-cyber-guitar solo. Wait no, not epic, nobody says epic that way anymore, unless they start doing that again in the future when it’s retro. Huh, you’d think Svea of all people would know the actual meaning of the word ‘epic’, given we were there when the old sagas were being written. Then again, the past is Ruth’s domain- oh shit, I’m giving too much away, aren’t I?

Right, I take it you’re thinking if we’ve got power over fate itself, why are we letting mere humans have a say with this agency? Er, fellow mere humans, I mean. Simple, come the 21st century, someone as stuck in the past as Ruth has finally learned about democracy, and not just the barely-counts Ancient Greek kind. If we’re gonna hold this much power over people’s lives, the least we can do is actually give those people a say in things. That’s part of why I’m sharing this with all of you. Not that there aren’t conditions and restrictions of course, we’re still judge and jury, been doing this for millennia- ah, for years after all. Though I assure you, Ruth’s just as strict with us as she is with you, way more so. She’s had thousands of years to hammer into us “You can’t do that”, “Such is unbefitting of us”, “No using your power for your own gain” and on and on.

Okay, what’s this about me getting assigned a serial killer then? It started when a bunch of teens, you know the type, pimply, dour-faced, arms perpetually crossed, would’ve worn baseball caps backwards in past decades, lurched their way right into our office. “Wait, this is the place? Thought a ‘fate-writing’ place would be all dark and spooky, y’know all haunted castle. But this looks like where my parents work,” one of them whined.

“Fate-weaving, kid,” I muttered. Actually, we were still renting this basic white walled, brown carpeted office, and this kid reminding me of that got him on my nerves even more. Granted, freedom to decorate would give Ruth full reign to make everything all lacey and doily-draped and Svea to put spikes everywhere and drown it all in black paint. I shuddered at the thought. But speaking of her, “Svea, you know these guys?” I called out, since they were about high school age. Not that there’s only one high school in Stockholm, but eh, no harm in asking.

“Awesome, you guys saw my flyers!” Svea’s voice rang out all through the room. Which at least showed I was right, even if my ears throbbed. She ran up to them dressed in the exact opposite attire your standard office would demand. With her black hair uneven, leather coat clearly too big for her, knee-high combat boots ringed with spikes, it showed restraint that she didn’t enter the room to a guitar riff. Of course, I showed up to work in my usual anorak and jeans, and Ruth normally arrives in full Victorian garb, so we’re hardly any better. “Alright, so what can Verth and I do for you guys? Anything fate-related, that’s us!” Svea said with an ear-to-ear smile and both thumbs up.

“…Yeah, knew the loudmouth to be behind this. The handwriting on that ad was so bad, couldn’t be anyone but her,” one teen said, rolling his eyes. Huh, since when did stroppy teens care so much about handwriting? Oh yeah, as an excuse to bully Svea they do, though it looked like that remark only got a twitch out of her, on the surface anyway.

“So, if you people really can control fate,” another of the teens began as a smirk crept across his face, with me facepalming at what he said next, “Prove it by making the hottest girl in class fall desperately in love with me.”

“Not happening,” I wasted zero time in telling him. There was no way I’d risk Ruth coming into the room and hearing that one of her biggest rules was in danger of breaking. “We can weave what a person does or what happens to them into their fate, but not how they feel about it. Emotions are a person’s own domain.” It’s a testament to how much Ruth drilled those words into us that I could repeat them on the spot.

“Pfft, sounds to me like you can’t ‘weave fates’ after all,” that teen had to say, his smirk somehow even wider. “Or that hearing about hot girls reminds you how plain and drab you are, anorak,” he snickered like he thought I couldn’t hear, I then winced as Svea snickered with him. The little shit was so lucky that I was in a professional service environment right now and so couldn’t just deck him. Though any more talk like that, and he may find fate has decreed for him quite a few fists to the face. Or worse, decreed for him a life in retail.

“Hey, we can still do a whole bunch of stuff. Like with my domain, I get to decide who lives and who dies-” Svea began, before I put my hand right over her mouth.

“Oh no, you’re not putting that power in these losers’ hands,” I hissed in her ear. And on top of… the obvious, did she have to use the term ‘domain’? I then turned to the brats and told them, “How about sticking to your own fates, okay?”

But then one of them, an even more morbid type who’d been slinking in the shadows so far, had to ask, “What if you fated someone who really deserved it to die? Like a serial killer.”

Now that had me thinking. Obviously there’s been debate after debate on if killing someone can ever be justified, even the oh so brutal Viking Age still had Althing meetings over this sort of thing. On the other hand, like I’d shed the slightest tear over the death of a serial killer. On the other other hand, I was in no mood to become a bunch of snotty teens’ own assassin for hire, let alone foist that on Svea.

So I wussed out and went the rehabilitation route, how Scandinavian-justice-system of me. “How about we just fate it so that they never succeed in killing anyone again?” I offered. Naturally, I said that before knowing who and how bad this serial killer even was. Of course, Svea promptly frowned right at me.

“Fine. Just as long as, y’know, you actually do something involving fate already,” the first teen said. “Oh right, and that you don’t charge too much, we’ve been here long enough.”

Long enough? Since when’s a few minutes ‘long enough’? Not that I can’t sympathise with being strapped for cash, as Ruth won’t let us fate-weave ourselves rich since we ‘can’t use fate-weaving for own advantage’. But at the same time, who the Hel’s this kid to tell us how to run our business? Still, a compromise came to mind as I smirked back at him, “Our price is the satisfaction we get when you all concede that we really do control fate. How’s that?”

“Deal,” the teens said in unison, their faces still sour. Hey, I’d be happy to get this whole thing over with too. The one in the shadows then kept scrolling on their phone until they went, “Yeah, this guy looks like the right candidate.”

“Wait, you mean you didn’t have an actual killer in mind till just now?” I asked them, mouth agape. Just when I thought these teens couldn’t annoy me more. And they flat out ignored what I just said and held the phone up to my face. “Anastasios, surname unknown, the ‘Scarecrow’ killer,” I read. So named for his scrawny, nigh skeletal looks and the way he ties up his victims. Main stalking ground is… all the way down in Athens? These kids were absolutely sure they didn’t pick this guy at random? Then again, a serial killer’s a serial killer, and I like to think I’m more principled about death than Svea. “You got it, this guy’s killing days are done for. Check the news for any more reports on him if you don’t believe us,” I said with a smirk of my own. “Oh, and when that happens, make sure you tell all your friends just how wrong you were about us. Now scram.” Not the best thing to tell your customers, but Ruth wasn’t around, so as if I cared at this point.

“You mean you’re not gonna let us see your actual fate-writing, weaving, whatever process?” one of them had to blurt out.

This again. “Look, a nuclear plant isn’t gonna let you hang around radiation, we’re not gonna let clients hang around the destiny threads. They’re the whole of a person’s time on this Earth, maximum caution required. Now scram,” I said as I shoved them one by one out the door. Hel, ‘scram’ was me holding back, my first instinct was to tell them ‘Fuck off’. Then again, scram is what you say to kids, too Sesame Street reminiscent, while fuck off is what you say to adults, and I didn’t fancy treating them like that.

Then the second I’d dusted my hands of them, I turned around to see Ruth as prim and proper as a 19th century nanny staring right back me into my soul. Oh come on, I didn’t even hear her come in. Well, that’s typical for her, why announce your presence when you could make your sisters fear you’re always watching? “Vera,” she said looking down at me, like that word was all she needed to say.

“Hey, it’s just us three now, you do know you can use my real name?” I said first, then actually replied to what she’d implied with, “And I’m doing my job. I kept putting up with those kids till we reached an agreement, and now we’re gonna change fate per their request. What more do you want?”

“For you to start treating our customers with respect, to begin with. It would not do for our business to be saddled with a bad reputation,” Ruth said as she loomed closer over me. She then placed a hand on Svea’s shoulder as she kept chewing me out, “And in addition, you insulted the very customers your little sister invited. Think about how she must feel, after she put in all the hard work of advertising.”

I was about to point out to Ruth that, had she not shown up at the last minute, she would’ve heard these kids insulting Svea too. But as the future’s not my domain, I’d failed to foresee that Svea would betray me. “Oh yes, Verth was really mean, and to me too. She kept telling me no when I had any idea about how to give our clients what they wanted,” Svea said as she ‘cried’ at Ruth.

“Because Svea wanted to let teenagers order a guy’s death,” I hissed. Don’t know why I did, because if Ruth didn’t ignore me, she probably would’ve manufactured some excuse to defend Svea. Anything for the ‘baby’ of the family. So I then said, “Hey, we’re the only fate-weaving business on Midgard, in all the Realms even,” …as far as I knew, “We’re the last people who need to be worried about customers leaving for the competition.”

Ruth sighed down at me. “We know that, but they do not. To those more superstitious, any charlatan with cards and a crystal ball could be just as valid as we. To those more skeptical, we could be yet more quacks. We cannot afford to drive away clients, Vera. And even if we could, such behaviour would still be utterly unprofessional,” she said through gritted teeth. Then she softened her voice and used my real name, “Verthandi, as the past is not your domain, I don’t know how well you remember this. But in the Eddas, in all the Sagas too, any time our names were said, it was in fear or hatred, and that was when they chose to acknowledge us at all. The last thing I want is for that same fear and hatred to follow us into the 21st century. And that is why manners matter,” she huffed as her voice shot back up to its normal volume.

“…I know,” is all I said to her about our, well, past infamy. I seethed at her thinking all those things said about us didn’t still hurt me. I mean I get it, if you hear someone else controls your fate, it makes sense you’d be resentful of them. But I never asked to be shat on just for doing my job.

Though now she mentions it, if restoring our rep’s so important, doesn’t us using aliases defeat the whole point? Especially when they’re so paper-thin anyway, though I was at least grateful not to get stuck with the proposed ‘Bertha’.

Oh, and since Ruth had just ‘wrecked’ me, Svea of course had to stick her tongue out and pull down an eyelid at me. Yeah, that’s ‘manners’. And how is Svea going ‘killing is totally awesome’ not as harmful to our reputation as me saying a swear word to some kids? “Let’s just weave this fate already,” I settled on.

Guess it’s no use still trying to hide who we are, huh? Even Ruth’s gone and used my real name. Right, I’m Verthandi, Norn of Present Time. And if you’ve so much as squinted at a Norse mythology book, I take it you’ve figured out Ruth’s Urth of the Past and Svea’s Skuld of the Future. Told you our aliases were flimsy. We’re the Nornir and we’re, er, hard to describe, and that’s coming from one of them. We’re not goddesses, let’s make that clear, even if we do have to hang out with them. Urth tells us we’re Jotnar, which gets translated as ‘giants’ despite her only being six foot four, Skuld being a shrimp, and me being average as always. Yeah, you can argue the exact difference between Jotnar and Gods is pretty flimsy, but trust me, you really don’t want to compare the two to their faces.

Of course, my domain being the Present and not the Past means my memory’s kinda hazy, so I only have Urth’s word for it that I even am a Jotun. Hel, I don’t even know my own parents, think I heard Dad’s someone called Mogthrasir? He’s a real deadbeat, whoever he is. But I guess Urth’s telling the truth, like what would she have to gain from saying we’re Jotnar specifically?

Anyway, the fate-weaving. The three of us walked over to a corridor as bland and unfurnished as the foyer, till we came to a door no mortals could see. Or at least, they better not see, if all the runes we scribbled on it are working right. Our local fate-weaving room… how to even describe it? Have you heard of a tesseract, you know, a four-dimensional cube? Picture a whole cavern of four-dimensional spiderwebs, where each dewdrop reflects a moment from someone’s life, from big things like birth, graduation, and death, to the smaller stuff like that one time traffic was real bad, or it rained when the forecast said it’d be sunny. These webs of fate are also this room’s sole light source, with a person’s past shining white, their future shrouded in hazy black, and their present a smushed pallet. Or so it looks like to me anyway, if my sisters see their domains differently they’ve told me squat. Though I think Skuld wouldn’t want her domain to be any other colour than black, like her soul~.

While we didn’t have any super strong leads, knowing some basic information on this killer did help in tracking down his specific thread of fate. As Skuld and I approached the threads, our hands as usual morphed themselves into instruments akin to a spider’s pincers. Yet another reason we don’t humans watch us fate-weave, they’d be sent screaming seeing us turn semi-arachnid. Still, it’d help a lot if I could actually use an opposable thumb for all the tricky, obnoxiously precise bits.

I got to plucking out all the murders the Scarecrow killer ever would’ve committed from this point; I suppose I should’ve felt disturbed seeing them but well, I’m thousands of years old. I may not have the best memory, but the seriously bleak things from the past are all too good at sticking in the mind. Meanwhile, Skuld got the even more laborious job of lengthening all the threads of his future victims, now their fated deaths had changed. And all the while, Urth just… stood in the corner. Watching us do all the work.

“We are tampering with the web of fate enough,” Urth told me as soon as I glared at her, “Were I to get involved and rewrite the fates of his past victims, we don’t know how drastically we would complicate the web.” Which yeah, was exactly the response I expected. Again, alive for thousands upon thousands of years, I can’t fathom how many times she’s told me that. Although, makes sense we couldn’t show those kids we’re the real thing if the killer never even got to kill in the first place. “Not to mention-”

“The gods of the dead don’t like us taking those who’ve already died back from them, I know,” I said. Though it wasn’t like those three could afford to lose a soul or two, especially Odin. I then dusted my hands and said, “Anyway, we’ve got all these fates sorted. Let’s hope our next client asks us for something more pleasant.” And has more money to throw around.

“Oh no, we are not done yet,” Urth said as she looked right at me again. “You’re to watch over this Scarecrow to see how he reacts to having his capacity to kill taken away.”

“What? Why?” I asked, as I instantly assumed she was having me do this out of spite. “We know he’s not gonna kill any more, so what’s the point?”

“Yeah, and how come Verth gets to meet a serial killer and not me?” Skuld had to ask.

“Because Verthandi, you should know by now that the consequences for reweaving fate are nothing you should ignore. And seeing the reweaved in person is to remind you that these are fates of people we deal with, not dolls,” Urth told me, then turned to Skuld and said, “Skuld dear, I will absolutely not let you meet a serial killer. It simply isn’t healthy for you.”

“Why isn’t it?” I actually found myself coming to Skuld’s defence for once. “We can’t weave ourselves into his or anyone’s fate, but even then he still can’t kill her. Can’t kill the future after all. Not to mention some gods she’s met are way worse than serial killers,” I felt the need to keep my voice low for that line.

“Yeah, so lemme meet the killer. Why does Verth get all the fun?” Skuld kept whining.

“Verthandi, this is your little sister you are talking about!” Urth snapped at me. She then steadied herself with a deep breath and said, “Besides, while he may not be able to kill her, there are still plenty of awful things, physical and mental, he could still try on her.” Then she turned around and went, “Skuld, why don’t you and I go out for ice-cream instead? Maybe we can bring your hoverboard to the park?”

Oh, so suddenly those ‘awful things’ are okay when I’m the one in the crosshairs, are they? Yeah, Skuld’s stuck in permanent adolescence, but she’s still been in existence since, like, forever. Though I could immediately imagine Urth replying to that with ‘as have you’.

But if I said all that, it turned out Skuld wouldn’t have my back anyway, as she instantly said, “Ooh, ice cream!”

By the way, if you wonder why we make Skuld go to school even though she’s an immortal, well, one part that permanent adolescence, her being future potential embodied, but also Urth’s whole ‘gotta know the people’ thing. Everything I’d heard about school just made me glad Skuld got stuck with the Future and not me.

With me left with nothing but to groan, I followed Urth out into the scrubby patch that passed for our backyard. There, she picked up a rune-adorned old clay jug of water and held it aloft in the air. Everything shook as a massive, twisting root came down from out of the sky to drink from it. That’s our other job, attending the World Tree Yggdrasill. Well, ‘Yggdrasill’ is just what it’s called now, after Odin hanged himself from it. Its real name is… huh, I don’t think I even know. Maybe Urth does, but if she did she’d probably find some excuse not to tell me.

Anyway, even a root this size was still a minor root for Yggdrasill, nowhere near the three big ones, but it’d do for my assignment. “Ah, the Norns, what can I do for you today?” the tree’s personal squirrel chirped as he scurried his way down the branch, his alien green eyes letting you know this wasn’t your standard red squirrel. Well, that and the little reporter's hat and jacket he was wearing. And the voice thing.

“Nornir,” Urth had to correct, as if the fuzzball at all cared.

“I just need a lift to Athens, Ratatosk. That’s all,” I told him quick. I was about to tell him not to dump me on the outskirts, but knowing my luck that would probably be where the killer’s hiding.

“Why, you three already bombing in Stockholm?” he had to say. Him being the only one amused, and then having to dodge a can thrown by Skuld, he followed with, “Okay okay, your ride to Athens is ready. All aboard.”

I then took hold of the end of the root, and with that was pulled through creation all the way from Europe’s north to its south. Nothing I hadn’t done a bunch before, but I could only imagine how terrifying the experience would be for a regular human, especially for their arm.

And now you know all about how I got assigned to babysit a former serial killer. Here’s hoping he won’t be too much of a headache to deal with in person, I could use less of those in my life.

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laiiaaa · 2 years ago

Text

ONE NIGHT ONLY — JJ MAYBANK

summary: JJ has never really liked your boyfriend, but you're not all that fond of him either.

contains: angst, substance use, smut, unprotected sex, cheating, a teeny tiny smidgen of fluff that is quickly destroyed

length: 5.6k

note: Be advised that both Reader and JJ are...pretty terrible! I do not condone their actions—I just live for the drama!

Three shots deep, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re perfectly tipsy—lights just a little brighter, music just a little louder, a buzz thrumming through you that makes everything fun again. Bonfire air warm against you, somehow not enough to fight off a chill that keeps JJ at your side. His body molded to yours, spilling open a pool in your gut you know you’ll mull over when tomorrow comes, tank top disheveled and hair tangled.

Sarah takes a sip of her beer and nods in your direction. “I’ve been wondering, where’s Noah tonight?”

You’d been hoping his name wouldn’t come up.

“Hm, funny that that little boy toy didn’t show up—we scare him off or something? So fast?” John B seems smug at that, maybe a little resentful for your attempt at bringing someone new into the loop.

You fumble over your answer, hoping to piece together something half coherent. “He had to work tonight, I think—or maybe it was babysitting?” You’re halfway to biting your tongue when you let it slip: “Not like I’m missing the company.”

You can feel JJ peering down at you, the way his body freezes.

Kie’s eyebrows shoot up on instinct. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, glancing at JJ to your left. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Never said it was paradise,” you shrug. You’re almost glad JJ’s so close to you, because it lets you speak freely to him without having to look at him as you do it. “I like him, I really do, but he’s just—I don’t know. I think he thinks you guys don’t like him.”

JJ scoffs.

“And that makes him all awkward when we’re all together,” you continue, ignoring him and trailing off. Your buzz is starting to make you ramble on, and the rest of the pogues look from one another as if they’ve already come to their own unanimous conclusion about the boy.

“I think he’s sweet,” Sarah says, smiling in support.

Pope adds more wood to the fire. “He’s a decent guy. He’ll come around. You’ve been together, what, two months now?”

“Almost three,” JJ cuts in, bitter as the beer he’s been downing since before the sun set. His arm stays warped around you, but his fingers have stopped tracing patterns into your skin.

“Almost three,” Pope continues, “And that’s not a lot of time, right? It’ll work itself out.”

You wish you could say you were content with Pope’s conclusion, but you give him a thankful smile anyway.

No one else seems to have anything to add until JJ throws his empty bottle off to the side, ignoring the table. He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen him surf, though. Now that, that will never work itself out. The guy looks helpless out there.” He nods in the general direction of nowhere in particular, and you know he means more than he’s led on.

The others look at one another. John B sips slowly from his bottle in silent communication with Sarah; Pope and Kie exchange a knowing glance.

Yet he continues, “And I just don’t like the guy. What does he know about our lives?”

You sit up as his arm slips from its position on your shoulder, and you turn to face him. “JJ,” you interrupt, guilt bubbling in your gut as your throat runs dry.

“As far as we know, he’s an almost-kook just looking for pathetic pogue life to make him feel better about himself.” He turns to you directly, and if that weren’t a big enough knife to your chest, he drives it deeper still. “He’s full of himself, Peach, and nobody’s gonna tell you that but me. To him we’re filthy, and so are you—”

“JJ!” John B snaps, trying to salvage what he could of your dignity.

Try as he might, that couldn’t stop a near-silent cry from slipping past your lips. Tears welled, your vision fuzzed, and a hand shot to your mouth, shakily, as JJ stared back at you, his lips in a taught, indignant line.

You swipe tears from your eyes before they can fully realize. “I think I’m gonna…” you start, not even fully aware of the best way to exit. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick, get some water…” You stand up from your chair wearily, turning your back on the group as you walk toward the Chateau.

Sarah mutters an Oh, shit under her breath as she discards her beer and stands up, Kie right in front of her calling out your name.

You slam the door shut behind you, sobs fully escaping you now. You’ve never known this side of JJ—at least not personally, with his vitriol aimed at you. Funny how things have unfolded this way. And to think how not even half a year ago you’d shared a bed with him, barely clothed with tangled limbs and fleeting kisses to exposed skin, his lips against yours as you drank from one another all you had to give and then some more for good measure. To think how that tight-lipped stare was once a contagious smile in the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings of your beauty and his adoration. To think how that elation was short-lived beyond comprehension, all that ecstasy in just one night only.

It doesn’t take long before you find the proper stash of the hard stuff and start sipping it straight. The burn down your throat has never felt so good, cathartic even. Sarah and Kie find you in the kitchen, back turned before bottoms up, and they rush over to you, Kie slipping the bottle from your hands.

“Hey,” Sarah says, taking your face in her palms, thumbs brushing tears from your cheeks. “You need to stay as sober as possible, okay? Because we both know JJ well enough to know he’s gonna come in here, and you’re gonna have to talk to him.”

You brush her hands away from you. “Fuck off,” you start, and you wince at your tone. She can smell the alcohol on your breath. The bottle clanks behind you as Kie stows it away once again, and you curse the two girls for only letting you get another shot and a half in your system.

You settle yourself on the couch, Sarah and Kie sitting on either side of you. The room is dark and quiet and for just a moment you feel your head clear up, the only sound you hear being the bass from the music outside and what might as well be no more than laughter among the boys.

“JJ sucks,” Kie sighs, plainly.

“Yeah.” You feel her turn toward you before you answer, “He can be a real dick.”

“What he said to you was terrible,” Sarah adds, brushing your hair out of your face. “I’m sorry we didn’t say anything to shut him up.”

You lend her a smile, as if it could repair everything. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Kie insists. She hugs you to her chest for the first time in a long time. “We shouldn’t have let him go so far with it. He was mean, really mean, and—it shouldn’t be that way. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I feel bad for Noah. How am I supposed to look at him again knowing that’s how people think of him?”

“JJ’s the only one who hates him.” Sarah piles herself onto the hug and in that moment, the three of you know you’ll be okay. “The rest of us like him, and I promise you that. John B seems to approve.”

Kie laughs quietly. “And I can assure you, Pope is glad to have someone else around with at least half a brain. We just want you to be happy, okay?”

“JJ doesn’t seem to agree,” you huff.

“Well—” Kie starts, struggling to find the words— “He doesn’t like change.”

“He’ll come around,” Sarah sighs. “He just needs a minute to act like a brat for the time being.”

The three of you stay that way—a pile of subtle tears and breathless giggles—until the squeaky door cuts into the conversation. With it comes John B’s voice: “Can we interrupt?”

Sarah lifts her head and sees first John B, followed by a now quiet, more timid JJ, and Pope left in the doorway. She glances at you and stands while motioning for Kie to follow, and the two girls gather at the door. Everyone in the room except you and JJ can’t help but notice the way his attention gravitates toward you, the way his body flows closer to yours without him giving it more than half a thought.

“Can we talk?” he asks, and he says it like it’s taboo: eyes pointed at the ground, hat in his hands.

He cuts into your chest once more, but you shift toward one end of the couch anyway to welcome him in. The others take their cue to exit, leaving you and JJ alone again, unfortunately not for the first time. The couch cushion sinks under his weight. You start to follow suit under the weight of your shared silence.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally, and it doesn’t even begin to be enough.

You tuck your knees to your chest, your whole body turned toward him as he only keeps facing forward. It’s always been like this: you, giving him your all; and him, fighting not to do the same. You stay silent, more as a result of your inability to respond than an active choice.

“I went too far, and I—it was fucked up.”

When you take a deep breath, you’re wobbly in your chest. The moonlight slipping through the windows lets you see his face just enough to remind yourself of the curve of his nose, the soft skin of his cheek—as if you hadn’t already memorized it by now.

“What did Noah ever do to you, Jay? He’s only ever been kind to you, I—I thought you would’ve at least tolerated him, but—” You stop yourself before tears start to spill.

JJ finally turns to face you when he thinks you’ve started to cry. He’s got a new shiner now, you realize, a busted lip. If you weren’t part of the reason behind it, you’d ask whether John B’s left hook has gotten any better. Maybe it hasn’t, and he only thought he deserved a beating.

“He didn’t do anything, alright—he’s just—I just don’t like him, I don’t think he’s right for you.” His hands fidgeting, his eyes dancing everywhere but in your direction, tell you he isn’t giving the full story.

“Then who is? I’m not even asking you to love the guy, or care about him like you care about John B or Pope, or hang out with him in your free time—I just want some basic respect.”

He looks at you, confused, brows furrowed together as if you’ve misheard him. “I know that, Peach—”

“Then why can’t I at least have someone? You don’t get to fuck with my love life just because you don’t like the guy—you don’t like any guy, JJ.”

You’re breathing heavier by the end of it, and maybe it’s the fact you’ve spilled it out as you have, or it’s the pleading look he’s burning into you with, but you’re finally starting to get it. The lingering glances he lets slip by whenever you bring Noah around, keeping track of the fleeting touches JJ hasn’t been able to give himself; the way he’s attached to your hip the moment you’re alone, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, keeping you tethered to him; the comments here and there from Kie and Pope about some secret admirer, some undercover lover in disguise who will emerge eventually from the shadows.

JJ looks guilty, it’s melting off his skin like acid. He brings his eyes to yours, a knowing look to condemn you both. “I still think about that night, y’know—”

“Please, don’t.”

“And I haven’t been with anyone else since, you know that—”

“JJ, you know we can’t—”

“Am I really that bad?” he asks, tears in his eyes that call for your own. “I mean, we can’t even talk about it now.”

You take a deep breath once more. “I tried, when it happened, remember? To talk? But you left me alone, all high and dry and in your bed.”

“I know, and that was wrong, but we can try again,” he pleads, and you can nearly taste the satisfaction in slapping him across the face just by picturing it. “I can be better.”

“I want to believe you, Jay—”

“Then believe me—” he shifts toward you, leaning into your space with one shoulder grazing yours and the opposite hand cradling your jaw, hesitantly— “I want to try again, we can do things slow, I promise.”

You close your eyes as you breathe deep, relishing in his touch once more. Yet the deeper you breathe, the harder you feel him, the harder tears pool and fall into that touch. “You were so mean, I don’t understand—you keep hurting me.”

“I know,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I know, baby. And I wouldn’t blame you for hating me—”

“Stop it, Jay—” you push his hands off of you, standing instead, a foot from the couch and burning from his touch— “I have a boyfriend now, we can’t just try again because you’ve finally come around. I’m over it now, I…”

Standing taller than him now, he looks like such a battered little boy. It’s almost a shame he’s just as stubborn.

“Listen, Peach,” he starts, reaching for your hands and intertwining your fingers loose enough to break free. “I was pure stupid back then, and I was terrible to you just now because—because I know now, that I was stupid.” He pulls you closer to stand between his legs, his neck craned to see your face. “And I’m sorry for being so stupid. I fucked up, but I want to fix this. I want to fix us.”

You shake one hand free to wipe a tear that’s fallen to your cheek.

“I want us back to normal, Peach.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“It’s okay.” He guides you gently into his lap, and you know before you settle that this will be something you regret. Your stomach churns and your heart races yet you make no move to quell it. You link your hands at the nape of his neck to steady yourself while he takes purchase of your hip, your waist, relishing in your weight against his one more time.

You’re already leaning into his warmth when he mumbles, “I can smell the vodka on your breath,” tracing his eyes along the gentle curves of your face, landing on your lips.

“Sorry,” you say. You don’t quite mean it, not when his fingers brush against the skin beneath the hem of your tank top. His golden locks between your fingers feel too familiar and you're fighting the feeling in your chest—that yearning, that belonging, that buzz that tells you this is right even though it is anything but.

He pulls you closer still, oh so natural as he does it even though he’s suffocating.

“Should we be doing this?” you whisper, and you already know the answer. You cradle his jaw in your hands and he nearly melts into you, brows furrowed and jaw slackened.

“I said I want us back to normal,” he croons, pressing his lips to your pulse. “Is this not normal for us?” He drags his breath down your neck to your collarbone, leaving another kiss and lulling your eyes closed.

“JJ, I—Noah—”

“I don’t give a damn about your boyfriend.” He waits for you to look at him again before he begs the question, “Do you?”

“I—”

No, you think, but you can’t tell him that, can you? Noah is sweet, he really is, all smiles and daisies and See you laters, all gentle and kind and so unlike JJ, one has to wonder how you made the switch. The last thing you want to do is hurt him. Well, you know what they say: What he doesn’t know…

“I don’t know,” you answer, facing anywhere but the boy before you.

“Then come back to me.” He kisses your jaw carefully, all-parts loving no-parts lust. Glancing up at you with those pleading eyes, he’s even harder to resist, and as if he knows this, he huffs, and lifts his hands from your waist, keeping them at his sides. “You can say no, and we’ll act like this never happened.”

“Really?” Maybe he’s just playing coy. “You’d just—just forget? About everything? Even before?” You’re asking for reassurance, of course, but unsure why. Maybe you’re the one playing coy, deep down wanting to be wanted by him—wanting him to remember, to keep remembering you—because in the end you want to taste him again, to have him wrapped around your finger.

“Say the word and I’ll try my hardest.”

He does exactly that—try, that is—to keep his composure, with your hand brushing from his jaw to his hair, tugging it just right, then slipping back down his neck to his chest, teasing at the fabric of his muscle tee. His skin is aflame and you’re just playing with him as he burns.

Admittedly, you shouldn’t. Infidelity is a terrible, terrible thing, for terribly dishonest people who lead immeasurably misguided lives. Noah doesn’t seem the type to cheat, or lie for that matter, nor would he ever hurt you. He’s the last person to deserve that. He’s crisp, clean-cut, careful. Plays two sports, has a golden retriever, owns his own car. Will probably go on to be respectably wealthy, owning a family business or something related to it. JJ’s prior judgment could’ve been right, and you’d be none the wiser.

And maybe that’s the problem, after all—not enough bumps in the road and you’re bound to fly off into a chasm. It’s not what you’re used to, and, surely if you’re in another boy’s lap, for God’s sake, it’s definitely not what you deserve either.

Besides, you’ve already screwed up too many times to count. Why stop now?

JJ’s been more patient than you’ve ever seen. His hands stay still, his eyes attentive, smile stifled for the most part. You indulge yourself and trace his arms with the palms of your hands, feel up the muscle beneath them, fight off the urge to bite at your lip. He keeps his face still, a challenge. They say good things come to those who wait.

“Oh fuck this,” you curse to yourself, and you swear you see JJ crack a smile before you take his face in your hands once more and take back ownership over his mouth.

He nearly groans at the release, the two of you a mess of spit and teeth and tongue with no time to waste, and his hands are caught suspended in the air before holding you again, encouraging an arch in your back with a moan. He doesn’t kiss you like he did before, unsure and gentle; he’s hungry for you, insatiable, wrapping one arm around your waist as the other snakes up your back to grip the back of your neck, keeping you tethered to him as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so much of JJ at once: the smell of marijuana that seems to follow him wherever he goes has never been so intoxicating; on his tongue is the beer he’d been drinking by the bonfire; and his skin is still warm to the touch from the sun, smooth and sweaty and addictive beneath you.

You press your hips into his, throbbing where you want him, and he answers you with a moan and his hands gripping your thighs as he hoists you against his waist. He kisses at your neck, biting at your pulse and smoothing over with another press of his lips, and carries you into his bedroom, kicking the door shut before carefully placing you on the bed.

“Gentleman, huh?” you murmur against his lips. You sit on your heels, nearly kneeling in front of him as he stands before the bed.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” He’s breathless, so hard it hurts, and the way you’re dragging your hands from his waistband up to his chest isn’t doing him any favors. Looking down at you, he grips your jaw in his hand and leans down to kiss you again, giving in effortlessly when you tug on his waistband and pull him into bed.

You straddle him as you play with the hem of his tank, pressing at the skin concealed beneath. “Take this off?” you nearly beg.

He shucks the material off, mumbling a Yes ma’am, pliant beneath you. He has to close his eyes, tilt his head back, and breathe deep to stop himself from coming undone just from your touch against bare skin.

To make things even, you peel off your tank top and toss it back at him to get his attention. When he opens his eyes he groans, almost pained, and pulls you further on top of him, not letting his hands leave your body. “Oh, baby—”

You kiss him quiet and press your hips against him harder, exchanging moans into the other’s mouth. You start to lose yourself in it, you realize—the throbbing in your core, the almost-soreness in your hips matched with all the pleasure. Another minute and you could be coming undone, untouched.

“Jay,” you whine, “I—mmh—I want it.”

With the look on his face you’d think you’d asked him to marry you. “Already?” he asks, more satisfied than shocked. He sits up, that stupid grin smacked on his face, and you nearly pounce on him to feel his touch again. He soaks it in, for he knows this is all he’ll get until who knows when—and he can’t help but think about if you were really his.

He flips you onto your back and trails open-mouthed kisses from your neck, to your collarbone, to your breasts, moaning when you tug on his hair. “Goody two shoes doesn’t touch you like this, does he?” He presses himself between your thighs, leaving you keening and arching your back into him. “That why you’re so sensitive, hm?” Biting at your neck, he doesn’t let up as he trails his fingers by the waistband of your shorts. “Come on, baby, answer me. When’s the last time he made you come?”

“Fuck you, JJ,” you hiss, despite how good he’s making you feel.

“Trust me, Peach, I’ll let you if you’re honest.” He casts you that stupid, terrible, charming smile and pecks a kiss against your lips.

You catch him off guard when you keep him there, encircling him with your arms and deepening the kiss, pressing your tongue against his and begging for more. Yet he keeps giving into you, letting you flip on top of him again as you slip your shorts down and let them land somewhere on the floor. You start tugging at his shorts but somewhere in your tipsy haze or lust-filled nerves you fail to manage the button.

He gives you a knowing look. “You need help down there?” Before you can snap back at him something vulgar—as if he, of all people, could criticize you for speaking that way—he takes his shorts off to match your attire, locking lips before you can move further. “I want to go down on you,” he says, holding your face in his palms much gentler than you’ve been handling him.

“No time,” you explain between kisses, though the excuse holds no water. And you know you should let him—he knows what buttons to push, where to touch, the sensuality of it all—but there’s a blaring, nagging sound in the back of your mind telling you he cares more about this than you do. “I want it, JJ.”

“I know, baby, I want you, too—” he placates you with another kiss and pulls you to straddle him again after both of you slip the last of your clothes off, a collection of garments accumulated on the floor. “I don’t have—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, lining him up with your entrance and letting the pain mix with pleasure.

“Fucking hell, Peach, are you trying to kill me?” He lets his head fall to the pillow, one hand covering his eyes in shock while the other keeps hold of your thigh.

You keep your hands on his abs as your head rears back, drinking in the feeling of him inside of you, grinding down on him. “Could be. Problem?”

Stars in his eyes when he opens them. The curve of your waist. The plush of your thighs. The scratch of your nails down his stomach. The hum of your moans as you lean down, kissing him and swallowing his pleasure like you own him. The rush of adrenaline through his veins when you take his hands in yours and pin them above his head, using his body like you own it and the boy attached to it. Ask JJ yourself and he’ll tell you that you do.

He can barely breathe when you let up. “Not at all,” he huffs, voice hot and forehead sweaty. There’s a fatigued lull in your hips that lets him regain control over his body, tugging his lips into a smirk as he lifts himself up onto his elbows. “ ‘Specially if it means you’re this desperate for my dick.”

You scoff. “Not desperate, I just know what I want.” Someone who isn’t my boyfriend, you think, and the guilt pangs at your chest for a split second before you start to move your hips again, pleasure humming in your core. “And I want you to fuck me,” you almost whisper, “Please, Jay?”

Such a fucking minx. But he can’t resist. He gives you a once-over, and quicker than you can protest, he’s sitting fully upright, leaving wet kisses up your sternum as he grabs your waist and flips you on your hands and knees. He soaks in the sight in front of him—your ass splayed out for him all pretty, the curve from your rib cage to your hips too delectable not to touch—and slips a pillow beneath your stomach.

His body hunched over yours, he grinds himself against you, sending you pushing back against him as you arch your back and drop your chest against the bed. His mouth hovers at your shoulder, and he takes hold of your jaw to keep you sober. “You said you want it?”

You don’t think you’ve ever been so needy for something in your life. “Yes, JJ—mmh—”

“How bad?” He’s merely playing with you now, too much power than he knows what to do with. He takes his dick and rubs it against you, nearly losing composure when his tip dips into you. “Come on, Peach, you can beg a little.” Though he’s the one who seems to be doing that for you.

It’s a shame, how a lust like this can grow animosity on its tail.

“Fuck you,” you spit back, and you don’t know whether you’re cursing him for being him or for being something you want when you shouldn’t. Maybe you’ve started to hate him for trying to love you all of a sudden; it conjures up a bitter taste in your mouth to consider it, how he only ever seems to want you when he knows he can’t have you. “I’m already cheating on my fucking boyfriend, at least do me a favor and make it worth my while.”

He lets go of your jaw in favor of pressing himself inside you again, groaning into your ear and leaving you keening. “You’ve got a mouth on you, I can tell you that.” Lifting himself back up, he grabs your hips and fucks into you, relishing in the feeling of you wrapped around him—at least physically. “Has he even fucked you yet? You’re so—shit—so tight—”

He waits for an answer that never comes out as anything more than heavy breaths and broken moans, and he’s satisfied, but not nearly enough. He slows down his movements, and for a second you think he’s starting to go easy on you. Rubbing your back with one hand, he pushes his hair out of his face with the other. “You all fucked out now, baby? Don’t tell me you can’t—” you bounce back against him, hard, just to spite him— “Mm, fuck—”

You giggle to yourself with your face leaning into the mattress because you already know this is how he is: he likes to talk big, but can’t back it up when it comes to you. You’re happy to let him ride out his pleasure a little longer—placate him, even—soaking up his touch and his groans and just feeling good for once.

JJ leans over you once more and licks the plane between your shoulder blades, and you moan at the chill in your spine when he breathes heavy against you. “Jay, I’m close.”

“I know, I can feel it, baby.” He sucks at your shoulder before looping his arm underneath you and holding your neck, pulling you with him as he shifts upright and pushes into you at a newer, deeper angle. You stumble out another moan and he smiles into your neck. “You like that?”

With one hand you reach up and behind and tug on JJ’s hair. His hands, one at your neck and one at your waist, are burning into your skin. “You feel so good—”

He leaves sloppy kisses on your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, and he’s almost convinced this feels too good to be true. He has you in his bed again, moaning his name, aching for him for what could be the last time. Yet what he can’t shake from his mind is the fact that you still aren’t his: he can’t kiss you just to kiss you, he can’t hold your hand like he sees you do with him, he can’t call this rendezvous anything but something to be forgotten about in the morning.

So when you start panting heavier, crying out his name a little more desperately, he makes sure to hold you tighter and kiss your lips that much harder. When you come undone around him, he drinks up your moans and keeps you grounded against him, letting you lay back down as he pulls out and moans into the open air, which he swears will smell like you for a month.

You lay limp in his bed and groan quietly at your sore muscles, letting your eyelid drift close. JJ rubs your back and kisses your shoulder blades, just barely there, as if he wasn’t just fucking you, moaning into your neck, cursing out confessions.

“Just stay there,” he whispers, and he’s hoping you’ll reply with something smart—Not like I can do anything else, comes to mind—but accepts your silence for the fact you’re too tired to bite back.

You hear the zip of his fly behind you, followed by the door opening and closing, then the faucet running. The bedsheets smell like JJ. When the door opens again, you open one eye to see him, only half-naked now, with a dampened rag which he uses to clean up your back. Your body is jello as he flips you off your stomach, and he smiles to himself as he watches you rub your eyes and yawn, your hair now a mess. He cleans you off for another minute, handling you as gently as he can physically manage, before shuffling through his drawers and emerging with a clean tee and a pair of shorts. He peels your back from the bed. “Up you go,” he mumbles as he helps you fight your arms through the fabric, even gentler so when he helps you into his shorts.

Your head goes hazy, and you think JJ’s left to sleep on the couch until the bed shuffles again.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks, a lighter and joint in his hands. From where, you’re not sure, though you’re not surprised. He situates himself in bed with his lips hugging the joint. You realize that you could describe how they taste from vivid memory again.

You resign yourself to your fate and lean into his chest. “Can’t say no to that, can I?”

The lighter flicks above your line of vision and you feel JJ’s deep inhale beneath you, lulling you further into exhaustion. You see the smoke that left his mouth. His hand moves toward your face and lifts the joint to your lips; you inhale from his fingers, wordlessly, and are pulled deeper and deeper into sleep with an exhale and JJ’s free hand rubbing your back. You see one last puff before your eyes finally close for the night, the warmth of his sun-kissed skin against your face.

JJ lets a few minutes pass after your breathing becomes slow and steady, joint glued to his mouth, before reaching ever so carefully to his nightstand and putting it out in the ashtray. The air is still too full of you for his liking, too much to forget. He lets his mind wander as it begins shutting down, kissing the top of your head as if it’ll keep you in bed long enough to see him wake. Closing his eyes, he knows that by morning, your clothes will be gone, the room will be that much cleaner, and you’ll no longer be his. He wonders whether being the one who waits has brought about any good after all, or if it has left him to cherish fleeting nights he’ll never see again.

#outer banks #obx #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank smut #jj maybank angst #obx imagine

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telestoapologist · 5 months ago

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was going to look up hiraks’s wife for a joke and i decided to peek into his bio to see if anything’s changed since i last looked

so!! now i’m gonna fix/add onto a headcanon i already have for him.

hiraks no longer speaks eliksni with his own kind or scorn brethren, instead he often opts to speak in ESL (eliksni sign language), if he desires to talk all. it’s more than likely that the vocal portions of the language itself is lost on his tongue, or he’s just abandoned it entirely (or both). the language he learned is not only incomprehensible, but one that his peers reject the idea of learning or letting him speak it among them entirely.

i don’t know if the language itself is frequently uttered among hive- maybe only certain ones know it, like those of the hellmouth and deeper bowels of the moon. i’d have to study up on them and overall hive language. -w- in anânh, however, knows it, and it’s one they share together, so he’s not truly alone. i suspect the way of learning it isn’t easy, or something just anyone at all can learn, though. there’s def a significance to it and it’s possible that sacrifices have to be made, maybe u gotta have a mind-readiness or ability/“right” for it like its a form of religious worship or study. idk!!

i might keep tweaking this or completely change it, but i do love the rough gist of it (if that makes sense).

#hiraks #scorn together strong #who knows. maybe he lost a piece of himself while down there.#s2g i’ve heard of some similar narrative though

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forbiddensonoftheseagod · 2 months ago

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★ Something I should've made clear beforehand ★

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Hello, mun here! So I've been debating on whether or not I should really post this, but considering that this is my blog so therefore I've got nothing to really debate about to begin with if this is about boundaries I'm talking about.

So allow me to make something clear. I love roleplaying, roleplaying as Percy, my ocs, you name it. I adore every one of my followers, Im glad you all stuck around.

But.

There are times where a few lines get crossed and while I admit that I myself should have said something whenever that happens, to me it should be somewhat clear to someone else that they go a step too far. Not everyone works that way, true, true. But it's good to ask whether you're going too far or not

So allow me set the next few boundaries and reminders:

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

1. I'm not the real Percy Jackson

I think this speaks clearly by itself. I'm not the actual Percy Jackson, I'm an actual person behind the screen who got themselves dragged into an RP group that was supposed to fun but ended up being am experience I wouldn't even wish upon my worst enemy. I'm someone who could easily leave this RP account dead and never return to it but decide not to because this account is a comfort to me.

As a matter of fact, I’m not just Percy, fyi. My life doesn’t revolve around only roleplaying as Percy, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t only see me as Percy but also as someone who’s just as much as a human as anyone else. I’ve got plenty of more blogs that I’ll tag in my intro later, because this ain’t the only blog I’m ’dedicated’ to.

Another thing I'd like to add is that even though I don't own or am Percy, that doesn't mean I'd like it if you control my actions. Don't make Percy do something or throw something, or anything for that matter, it's me that's roleplaying him so I'll make him do whatever I want to do whether it's a slap or a hug.

2. Lore with Percy

Listen, I've let this slide in the past and said nothing about it, but that was a mistake to do. So let me be clear; I'm not required to go along with whatever lore you have with Percy, because again, I'm not the actual Percy Jackson. Whatever you have with your OC and Percy, that's cool, but I say this with all due respect. If I'm just not comfortable with it or I'm not "going along with it like you want me to", take it to c.ai or google documents. Sounds harsh, sounds rude, but that's just how it's gonna be if I’m not okay with what you have in mind for him.

3. Ships

Okay, let me be clear. I am a multi shipper, and while I don’t like Percabeth and prefer Jercy, any ship with Percy if any rp would like is just fine. Perleo is absolutely welcome here, trust. Just a friendly reminder that Im not forced to go along with your preferred ships, so if you’re expecting mostly Percabeth on this blog then sorry to say that it won’t happen as much considering that only happened because it was required to from my former RP group.

4. My blog, my rules

I recall I’ve gotten a few anons saying that there are a few things I’ve made Percy say that he’d ‘never’ say, while yes, the way I used to RP him was ridiculous and I’ve made an effort to fix it. However, I’d like to say that considering this is my blog, therefore Percy has the headcanons I give him and so he’ll be a lot more different than the canon Percy. Some of those headcanons are based off of things I see back in myself, so he’s somewhat of a self insert in this case. But he’s still Percy, just molded differently by having added my headcanons to him.

I’m not saying I own Percy, I don’t in the slightest. I’m just saying that this is how my Percy will be on my blog and you’re allowed to disagree with my headcanons, just a friendly reminder that they’re headcanons and not something I think is actually canon. This Percy is slightly older, in some timelines he’s engaged, this is just how I see Percy after a few years. There are plenty of other Percy blogs out there if you don’t like this one.

5. NSFW

Gonna be honest, I’m known to have a dirty mind, so there are moments where Percy will say something suggestive, but that’s quite literally where it ends. Maybe he’d do something suggestive but not so far that it ends up becoming NSFW, that’s not something the public needs to see on this blog. This ain’t a smut writing blog, it’s either fluff or angst, that’s it.

6. Other Canon Characters

So, listen, I project what I have onto Percy and so on. Any other characters, like the Seven or something, those I adore and so will Percy. Nico and Will? My favorites and they will be Percy’s as well. Jason? Love him so much.

Now here’s the thing. I hate Th*lia , to the point I censor her name, so Percy will hate her too. I hate the PJO g*ds, so will Percy, including P*seidon because he’s not a good father like others say he is and I’m genuinely not arguing with anyone about that because it’s just not worth it. Absolutely love the TA and Luke Castellan himself, so there might be hints where Percy would consider joining them because (cough) Luke loml (cough).

No problem if you like/dislike these characters (well minus Luke because I’m a Luke defender haha surprise), but just so you’re aware as to why I censor their names.

7. Blocked

If you’re someone that tends to speak up their mind without thinking, whether intentional or not, I’m sorry but that’s a block from me. I’m not allowing anyone to be rude to neither me nor my friends, so I’d appreciate it if you had some common sense and choose your words wisely. I can understand that you’d want to apologize for it afterwards, but what’s done is done so you’re a little too late for apologies. Maybe I’ll think about unblocking you at some point, but don’t expect anything other than just an unblock.

8. Cussing

I have a bit of a filthy mouth so there are a few cuss words here and there, a few in Percy’s bio, too. However I promise that Percy doesn’t cuss that much, maybe at times he will but that could be when he’s really pissed off, but aside from that, no need to wash his mouth with soap.

9. Romantic Relationships with OCs

I’m all up for people wanting to pair Percy with their oc, I encourage it even, I’m shipping him with an OC of my own but we can just go along with different timelines and whatnot. One thing though, I say this with all due respect… Just don’t treat me like I’m a Percy bot on cai, because I can’t do much with dry replies and you expecting some long paragraph. That’s just not how it’s going to work, because again, I’m a human, not a bot and so it’s either ending the RP there or really trying hard to make it something until eventually I can’t think of something.

10. Jason Grace ❤️

Listen, listen… Jason has always been my favorite character and he’ll always be more prioritized by me rather than Percy considering he’s not exactly my favorite. Haha funny, roleplaying the character I dislike- yeah no I only did it because the group was desperate but I’ve grown attached to the account now and grew to understand him someway.

Anyways- Jason will definitely be the main topic on this blog because as a certified simp for him and as a Jercy shipper, that’s just how it’ll be! Jason here, Jason there… Jason everywhere! It may get annoying to some people, but again. My blog, my rules, therefore Jason will probably be mentioned a lot.

Well that’s all, those are the boundaries here on the blog. Thank you for reading <3

#attention ladies and gentlemen! mun has spoken 🩵!#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #hoo #riordanverse #jason grace #heroes of olympus #annabeth chase #rick riordan #jercy #jason x percy #percy x jason #perleo #Percy x Leo #← that ship means so dear to me

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thewinter-eden · 13 days ago

Note

Don’t apologize for asking for more details, though I am sorry for clogging your asks/page with my answers!

- yeah, sometimes it’s more hassle to deal with the looks or the cane itself than the pain. Especially when the pain isn’t too bad and im more so thinking of a preventative usage for it, it’s sometimes quicker and easier to just go without it. I got a collapsible one from Walgreens that I can stuff in my bag for school or work, but for short errands, if I don’t think I need it immediately, I just won’t bring it

- yeah, it’s really not fun. Like I’m used to it enough that it doesn’t phase me but at the same time it does??? Like I get a sudden burst of more intense pain/agony, but I’m also able to just compartmentalize it with just a hiss and a deep breathe before fixing my joint. But the real bad ones, or when I can feel my joint is “loose” but hasn’t moved enough to fix but isn’t able to be supportive to stop the dislocation from happening, take so much of my energy, mental space, and emotional strength. I also have scars on the inside of my mouth and lips from biting when dealing with the pain. It’s a lot but it y=mx+be that way ✊😔

- yeah, I think it’d be a nice ending to the fic! Maybe Hyunjin never realized just how much judgment and insecurity and pain comes with the condition, and at the end he does realize and makes sure the reader knows “I love you not in-spite of your illness. I love you on purpose through every moment, and I want to be there for you and know about your pain.” Idk, he’s a romantic and I think he would be crushed if he knew he played a part in a loved one feel broken and undesirable as well as feeling like they had to hide their true feelings (including their physical pain) from him. It’d be a complicated but sweet moment of realization on his end and a comfort to the reader.

- unfortunately, while we aren’t fall risks, literally anything can cause a dislocation. Like I can just be walking and suddenly my knee is out of place, or I’ll bump my elbow and suddenly it’s shifted. We also bruise pretty easily. My friends joke about wrapping me in bubble wrap but then sitting in one position for too long can cause my joints to lock up so that wouldn’t work either 😂😅

Again, thank you for all the time and consideration you are putting into this, sorry my little idea sparked such a clutter on your page. May you find a moment of peace and a moment of happiness at least once throughout your day 💜💜💜

My page is for writing purposes and this is supplemental to that so don't even apologize :) Just letting you know, I've linked all of these asks on a single post for my reference/access when I start working on this - just wanted to let you know your info is pinned to one of my master lists.

Thank you so much for spending so much time spelling this out for me and putting up with my questions/spitballing, I have thoroughly enjoyed getting to discuss this with you!

Honestly right now I have so many emotions about this information that my tiny brain is like "must write the 200k version."

Poor Hyunjin is gonna be so wrecked over the hurt feelings he foolishly/accidentally causes - you're giving the people more reasons to hate me lol :P

(I would definitely be one of the friends who suggests bubble wrap my heart is stressed thinking about you hurting yourself rn)

Thank you so much for sending the ask/request! You've given me a chance to learn about this and to explore a new area within my writing and I appreciate that more than you know. I will do my best to take this and produce something that holds up to your hopes and hopefully doesn't disappoint you or anyone else through any poor characterization.

My asks/comments/DMs are always open if you ever think of anything to add or share - I genuinely love to speak with you guys! I'm sure you didn't mean to launch me into full on discussion mode and get yourself caught fielding questions by sending your request haha but I so appreciate you humoring me!

I hope you have a good day and take care of yourself!

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lordisitmine · 1 year ago

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TTNBD BLOG: PART TWO

Welcome once again, to the extended author’s notes! That’s kind of how I’m thinking of these posts. This post covers the details of chapter two of the story, (chapter 3 on ao3 if you’re just looking at the numbers), entitled What a Tangled Web We Weave. So, spoilers if you haven’t read that yet.

HISTORICAL ACCURACY

In this week’s retrospective, I’d like to talk a little bit about historical accuracy. If you’re anything like me, you like watching and reading a lot of things that take place in past eras. If you’re like me, you hate when something- be it a phrase, an outfit, a hairstyle, or a reference to people/events- is egregiously incorrect to the time period being portrayed. Big anachronisms drive me crazy.

However, there’s a level of inaccuracy that I don’t actually mind- if it helps better the story without taking me too much out of the fantasy, or if it adds something to the setting while not detracting from the believably- I’ll allow it. Basically, what I’m saying is that, like a lot of other aspects of writing/art, historical accuracy is about finding the right balance. Or, getting as close as you can to the target of perfect. With fanfiction, I think the margin is even wider- I try not to take this medium too overly seriously, especially when I’m reading and enjoying something someone else has written. I’m a little tougher on myself, though I hope not too tough.

I like to call what I do “movie-accurate”. A lot of my favourite period films have things in them that just aren’t correct, but because I love those movies so much, and because the overall vibe is close enough to what I know about history, I let it slide.

For example, in the 2005 film Pride and Prejudice, the hairstyles of the young women, as well as some of their dress styles are quite off from what women’s fashions were actually like at the time in which the novel/movie was set. The 1995 BBC miniseries adaptation is far, far more faithful in terms of aesthetics. However, the 2005 film is incredibly beloved by a lot of Jane Austen fans, despite its inaccuracies! Because it’s a fucking good movie, which sells the characterization and romances so well that you can sort of excuse the “dumbing down” of the details. It’s one of my favourite period films, and films, period.

Obviously there are bad movies that don’t even try to be accurate, but when I say “movie-accurate” know that I’m talking about the good ones.

During the course of Though the Night be Dark, I’ll be making a lot of references to/descriptions of outfits and hairstyles, because I’m pretty sure I was a fashion designer or personal stylist in my past life, but not all of them will be totally accurate to the years 1899/1900. That goes for stuff like technology, too- it won’t ever be over-the-top (i.e. they’re not gonna have television in the year 1900) but if you notice stuff that seems just a little out of place, know that I felt it was necessary to fudge the numbers, so to speak, in pursuit of the characters, the romance, and the story itself.

This same sort of “movie-accuracy” applies to the settings. I’ve never been to Paris or London in my life- I’m broke and there’s a whole ocean in between me and Europe. I do my best to research and reference actual places and landmarks, but if you do live in either of those places and what I write seems fantastical or inaccurate, I am sorry, believe me. Please forgive me, and do your best to imagine these as like, imaginary versions of these places.

I don’t know why I’m defending myself- most people probably don’t mind, and some probably don’t notice things like this. But it’s important to me to be as accurate as I can be within the scope of my ability, and it’s important to me for people to learn about my process if they want to. I digress.

CHAPTER TWO: WHAT A TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE

Sometimes I pick titles because they’re references to things, and the words/themes of the things in question closely fit the character and the story. For example, To the End of Everything is a lyric from the Adam Lambert song Sleepwalker, which was on my SebaCiel playlist back in 2014 when I was first writing it. It fit the story of the end of Ciel’s life, and the end of his contract with Sebastian, and it’s such a nice set of words to say out loud and look at on a screen.

The first chapter of this fic, A Far, Far Better Rest, is a reference to the final line from A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. Two cities, London and Paris, both of which are the settings for TTNBD. Not a super deep reference, but there’s a reason for it.

What a Tangled Web We Weave is also a reference to something- part of a famous line from am 1808 poem Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field by Sir Walter Scott. It’s set in the time of Henry VIII and tells the romantic and ultimately tragic story of some rich guy and his affair with a woman. The full line is what a tangled we weave/when first we practise to deceive.

I picked this title for three reasons: one, because it has the word web in it, and Claude is a spider demon. Two, because it’s about lies, and lies are the basis for some of the upcoming conflict in this story. And three, and most chief among the reasons: it sounded cool.

What can I say. Sometimes I write/use things are deep and profound, and sometimes I just use things I think are kinda neat. I try, as always, to strike a decent balance.

Alright, let’s break this chapter down.

We started off with a remix of a scene from the second season of the Black Butler anime. It’s a little infamous, to be sure. I’m speaking of course about the scene where Alois shoves his finger into Hannah’s eye socket! I know that in the original scene he doesn’t actually pull out her eyeball, but I wanted to go whole-hog, I think it’s just extra insane and I wanted you to know what kind of Alois Trancy character I’m playing with here. He’s an adult here, whereas he was a kid in the anime- I don’t know, I just thought the increased level of brutality suited him.

I pulled actual dialogue from the scene and repurposed it, which I love doing and have done many times in my fanfic writing career (side-eye at my Supernatural fics). I wrote it from Claude’s POV because I love that outsider POV in a scene. I also wanted to establish his thoughts and feelings about Alois right off the bat.

Cards on the table: I haven’t watched the second season of the anime in a very long time. I watched the first few episodes some time last year I think??? When I was deciding to write this story, just to get a feel for their characters/relationship again. I’ve seen them portrayed in fanon as everything from a toxic couple to a couple who are more actually in love, like Ciel and Sebastian- I very much don’t see that for these two. Their tension is different, and in the context of this story, it’s been years, and that tension is heading towards a boiling point.

What I’m saying is that I’m sorry to any real die-hard Alois and/or Claude fans in advance if I do stretch them too far out of the OOC allowance margins… but also no I’m not hehehehehe.

Claude mentions Alois reading penny dreadfuls. Penny dreadfuls were these cheap little serialised fiction zines you could buy for a penny, hence the name. Every volume was like, an 8–16 page chunk of a story. The dreadful part comes from the fact that they were highly sensationalised and sometime salacious stories about murder and highway robbery and pirates and stories of real-life criminals doing heinous murder and such- sometimes sold at public executions! Overall, these things weren’t considered Proper English Literature. Which of course meant that they were VERY popular. Mostly in the early to mid 1800s. As far as I know, they started to lose ground in popular culture by the turn of the century, but they existed, I think they were cool, and therefore I can include a reference to them!

Penny dreadfuls weren’t really about romance or sex but they were super popular among young people, and the idea of Alois reading trashy romance novels in general is just hilarious to me. And like I said, I just really wanted to reference something so undeniably Victorian.

And yes, for the purposes of this story, he does in fact know that Hannah is a demon. Did he know that in the anime? I think maybe he did, but like I said, it’s been a while, and I don’t remember. I could go back and watch it again, but I don’t want canon to mess up my fanfiction. Anyway, the fact that Alois knows Hannah is a demon will become relevant and important as the story continues, so I won’t say too much more about it.

Back to Paris- it’s time for more Lizzy content! There’s quite a bit of that in this chapter. Originally, this chapter and the next one were originally just supposed to be one chapter, but the whole thing got too long/had a natural breaking point in my mins, so I split it up.

These parts of the story are more difficult to write- they involve the OCs a lot, and there’s lots of things to establish. It’s hard to do that without getting to in the weeds or being really clunky, but on the other hand, I can’t forget that anything outside of canon references is in my brain and no one else’s, so I have to make sure to cover the important stuff.

This is my first time writing F/F romance! That’s not quite true. I’ve been writing original stories with F/F romances in them for years and years- this is my first time writing an F/F romance that other people are actually going to read. Thankfully, being a lesbian, I have actual experience falling in love with women, so I have lots of real-life stuff to draw from. I didn’t realise how much of my own past and current crushes and preferences wormed their way into the Lizzy/Sybil dynamic. I’ve read posts before about how romance/sex scenes are always revealing of the author’s preferences/feelings/kinks, and I was like “not me haha I am Unknowable” but I guess I can’t say that anymore oops.

When it comes to labels for fictional characters, I don’t like to use them/talk about them unless it’s been explicitly stated in canon. For example, I would never say a canon bisexual character is exclusively gay, that would be bi erasure and we don’t do that shit here. This is especially relevant when it comes to time periods where terminology was different, and labels hadn’t been invented yet/didn’t mean the same things.

I’m trying to write Lizzy in a way that the reader can interpret any way they want! If you want to read her as bi or as a lesbian, that’s fine, I have no hard opinion on the subject! I think it makes a lot of sense that she’s bi, I think that there’s a case for her being a lesbian who’s had to deal with some hardcore compulsory heterosexuality.

However, Sybil is my character and therefore I do get to say what she is, and she is a lesbian. Stone cold homosexual. Again, not that it matters, I just like saying it.

Lizzy and Sybil’s romance isn’t a full-on slow burn per se, but I’m really enjoying building it up here brick-by-brick. At this point, she and Lizzy have been friends for a long time and already know each other really well, so the “to lovers” part can kind of come into play early, but I’m not going to give it all away at once- where would the fun be in that?

Let’s talk about Verity. Madame LaChance if you’re nasty. Verity, of course, means truth, and la chance is French for luck. I kind of wanted her to be straight up called “Lady Luck” but that was a bit TOO hokey, even for me. I wanted there to be an auntie-like side character, and I said to myself, what if there was a character who was like, all the good, lighthearted parts of Grell and Madame Red without any of the “oh btw I’m insane/also a serial killer”. I thought it’d be funny if she was sort of a go-between, having friendships with both Sybil & Lizzy as well as Ciel & Sebastian without any of them being aware of it. She became a bigger part of the story than I’d originally intended- she sort of stole my heart, maybe she’ll steal yours too.

She’s a little mysterious, but I can promise you she is a normal human. She’s just very… unique, I guess you could say. No more spoilers.

I’m being sort of vague about the club and what it’s called and what it looks like, there’s a lot more about it in a future chapter, don’t worry. Also, Madame refers to Ciel as Monsieur Phénix and Sebastian as Monsieur Corbeau. That’s French for phoenix and raven respectively. Stage names. Code names. C'est très dramatique. (No, I don’t actually speak French, beyond some very basic words and phrases.)

I hate to admit it, but I felt woefully out of my element while writing this part and I'm not 100% happy with how it came out I knew I wanted to have some reason to show Sebastian and Ciel going about their day-to-day lives, but I was also struck by the lack of, like, drama or action so far in the story. I fell back on the old adage of “write what you know” and had the boys not solving crime per se (there will be time for that later) but perhaps avenging somebody. I don’t think Ciel will ever give up his vengeful nature, whether its on his own behalf or someone else’s. And for Sebastian, it’s just bad business, and we can’t have that, can we?

There are a whole two paragraphs from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott in this next scene. I don’t know if that book is meant to be sad, but it made me terribly melancholy when I read it as a kid. Also, there I go again referencing literature. I pulled the same trick in next week’s chapter too, which I didn’t even realise I was repeating until I’d already done it. Oops.

“-And nobody saw Beth wipe the tears off the yellow keys, that wouldn't keep in tune, when she was all alone. She sang like a little lark about her work, never was too tired for Marmee and the girls, and day after day said hopefully to herself, "I know I'll get my music some time, if I'm good."

"There are many Beth’s in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind.”

I wanted Lizzy to be reading aloud in this scene and this reference jumped out at me when I was trying to think of books that existed at the time and that characters this age might have access to. Beth of course is short for Elizabeth, and Lizzy’s arc in this story is about her becoming her own person in a lot of ways, or like, realising who she is, and this quote about Beth feeling like she’s in everyone’s shadow and only exists to do things for other people seemed really appropriate.

There’s a little more insight into Simeon- I drew the photograph described in the scene so you could get an idea of what Simeon looks like. I really like writing Simeon. He’s such a Good Dad. I mean, he’s bound by his word to be a good dad, but he really loves Sybil so much and wants her to be happy. But there’s also so much going on beneath the surface. I know most of you have figured out his true nature by now, but I hope that I still have the ability to surprise you in the long run when it comes to him.

Once again, thanks for reading! Comments and questions are always welcome, and I’ll see you all again next week! Special shout-out to vandorttranslations, who is translating this story into Russian as we go! It will never not be amazing to me that someone feels strongly enough about my work to undertake such a task!

-lord_is_it_mine

#lord speaks #kuroshitsuji #fanfiction #black butler #sebaciel #writing #my writing #behind the scenes #ttnbd #tteoe series #ttnbd blog #commentary

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knifesxedge · 4 years ago

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hello ghostxraven tumblr audience boy do i have some things to say. bored of the same old warrior cats clans looking to branch out looking to give a group of middle aged women a solid kick in the face? join feetclan today we live on the road and we lick it and the gasoline makes us insane mm tasty when we die we go to feet

#pi's personal #query on top #i don’t have anything to add i’m just gonna let this speak for itself #feetclan plagues me & when i tried to make a ninja turtles joke e just stared at me blankly #erie tag 🪺

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imaginidol · 2 years ago

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Jake: Soundcheck

[JAKE: hey! U still coming to soundcheck with me?]

Your phone buzzes with the notification from your close friend Jake’s text. You smile upon reading his question, quickly responding back as you picked up the pace jogging towards the stadium.

[YOU: yes I am! :) I’ll be there in 5 mins]

After about thirty seconds from the moment you hit send, your phone already buzzes with his reply.

[JAKE: meet me at the left side of the pit]

—

The stadium is enormous once you walk through the northwest entrance, leading almost directly to the stage itself. It takes you a second to spot Jake, who was adjusting his in-ears and pacing back and forth onstage. He tapped the mic a few times with his fingers and started humming the tune of what sounded like a song by Exo.

[YOU: is that exo??]

Jake, from the stage, pulls his mic slightly away from his lips as he grabs his buzzing phone from a back pocket. Upon reading your text, he smiles, his head looking up and in all directions in search of you. You wave towards him, and he almost immediately catches sight of you, happily waving back.

“How did you know?” He speaks into the mic, the sound of his voice booming in all directions around you. “Sing it with me, then,” he smiles.

You both start singing the familiar chorus of Exo’s ‘Baby You Are’ in unison.

“Baby you are, [the only one I’ve been looking for is you], yeah you are, [all day long you think I’m going crazy], baby you are!”

He lets out a small laugh and gives you a thumbs-up, reaching down to text you something on his phone.

[JAKE: I’ll be down in 5 mins]

Don’t rush, you think to yourself. Enhypen was, in fact, at the last show of their most recent tour, and you didn’t want to take any time away from him for the last of these few special moments. You look back up and smile at him, giving him your most supportive thumbs-up and finger hearts.

About eleven minutes later, after much of Jake humming and singing different songs into the mic — this time actual Enhypen songs — he ends his soundcheck and starts making his way to where you were admiring from below.

“That wasn’t five minutes, sorry,” he smiles, but you wave him off.

“It’s your last show of the tour, so it’s okay! Are you excited?”

“I kind of am, but I’m a bit… nervous?” He laughs, his Aussie accent thickening at the ends of his sentences. Usually his accent was more noticeable when he was overly excited or anxious about something.

“You’re gonna do great, I know you always do!” You say, wanting to lighten his spirits. “Plus, you’ve done this thousands of times. And this time you’re gonna have the most fun, since it’ll be the end of another successful tour!”

Jake nods, a toothy grin escaping his shy expression.

“I hope so,” he hums as he looks up towards the rest of the members onstage, “I really appreciate you coming along to a few of my shows this whole tour. It’s come a long way, we’ve come a long way.”

You nod and assure him well that it was all worth it.

“You know that I like making time to support you, Jake. You’re doing amazing, and I hope you and the other members know that every single day.”

“Thank you, you know your encouragement always means a lot,” he grins.

He reaches a hand to rub the back of his neck, his eyes searching the floor and your shoes before whispering something towards you.

“I, uh, can we talk in private after the show tonight?”

You’re taken aback, hoping you weren’t about to get in trouble for anything. He must’ve noticed your giant floating question marks and exclamation points because he then adds, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong! I just… we just haven’t gotten to catch up this whole week.”

You nod. “Yeah, we can definitely talk. I’ll be watching from the pit close to backstage somewhere, so I can find you after—”

“I’ll come find you,” he interrupts, his hand reaching towards your arm.

You feel your cheeks turn hot at the feel of his hand against your skin, and desperately try to bite your lip to make the terribly obvious blushing go away.

“Oh, okay,” you try to smile. But at this point, you swear you can almost see a faint blush across his face, too.

“Jake, we’re gonna practice the choreo for the title track,” a booming voice from multiple speakers interrupts you both from the stage. It’s Sunghoon, but once he catches a glimpse of you with Jake he immediately waves hello. You wave back, followed by a wave at Sunoo, then Jay, then Niki, then Jungwon, and finally Heeseung.

“See you tonight, then?” Jake gives you one last, hopeful grin before sprinting back up the stairs and towards the stage.

Enhypen have said their final good-byes to all the Engene present at their last show of the touring season, the curtains closing in behind them and the sounds of their hidden laughter and joy still ringing about the stadium speakers.

You wait in a VIP lounge backstage with a few of the familiar staff you’ve grown to befriend throughout the tour.

I haven’t stopped thinking about Jake this whole show, you thought to yourself. When he put his hand on me, he just felt so… different.

A good different.

You’re too lost in your own thought to notice Jake has snuck up behind you and tackles you into a very annoyingly sweaty hug.

“END OF THE TOUR!!!” He chants with the rest of his members. Eventually you manage you (grossly) push him away and wipe off his sweat with a napkin from a coffee table.

—

Once the members have changed and are about to head towards their hotels for the night, Jake pulls you aside at one point once the staff wraps up the last of their cleaning.

“Come, I want to show you something,” he whispered. He turned a hand towards you, palm-up, and you gently place your hand in his, following him to your destination.

He’s brought you back into the now empty, peaceful venue. You stand with him on stage, looking out towards the thousands of seats that were completely filled only about an hour ago. There’s remnants of confetti, stage gifts, and the shadows of a crowd well-loved who once cheered for their favorite group, Enhypen.

“Your last show? It was beautiful, Jake,” you awe towards the vastness of the venue.

“It was,” he says, and you notice that he still hasn’t let go of your hand. You try not to make it known, in hopes that maybe he’ll keep holding onto you.

“But,” he whispers, his gaze dropping towards the floor.

“But…?” You try to meet your eyes with his. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh,” he stutters, trying to put his thoughts and words together as he had rehearsed in front of multiple bathroom mirrors. “I wanted to say…”

You both stay silent for a moment, until he turns his body towards you and places his left hand into your right. Now, both your hands are in his, his gaze nearly melting yours in place.

“I wouldn’t know a better time to tell you this except here, in front of this venue,” he whispers.

“I want you to know that, firstly, thank you from the bottom of my heart for having come to many of our shows throughout this tour. I know it’s an effort from you physically just as much as it is emotionally.”

“Jake, you know I wouldn’t mind any of that as long as it means getting to see you do what you love.” You offer him your most genuine smile.

“Yeah, I know that. But you know, you coming along to our shows has also caused you and I to get to know each other… much… closer? Like, you were my good friend before, but now I feel that you mean more to me than you might think.”

You smile. “I feel that, too.”

“Uhm,” he turns towards the venue, then looks back towards you. “The whole time we’ve been touring, I couldn’t help but realize that… you stood out to me.”

“I’m sorry, I did what?”

“You… you stand out to me. We’ve gone to many countries, many places, many venues, and there will be many more. But… you are still the one person I look forward to being around most.”

Now you’re really blushing.

“Your support and encouragement, I love the most. Your compassion and patience, I love most. Your face in a crowd of hundreds, I love most. You…”

You feel burning tears creep their way up to your eyes, blurring your vision of the precious boy standing before you.

“You, I love most.”

Ah, damn, he actually said it. He actually said it!

“Jake,” you whisper, “do you remember that one song we were singing earlier at soundcheck?”

“The one by Exo?” He wipes a tear off your cheek with one hand. With his other, he reassuringly rubs his thumb across yours.

“Mmhm,” you nod. “If you want me to be honest, the first line of that song is the way I felt about you when I first met you. It’s a feeling that kind of… hasn’t really gone away.”

You can tell the moment that he, for a couple seconds, disassociates in trying to recall the first line to ‘Baby You Are,’ followed by a ridiculous smile once he realized what it was.

“Okay,” he whispers, the grin taking over ear-to-ear now. “That leaves me with only one more thing to ask.”

“Go ahead,” you reassure him.

“Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

You haven’t even finished saying yes! when he gently but excitedly pulls you in for a kiss, his lips parting to meet yours with gratitude and happiness and all the lovely little moments that came in between.

It might be the end of a tour, he thinks to himself, but it’s a sign towards a new beginning with you.

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ihasafandom · 1 year ago

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I’ll add these all together into a single post and probably put it onto a03 and my artblog when I’m done with all of these, but for now we’re going with this format.

Part 2/??

Previous / Next

So for Eddie’s arc let’s have him learn that he needs to open up and allow himself to listen to and rely on other people. He can’t go around behind other peoples’ backs, and he can’t lie to the people in his inner circle. This will connect back to his flaws in the first film, where he tried to do everything himself his own way without considering how other people would feel about/react to that or reaching out to any of his contacts or allies for help or anything like that.

Venom meanwhile got hints of it in the first film, but we need to double down on it learning the value and meaning of community and friends and allies and all that. In theory Eddie has some of that, but he also tends to throw them away so if we can have Venom glom on and stick that’ll be good for them both in the long run (not a necessity for a good story, but I like when partners fill eachothers’ weak spots.

As for the relationship, we need them both to go on a journey where they realize that/why they care about eachother, and come to value that enough to compromise and work to find their balance.

They also both need to temper their impulses and instinctive responses to be able to think thing through and not just rush in guns blazing, though that might be a series arc and not just for the one movie.

Probably makes the main thrust of this movie something along the lines of: People and relationships are important and irreplaceable, but also hard work and compromise. They are well worth the effort of doing things right.

Which gives us some nice points to invert for our villain trio.

And speaking of villains, the villains and side-characters need arcs too.

In the film, Cletus wants to tell his story, wants to escape, wants to find his girlfriend, wants to get married, and wants to wreak havoc and kill people.

Scream wants to escape, wants to find her boyfriend, wants to get married, and wants to wreak havoc and kill people.

That’s all perfect for what the film wants to do (I have not read the comics and know nothing about scream, don’t at me. But also do, maybe you’ve got some ways to sell all of this better) 100%, no notes.

Where this breaks down is when it comes to Carnage itself. We get very little of its motivations, and we don’t get much between the symbiote and Casady, and even less between it and Scream. And what we do get isn’t compelling. It seems clear to me that they were trying to do a parallel to Eddie and Venom here, but it lacks the clarity and follow-through to really work.

Also AFAIK Carnage symbiote is supposed to be she/her and it’s a bummer that it’s not in the movie though I am always gonna be a “symbiotes are it/its first and anything else second” truther.

So to fix it:

Carnage is newly born straight off of the “we should be able to do what we want with no morals/consequences/limits” argument that Eddie & Venom were having and bases its initial personality off of that. Its motivation is that it wants to murder-party its way across the Earth. It sees Cletus as a good time and it is covetous of him as a host. It wants a match at least as good as Venom’s, and it wants its host to have things that make them feel hedonistically good, but it does not respect Cletus and it doesn’t care about Scream herself.

Cletus loves Scream. And he appreciates the abilities and possibilities that Carnage brings to the table and the way that their goals and desires align, but nothing more than that. People are a means to an end, to be used as he sees fit. To be manipulated and lied to without a thought. He doesn’t care to tell Scream about Carnage being its own being, all the better to bask in the glory of saving her and being powered up all by himself. He doesn’t care to explain to Carnage how the world works, or to reel it in, preferring to ramp it up for the carnage and chaos and pretend that it was all his idea.

Scream loves Cletus, but she is jealous and suspicious. She acts up whenever Cletus seems to have anyone else important in his life, and is even more dismissive of the people around them as little more than backdressing and playthings at best. She has skills and knowledge, and tries to use them to plan their future, but gets ignored by Cletus overruling her opinions and choices unless he is in a “yes, anything for you, everything you say will be done” mood. When she finds out about Carnage she is HECKIN jealous. How dare he have someone even closer to him than she is?

The marriage going from the two of them to the three of them is a peace offering without solving the underlying issues. And when Cletus ignores one of Scream’s choices – the officiant or somethign and Scream gets mad and Carnage slaps her for ruining their big day and then Cletus fights with Carnage for hurting his love, that is the crack that weakens them enough for Eddie and Venom (with backup) to eventually win the day. Their bond is stronger, they have put in the work, they have laid out a support network and talked about their needs, and in the end they will prevail because they have a healthier relationship for it.

This is of course diametrically opposed to how the actual movie played it, where Eddie and V got back together with no actual changes and out of desperation but the movie still kind of tried to imply that they won because their bond was better? Nah, you gotta earn that, on both sides, and we’d seen more problems on the protagonist side than the antagonists’ by far at that point.

Part 2/??

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Carnage re-write P1

So I woke up today with Words in my head and instead of assisting with any of my ongoing fics my brain has decided to re-write Venom 2: Let There Be Carnage ://

So I guess we’re doing that. (Originally a quick outline; cleaning it a bit and posting on Feb 6 for @symbruary's Fix-It day)

Post 1/??

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The movie had pretty effects and a decent soundtrack and some good action, but what it lacked was the heart and comedy of the first film (and the good good deep Venom voice, why is he so squeaky and annoying now??? (T o T) )

I’m not a comedy-writing person, and I’m not gonna be doing an actual fic or screenplay for this, so I’ll be keeping to the heart part. What gives a piece its heart I thnk are its emotional throughlines. Each character and relationship having their own story where they change from how they are at the start to how they are at the end, and having that story be concretely present and observable as the movie/book goes on.

There were hints of that in Venom2 but a lot of them fell flat, didn’t go anywhere, or didn’t have a satisfying change.

For example: both Eddie and Venom are frustrated with their relationship for X reasons. They fight, they separate, they do things on their own, but when they come back together they haven’t resolved any of the reasons that they broke up in the first place. Everything’s just magically better for no reasons and we are supposed to intuit that they are good for eachother and that they have improved as partners but we never really see that happen. Just a forced capitulation on Eddie’s part and the same traumabonding and extreme circumstances that made them work as a team in the first movie.

Another thing that sucked was how they dumped the uniqueness of certain characters and plots and emotional beats from the first movie to retread the same old tropes from everything else. Dan was unique and widely beloved in my parts of the fandom for not being a jealous jerk. He admired Eddie’s journalistic work, he dropped his dinner to do doctor work without complaint, he trusted Anne, and he didn’t fall into the stupid romcom plots even when Anne brought them up. Focused, intelligent, useful, kind, caring. A breath of fresh air. Entirely unlike how he acted in the second movie.

So let’s fix that.

Situation at the start of the movie:

Eddie is depressed, frustrated, and stressed. He is not used to being the self-control in a relationship, and is trying really hard to keep to his morals. He also needs to make enough money to keep them in food and home. He is lonely; he misses Anne and Maria and people in general since a large part of his solution to Venom is isolating them in their apartment so that they don’t eat people and don’t look crazy in public. He is spending all of his time and energy either trying to do work or keeping Venom entertained, controlled, and fed. He also might need some mood-stabilizing meds, he seemed heckin ADHD and/or autistic in the first movie.

Venom is stressed, bored, and starving. It is not used to not being able to do whatever it wants (bar keeping its head down around other symbiotes higher on the pecking order), it is not used to having to cooperated with a host, it doesn’t understand Eddie’s morals, it doesn’t understand Earth, it doesn’t understand money, it doesn’t understand human relationships and society. It needs higher quality food (mammalian, more variety, more human-specific chemicals since it’s bonded with a human), it needs enrichment, it needs to understand more about what its new situation is.

They both need to communicate and understand eachother and learn to find a balance that will get them both what they need. They also need a support system and an income stream.

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 2 years ago

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Mimic Chapter 38

Your hero journey has continued like normal until you are called in for an important mission.

Words- 2073

Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Warnings: Fighting, angst, violence, fluff, MHA WAR ARC SPOILERS

Night had fallen over the dorms and you all had planned for Hot Pot to celebrate the near end of the term. You and Mina were holding plates and cups bringing them to a table when you heard the front door open.

“Seriously? The house arrest boys are late again?” Sero calls out. “No meat for you if you don’t help us cook!” Kaminari adds.

“I’M ON IT!” Midoriya says speeding past your classmates and heading right toward you.

“Hey, IzuKU!” You greet him when he grabs your arm quickly pulling you away giving you a small second to place the plates down before you’re pulled down the hallway, “Is everything alright with you-” Your words are cut off when you’re pushed against a wall and his mouth is pressed against yours. You let out a noise in surprise before quickly melting into the kiss. His hands are sturdy holding your face close to him and your hands wrap around his waist pulling him closer. The feeling of running out of air gets to you and you pull back taking in air while Midoriya tries leaning in for more but you put your hands out to stop him.

“Hey hey…while I won’t deny an amazing kiss like that but something’s up…are you okay?” You push his hair away from his eyes and he sighs resting his head on your shoulder surprising you and you hold his head close to you.

“I really like you…you’re important to me.” He says leaving you silent and he pulls back looking at you pushing your hair back he looks at the small scars on just your face, the cut on your forehead during the work-study still healing, the scar highlighting your cheekbone during your debut with Kirishima. “You don’t have to say anything back…I just wanted to let you know.”

You nod pressing a delicate kiss to his lips, “Okay…let’s head back they are probably wondering where you dragged me off to.” Slipping your hand into his the two of you returned to your classmates to enjoy this meal.

“Nothing beats a hot pot on a chilly day,” Kirishima says, stuffing his face with meat before reaching over to steal a piece from your bowl but you smack him away with your chopsticks. “Dude there’s plenty!”

“Once it’s warm again we'll be second-years,” Jiro says.

“Before we know it, yeah.” Asui says and Uraraka sighs “What a rush this whole year’s been.”

“Hey, we get to meet the new first-years!” Mina points out.

“But since the Hero course doesn’t have clubs we won’t interact with them much,” Momo says and Mina sags disappointed.

“A whole new crop of hero hopefuls? Love it!” Iida says, “We still have three months remaining! Don’t forget about the final exams standing in our way!”

“Cut it out, Iida! Your nagging is gonna ruin the food!” Mineta cries out shooting Iida a glare.

Todoroki looks down at his food confused, “It doesn’t taste any different to me.” Mineta’s eyes widen as he yells at Todoroki.

“Listen you! Enough of that overly literal airhead shtick!!”

Jiro laughs, serving herself, “Panicking about exams, Har-dee-har.”

“Speak for yourself!” Mineta yells trying to get his point across but everyone just laughs. Looking at each of your classmates you think about the memories you experienced together as strangers, a moment being enemies, to classmates, and growing closer friends from it. If you told your younger self before she entered U.A. you would get to meet the most amazing friends and guys in the world who accepted you for who you were. You probably would have laughed saying getting into U.A. itself was a dream before returning to that dingy apartment you called home.

The rest of the Hot Pot continued with Class B joining you all enjoying the night before the early hours started everyone had cleaned up and you headed to bed. With the winter ending spring had finally arrived a new year and the term coming to an end was just upon you all. Resting within Midoriya’s arms sleep has taken over the two of you as dreams occupied the both of you.

“Y/n….” A voice calls out within the dark as you roll over trying to fall deeper into sleep.

“It will be excruciating months of pain but when it is all over you will be perfect!”

“It has always been your destiny.”

“The Symbol of Fear.”

Two voices spoke but it wasn’t clear who it was you try ignoring them, but a sudden dread feeling makes you restless.

“And the girl?”

“Why she has had years to be perfected into his weapon.”

“She can’t live on.”

“Unless he commands it, the sword lives.”

“The Sword of All For One.”

Standing within shadows they swirl around your ankles when you see someone else there but you couldn’t make out who.

“Y/nn~” Two voices mix together as they turn and you look in horror seeing Shigaraki but he was fused with All For One the two in some grotesque hybrid monster, “Together until we are reunited…” He steps forward and when you try stepping back the hands of shadows hold you in place as you fight within its grasp.

“I call to you now…I can….touch you.” His voice slurs switching between Shigaraki’s and All For One’s and his hand looks like a claw slashes out cutting right along the scar on your cheek. Pulling his hand back seeing blood covering it he grins.

“Shigaraki…Stop!” You choke out as the shadows slowly choke the life out of you, he stares at you before his hand shoots out striking your chest and digging into your chest. Blood spurts from your mouth as you stare at him gasping as he grabs something ripping it from your chest. Your heart pounds in his hand blood sprays from it and from the hole in your chest. “I am the true successor…you’ll die by my hands.”

Squeezing your heart until it explodes his laughter filling your ears. Gasping for the air you shoot up in bed clutching your chest feeling where the wound should be but nothing resides there.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Midoriya mumbles having been startled awake alongside you. Pushing himself he runs his hand up and down your back calming your fast heart rate. Moving your hand away from your heart you sigh trying to calm yourself.

“I’m sorry…I just had a nightmare..” You say looking over at him and he nods bringing his hand to your cheek and rubbing it when you both feel something on it. He pulls his hand back while you grab your phone turning on the flashlight. Lighting up the two of you both of your eyes widen seeing two different things. Midoriya sees the scar on your cheek bleeding once again and you see painting Midoriya’s hand red.

“You’re…bleeding.” He says before climbing out of bed to grab a tissue to stop the blood. You’re frozen in bed your hand rising to your face touching it and seeing the scarlet liquid stain your fingers. It wasn’t a nightmare…he had come to you. He could create a connection…he could touch you.

Shigaraki had gained All For One.

March…end of the month. That day heroes vanished from the city.

Spring arrived, warmer weather, the flowers to bloom, and life returning from the winter that killed everything off. The wind blows through your hair as you stand alongside the mountain looking down at the city.

“There’re heroes in those foothills!” Burnin says pointing far out to the mountains on the other side of the city, “We’re gonna back them up and help evacuate the city!” The silence from everyone is deafening just waiting for the moment. You all were pulled out for a mission by your respected Agency but you hadn’t realized you were brought to the same mission.

“They’re moving in!” Burnin yells, “That’s our cue! Move to your assigned sector and get those civilians outta there!” You all took off running down the mountain hitting the city and beginning the evacuation process. From two fronts one in the mountain and the other at the hospital many things had occurred in just minutes. Comrades and enemies were slain by their respective opponents as the battle had just begun.

“He’s not breathing…”

Floating in a space, fragments of a home rest around him, “Where am I…?” He murmurs.

“Daddy said all that stuff, but…” The man turns seeing his older sister standing in the decaying office of their fathers, “Don’t worry. I’m on your side, Tenko.”

“Hana?”

“Sorry ‘bout that. I shouldn’t have done that.” She appears now in the backyard the night they all died, “I was the one who said it had to be a secret. Sorry.”

“Oh. That.” He sighs rubbing the back of his neck, “Whatever. That stuff doesn’t matter…anymore.”

“Tenko.” His mother’s voice calls out and there she is towering over him, “Do you still want to be a hero?” He looks up at her and a frown appears on her face, “You’ve rubbed your eyes all ragged…they’ll only get itchier if you keep scratching.”

A young boy hair black with red eyes stands in his place, “I’m okay now, mom.”

“TENKO! DID YOU SNEAK INTO MY STUDY?!” His father's voice booms and his mother decays disappearing into space looking over his hair now a light blue. His father’s hand reaches out to stop him but he places his hand against it and cracks appear decaying. He explodes in fragments the boy now having white hair.

“Tenko…” Looking past his father stands a girl in her pajamas covered in dust and debris clutching her blanket between her fingers, “What happened to mama and papa.”

He hesitates at that moment looking at the young girl sniffling trying to wipe the tears away before his face grows cold, “They’re dead.”

She looks up at him with glassy eyes before shadows come over covering her until it’s all gone and standing in that child’s place is a girl. Still young but older having lived a lifetime. Hair white as snow dressed in her school uniform but it was drenched in blood, wounds from the raid litter you sending a chill down his spine. The day he saw you die in front of him.

“Ten-” “TOMURA…” You go to speak but another voice takes over yours. Just behind you on the path stands a man covered in shadows. His master, the man who watched over the two of you, the man who forced his quirk on his sister. Made her into a weapon…no made her powerful.

“Master! You’re looking like Kurogiri.”

“COME TO ME, NOW.” His voice echoes through the space.

Present Mic drags away the doctor defeat written across his face as tears pour from his eyes, “He foresaw his downfall and entrusted all he had to his successors..”

“Successors?” Present Mic says. All For One had another player involved?

“He even chose to pass on his quirk. So, just like I once did for him…he took in a duplicate of his own quirk…and split the original…." The doctor says.

“To Tomura and Y/n Shigaraki.”

He walks towards his master when hands reach out stopping him, those of his mother, his sister, his mother’s parents’, his father’s hand reaching out, and his father’s mother's hand holding him back.

“Tenko!” His father yells out.

“Don’t ever forget.” Her voice calls out as his past memories hold him back.

“Enough.” He says swiping his hand out decay spreading and ending the memories, rejecting them. Let the memories die.

“Tenko please.” His last sister calls out to him. Standing between him and his master, the shadows of the space and decay were getting to you crawling up your feet. Your hand reaches out to him, “Brother…”

Looking at you staring at your hand, you’re asking for his hand. After all this time you want him.

“Don’t do something stupid Tenko…because you won’t win. I won’t let you.” You speak words from before to him and his gaze hardens.

“I’ll kill you then.” He says before his hand grasps your neck with all five fingers and cracks appear covering you, “This is my destiny. Don’t reject who I am.” He says before walking to the shadow covering his master.

Electricity rushes through his body as he seizes, and life is brought back to him as power and hatred flood him.

TAG LIST-

@jazzylove @coochiehaitachi @me-e-mo @galaneiaeris @nothingtoseehere-01 @endlessmari @twitterpat @one-hell-of-a-potato29

#mimic series #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #mha spoilers #mha x reader #bakugo katuski #shoto todoroki #shota aizawa #tomura shigaraki #mha #mha spoliers #bnha x reader

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razorblade180 · 2 years ago

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A new lens

Nahida:*peeks in* How are we today?

Scara:*laying down*…..

Scara:Are you just gonna stand in the doorway?

Nahida:*happily walks in* Yaaau, progress!

Scara:I’m just bored.

Nahida:Tiny steps still lead to epic journeys. I was hoping I could potentially offer you a sort of olive branch; a potential way to help you with yourself.

Scara:Is this the part where you tell me the benefits of meditating?

Nahida:Oh no. If anything I think you’ve been left alone with your own thoughts for too long. It’s like telescope stuck in one setting;.

Scara:You want to add more perspectives…

Nahida:*claps* Exactly, I knew you’d get it. Although…I’m aware this might be a bit upsetting.

Scara:Don’t bead around the bush.

Nahida:You know…Beelzebub could’ve killed you? But…she didn’t.

Scara:*sits up* What?

Nahida:Logically speaking, what do you do with dangerous tools, substances, or any items that don’t work? Any careful person would make sure nobody else could ever get it. Be it for their safety or fear of potential problems. There’s also plenty of cases of broken things getting taken apart and reused because their valuable materials. There’s no mistaking many things about you are valuable, yet she didn’t take you apart.

Scara:Are you saying I should be thankful to her by not killing me!?

Nahida:No, that’s out of question! How you choose to feel about her is ultimately your decision and I would never tell you otherwise. After all, the sages kept me alive, but I suspect it had more to deal with the akasha, and the fact even the death of a weak god can leave catastrophic wounds on the area and people. Much like the God of Salt. Keeping me alive was most likely the only reasonable option…

Scara:…Are you saying it was unreasonable for me?

Nahida:Strictly in a logical sense, I can’t see a concrete reason. She made you, so unmaking you is within her power. However, not everything people do is logical. Here’s my new lens for you. The Electro Archon may have not seen your worth as a vessel, but your life itself was worth living.

Scara:….

Nahida:I can’t claim to know here thought process specifically, but I thought it was worth mentioning to you. If anything is true, it’s that Beelzebub want’s Inazuma to last and be safe. Leaving you unchecked as she did is strange.

Scara:I’m weak to her. To her I’m no threat she could resolve in a heartbeat no doubt.

Nahida:Yet the idea of letting you potentially be a problem, especially with all you’ve currently done, is a bit counterproductive to her goals.

Scara:….

Nahida:I’d like to one day ask her myself, or perhaps you’ll find yourself one day asking her. It’s possible she herself might not have a true answer, which would only make me feel more certain of mine. No matter your intended purpose, your life itself, it’s right to exist, it never lost it worth to keep doing so. So…I hope you’ll one day treat your life better.

Scara:It…sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.

Nahida:Hehe, I can see why’d you might say that. I don’t think I’ll ever say the last 500 years were wonderful, but I still learned, met people, grew, and saw it through to something new. Even if I wished for better circumstances, I’ll never regret what I gained through it all. Those will never be worthless, because they made me, me. *smiles* I think there’s beauty in that because I’m still here and can grow into anything I want to be!

Scara:….*lays down* I want to go to sleep.

Nahida:Okay. Honestly I think I might’ve said more than I meant to, but it’s just nice talking you; putting my own thoughts into words is nice. *walks away*…..I think you still grow too. Sweet dreams. *closes door*

Scara:Tsk….she really does..talk a lot.

#genshin impact #nahida #scaramouche

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miss-tc-nova · 2 years ago

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Org. XIII Awful Co-Workers?

“Interview” #2 I did for the Kingdom Haute zine. I had a lot of fun with this one.

~~~~~

Have you ever looked at the sassy, confident, admittedly-sexy Organization XIII and wished you could stand among their rank? Don’t we all? Well, according to our newest source, you may want to think twice before donning that black coat and giving up your heart in servitude to Kingdom Hearts.

We at Kingdom Haute were recently contacted by a reliable, anonymous, member of the Organization itself who has done the honors of ranking who’s the worst of the worst to work with.

13. Xion – The Secret Manipulator

“By far, Xion is the easiest to get along with, but you can bet you’re a** she’s not innocent. Deny that girly what she wants, she’ll guilt you with the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. And if that don’t work, she’ll turn on Lexaeus and I don’t think he’s ever told her no.”

12. Lexaeus – The Guilt Tripper

“Man’s got a stony disposition. Won’t say anything if you do something wrong, but he just stares until the guilt eats you up. He’s got a soft spot for the younger ones though and they’ve all learned how to get anything from him, even at the expense of others.”

11. Xemnas – The Judgmental

“Boss-Man himself is probably one of the more bearable ones. Still, he’s as bad as Lexaeus if he catches you slacking off. The way he stares is unnerving, like a cat watching their next meal.”

10. Zexion – The Emo Teen

“That guy knows how to brood. Everything that comes from his mouth is some soliloquy of how existence sucks. I’m like ninety percent sure he only became a Nobody to add to his tragic backstory.”

9. Xaldin – The Nice Guy

“I thought them d*mn Pot Scorpion were toxic, but Xaldin’s got some issues. Guy’s just nasty and pessimistic all the time. I like taking candy from kids, but he takes it to a whole ‘nother level, you know. Not satisfied until the kid’s already got thousands of dollars of student loans in pre-school.”

8. Luxord – The Game Freak

“You ever had to pee so bad only to have someone stop you to guess what number they’re thinking of? No? Lucky you. Everything is a game to Luxord, even walking down the hall. And he cheats. But if you don’t play, you get to spend the next hour as one of his stupid cards, so I hope you didn’t have any plans.”

7. Demyx – The Man Child

“Demyx is actually pretty chill, but he’s got a whole bucket of loose bolts if you know what I mean. Man can burn toast and you can’t leave him in charge of anything. Xemnas must’ve been desperate to let him join the Organization. But he acts just like the kids, even cheering if he hears the words ‘ice cream.’”

6. Roxas – The Angry Puppy

“Speaking of ice cream, this kid’s got an enormous sweet tooth, but he’s definitely not made of sugar. He’ll fight you about everything, even if he’s completely wrong. I once watched him jump out a third story window because Saïx told him not to. Gotta give him props though; he told Saïx to go to hell and didn’t hesitate for even a second.”

5. Vexen – The Nagging

“I’ve gotta give it to this guy: he makes walking around with a stick up his a** look easy. You’d think that he made the rules around here. To be honest, he probably did since Xemnas doesn’t really give a hoot as long as our work gets done.”

4. Axel – The Bad Influence

“Xion and Roxas are pretty manageable, even together, but you throw this hot head into the mix and something is bound to end up on fire. I don’t think Saïx is ever gonna let him live down the time he accidentally set Vexen on fire with actual flaming Ch**tos.”

3. Saïx – The Kiss A**

“That brown-noser is next by the way. I swear he’s got some sort of crush on Xemnas. He’s like some sort of love sick puppy, following the leader around and enforcing the rules harder than Vexen, especially if Xemnas is around. Good luck enjoying anything with him around.”

2. Larxene – The B*tch

“Crossing that viper is one of the last things you wanna do. But at the same time, when aren’t you crossing her? You so much as sneeze and she gets all ticked off and threatens to stab your other eye.”

1. Marluxia – The Big B*tch

“Yeah, the other half of the B*tch Duo. He’s the worst of ‘em all. Walks around like he owns the place and we’re all just side characters. Everything is beneath him and he gets what he wants when he wants it. He once dragged Demyx out of the bathroom by his hair because the idiot forgot it was Marly’s shower hour. And you can forget about asking him to clean his hair out of the drain. He’s nasty and demanding and he knows it. But d*mn if he doesn’t look good doing it.”

~~~~~

Nova’s Kingdom Hearts Masterlist

#novas nonsense #zine feat nova #xion #roxas #axel #saix #marluxia #larxene #demyx #xemnas #xaldin #vexen #lexaeus #luxord #zexion

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subwaysurf45 · 4 years ago

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Love You to the Moon and Back

summary: Bucky notices you’re feeling down after a bad injury, he does his best to help.

words: 3817

warning: depressive episode, doctors, mainly fluff!

pairing: Bucky x Reader

Masterlist!

Bucky could tell you were getting bad again.

And it hurt him to see you like this but it always happened after a big mission, your job was traumatizing and it took a toll on all of you. Bucky knew he had his days but he also knew when you finally let yourself slip it was really bad.

You were a very headstrong person, you didn’t like letting people see your weaknesses or just you being hurt in general. So it sucked when you had broken your shin and witnessed a school of kids get blown up by a bomb, maybe sucked is an understatement but it was what you always said.

You had pretended to be a teacher because there was supposed to be a hit on most teachers at a private school, so when the school blew up before everyone was out of the building- including you -it left the memories very crystal clear. There was no way of saving everyone so you saved yourself, and the feeling of selfishness had never been more apparent than right now. You were lying in bed with a cast on your left leg, your left leg was on top of the duvet while the other leg was under.

A tank top and shorts was all you wore even though you were cold. A pillow was placed between your legs down by your shins to keep the injured one elevated, Bucky had stuck it there the last time he came in to check on you.

Speaking of Bucky, he walked into your shared room in the compound.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky cooed as he gently opened and closed the door without making any sound, you had become hyper-aware to sound and light so a loud noise or a flash of a camera could send you into a state of hysterics. Bucky sat himself at the edge of the bed at around your midsection, you were lying in the middle and facing him. You barely said hello, all you could muster was a groan that had the same rhythm as the word hello. “How’s my girl doing?” Bucky rubbed your thigh very carefully.

It was so obviously a rhetorical question, you were absolutely shit and he knew it. You both just stared at each other and Bucky seemed to get the message, he nodded and looked down. The room was so dark from the lights being off and the curtains being pulled you barely registered that Bucky had a plate of cheese, apple slices, and crackers. Bucky saw you turn your nose up and he knew you would, you had been like this for what felt like weeks.

“You have your two appointments today, you wanna use the crutches or the wheelchair?” Bucky asked as he gently caressed your thigh, a little hum came after a few sections to clarify this wasn’t rhetorical.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled into your pillow.

“Okay…” Bucky held onto the last syllable, he glanced over to the wheelchair and crutches. “How about you have a little snack and then when you got food- and I’ll get water -you can make your choice. You also know you can switch and I’ll be glad to grab it for you, alright?” he did a few quick pats on your thigh before setting the plate down on the bedside table, he grunted as he stood up and stuck his arms slowly beneath you. All Bucky did was sit you upright to eat, you had gotten better at eating and now didn’t need motivation to eat but just a little push at the beginning to keep going after the first bite. Bucky also found if he ate a few pieces from the plate you’d be more inclined to eat the rest.

“Thanks,” your voice was low and barely audible.

“No need, pretty lady,” Bucky got right beside you and grabbed the plate, he placed it between you and let you choose the first piece. “So, you’re at the doctor at two and then Doc at three-ten, do you wanna nap between for a little or for a while after?” he just took a cracker and plopped it into his mouth.

“No, no nap between, I wanna sit outside Doc’s office like before to make sure I’m not late.” You mumbled and stacked a piece of cheese on an apple slice. Doc was your therapist that was assigned to you a little while before your injury, Bucky wasn’t the only one who got nightmares and manic episodes; you probably got them more. Bucky knew he couldn’t go into your therapy meeting, he could physically go in but it went against his morals, this was your time to be alone and completely vulnerable to a human that you only see one or twice a week, he didn’t want you to sugar coat anything just because he wa sitting there.

Bucky nodded and hummed before pulling the notebook out of the bedside table’s drawer, your combat backpack which you used for everything between missions and a picnic in the park was curled over itself in the corner of your room. Bucky picked it up and headed back to bed to let it rest there as he packed. He did this when you weren’t injured, Bucky had sadly realized your memory was a little shot from the amount of bootleg brainwashing and head injuries. You’d constantly forget about appointments or missions, or even the date.

“Baby, I told you, your birthday is today, that’s why I got flowers.” Bucky said and pointed to the counter with the bright flowers on it.

“No…” you rubbed the front of your head. “My birthday isn’t today, I forget the day- but it’s not today, I swear.”

He slid in your journal that you used to write down lists and memories, you had used a guitar pick as your bookmark even though you can’t play anymore. Sometimes when you’d show up to a therapy session you’d forget what you wanted to say, it hurt him when he’d walk you there and you’d be saying the list of things under your breath with your eyes closed. Nightmare, mom, picking my nails, ankle, nightmare, sand, flowers.

“We gotta go soon, anyways, wanna get ready for the day?” Bucky softly asked, there was no nice way of telling your loved one they needed to shower.

“Sure,” you looked down at the plate and grabbed the last of it before getting up, the apple and cheese was just curled in the palm of your hand, as you walked over you shoved it all into your mouth because you knew you had to shower and you didn’t like soggy cheese.

“I’ll keep packing your bag, and I’ll fill a water bottle for you.” Bucky had been your human crutch as you walked to the bathroom, you had an itch down in your cast that was bugging you.

Tony had wanted to add tech to the shower to help you stand because putting pressure on your left leg hurt after three minutes and seven seconds- not that you were timing to see how long you could go without collapsing. You had said no to tech and just asked for a bar, Bucky even thought it would be cool but it was all up to you.

Bucky helped you slip out of your clothes before leaving you be, he knew he would have to check on you periodically because you were too stubborn to ask for help if you had fallen or couldn’t get in the shower. You gripped onto the metal bar and helped yourself slip in, you turned the water on right away.

You liked warm, long showers. You just let the water hit your skin as you stood in front of the shower head, the water pressure was high so you let the bullets hit your face when your eyes were closed. Your hair got wet as you stood there, you reached for the bottle of shampoo and expected it to be where it always was. The was getting into your eyes and when you squinted to see where the bottle was everything was double, as you reached for the bottle you had actually reached for the fake double and knocked the bottle off the ledge. A loud thump rang through the bathroom and it sounded like a bomb.

There was one second of silence before you heard scrambling from outside the bathroom door, all at once you could see the door swing open by its shadow through the curtain. The curtain was pulled back so hard a couple of ringlets holding it up were ripped off.

“Baby?” Bucky yelled before he registered you were standing upright. “What?” he breathed heavily, he was completely expecting you to be passed out on the floor with a cracked skull.

“Shampoo bottle,” you said meekly.

“Oh, thank god…” Bucky sighed to himself as he reached down to pick it up. “Are you hurt at all, did you fall?” He placed the bottle back on the ledge which made him reach across your naked body, on his way back his hand touched your shoulder then went to cup your cheek and move your head to look at him.

“I’m all good, babe.” You smiled, an exhausting smile.

“Alright, back-is-packed, finish up and I'll help you over to physio, alright?” Bucky closed the curtain to give privacy but waited for a verbal answer.

“Perfect, thank you.” You grabbed the bottle again, your heart ached for him to be in the shower with you, it was something you did all the time before you were injured.

“Don’t thank me, pretty lady.” Bucky reached for the door and opened it, before he could walk out, your voice quietly called his name, he could barely hear it over the water in the shower. “Yes?” he replied with the same softness.

“Stay here with me, please.” the ‘please’ came after a beat, and extra plea.

“Always,” Bucky sat on the toilet seat and gave the company you needed as you tried to stick your finger down your cast to itch that one spot on your leg.

*****

Soon enough you were sat in the physio room, Bucky was off to the side with paper work in his lap and a binder in your backpack he packed for you. You liked the moral support when you were here because you never really had the best experience with doctors, Bucky would act like he wasn’t even there. That was a good thing, he did need to be the hovering boyfriend all the time because that can get tiring for both parties. He’d look up and listen to the doctor near the end, Bucky would write down the exercises and when to do them so he could gently remind you later.

“Alright, you’re gonna get a new cast next week,” the doctor smiled at you, when you didn’t pick up on the excitement the doctor’s smile faded. “That means three quarters done!” Bucky had looked up and smiled, even clapped a couple times.

“Then I have to learn how to walk again,” that was an exaggeration but it didn’t feel like one.

The doctor gave a knowing look, “why do I feel like you’re already walking without the crutches?” You didn’t say anything because it was true.

Your leg was examined and x-rayed, Bucky held onto your necklace as you went in. Your mind faded in and out as the doctor spewed ‘doctor stuff’ at you, you just didn’t have the care to listen; but Bucky did. He’s the type of guy to take notes and research later.

Bucky would look over and see you looking at the floor, not even paying attention. He knew he couldn't get mad at you, you both dealt with injury very similarly. But something about seeing you shut down entirely made his heart ache, he wanted to reach out and lift the corners of your lips up into a smile because they seemed like they were being weighed down, he couldn’t remember the last time you smiled and real smile. He hadn’t been going on mission to keep you company, but now he knew his most important mission.

He walked you over to your therapy session that was still in the building, your Doc would come to the Avenger tower. He’d walk you right to the door of some random debrief room and kiss you goodbye. Bucky would hold your shoulders and gently rub your arms to hype you up before going in, he gave his little speech and said the same thing after.

“You know I love you, and I know it’s hard.” he’d then kiss your cheeks and forehead. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, don’t even sweat it, pretty lady.” He then wouldn’t leave until the door closed and he heard muffled voices.

The tower was right in the heart of the city, everything he needed was right there and a walking distance away. He slipped on a long sleeve and his gloves, he knew you took the backpack but you also had reusable bags, he took a few and headed out into the summer heat, it wasn’t humid today which was great but it wasn’t cold either. The tote bag was slung over his shoulder, all that was in it right now as a list.

flowers

chocolate

card

stuffed animal

To call Bucky a romantic would seem weird to someone who only knew of him from the news or a museum, you knew him as a total hopeless romantic. Even in the 40’s, Bucky was the type of person to keep their walls up until he really got to know and trust you. It would normally be one little thing that would allow him to truly be himself around someone, he let his guard down that day you were walking to the restaurant he made a reservation at, Bucky placed himself so that arm or hand you’d hold would be his right but when you caught on you walk around him and looped both arms around his left, metal arm. After that, he was goner.

He’d leave little sticky notes everywhere, a blue square paper in the coffee mug that read: ‘make sure you only drink one cup!’ or another on your shampoo bottle: ‘you look great naked ;)’. Bucky knew the little things mattered to you and vice versa, he knew that grand gestures didn’t mean anything without a little kiss that came before.

The flower shop smelt great, Bucky didn’t know much about plants but he knew which ones you’d like. He was thinking of putting one on each bedside so whenever you’re lying in bed- which was a lot -you could look at some pretty flowers. They were a nice shade of purple and the stems were not too long, Bucky bought them and put them gently in his tote bag before heading over two stores to the grocery store you always shop at.

He was envyus of your clean eating, you’d eat what you want but you’d shop at fermer’s markets and organic stores. Bucky didn’t know it made a difference. He went to the frozen section and found chocolate covered strawberries. Bucky picked up a little pack of eight and headed to the front. There were also flowers there but they didn’t look nearly as nice. All he wanted was a very simple cute card with a blank inside, they were easy to find. It was cream coloured with a little sketch of a fuzzy, brown teddy bear holding a yellow balloon. All it said in dainty cursive at the top was: “look at you go!” Bucky knew this was perfect. Near the cards were little toys and stuffed animals. He found a bear that looked eerily similar to the one on the card but without the balloon.

As he walked into the Avenger’s tower the bag was full and he had enough time to spare to set things up. Bucky headed to the rooms and made the bed, he changed the sheets as well because he knew you liked them when they were crisp. The teddy sat right in the middle with the card next to it. Bucky had written a little note that covered the entire right side of the card. He got a bowl from the kitchen and filled it with ice, he also found that white wine you liked and stuck it on there with the strawberries just to keep them cool but not melted.

Bucky glanced at his watch and felt almost giddy as he realized it was time to head over to the conference room, he had to work on not giving it away when he’d first see you with his wide smile. The walk to the room was quick because of how fast Bucky was walking, he turned the corners sharp and almost jogged down the hall down the meeting rooms. He only stood there for about three seconds before the door slowly opened, Doc had opened the door and helped you out. Bucky’s smile turned into complete worry when you walked out holding a tissue to your nose, your eyes were red and puffy. Bucky also noticed that your fingernails were red and bleeding, that was one habit you were currently trying to break.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked in quiet disbelief, his eyebrows almost touching.

Doc gave a curt nod, “we talked about a lot of things,” her answers were always so vague.

You sniffled and waited for Doc to leave down the hall, Bucky was still looking at you. His hands held your shoulders and gently massaged the answer out of you.

“It was a good cry, I needed that.” you sighed from exhaustion.

A little piece of Bucky’s heart broke, if you needed to have a good cry then you could have told him, he would’ve listened. Bucky started to go back and see where it went wrong, if he was too overbearing and if this whole afternoon he had planned was created at a very wrong time. He wanted to ask what he did wrong but what came out was different. “Well that’s good to hear, I know Doc is good at that- helping you out.” His words were true but something about the delivery made it seem uneasy.

“I just-” you looked to the ceiling and hoped to find the words you needed written there. “I like flushing it all out to her because I won’t see her for a week and I don’t need to keep up with what I’m feeling. I always cry to you but Doc is just really good at explaining how I feel, you’re there to validate it and make me feel soothed.” You held his left hand as you both walked down the hallway. “I feel lighter, like, I feel better.”

“That’s always good, sweetheart,” Bucky made sure you were putting weight on him because you didn’t bring your crutches but you really should have. “I have a little treat for you,” He turned to face you when you both stood at his door, Bucky kept his hand on the door handle. “I know it’s been a rough few weeks but I hope you know I love you all the same, and all I see is my strong, beautiful girlfriend.” Bucky saw your confused face, as he opened the door to reveal a dim lit room with flowers, wine and a teddy your eye welled up with tears again.

You gasped and put your hands on your chest, “for me?” your voice shook as you walked in, you peered into the ice bucket to see your favourite wine and some food as well as a card beside the ice bucket, under the teddy. Tears flowed down your face as the feeling of being overwhelmed washed over you, you could barely string a sentence together. A hand waved the gifts all away, “too much,” was all you could muster.

“No, baby,” Bucky smiled, he walked over and pulled you into a hug. “Nothing will ever be too much for you.”

He let you cry in his chest for a very long time, you both ended up sitting on the edge of the bed as he stroked all the way up your back. His hand would bunch up your hair as he went up to your neck. His lips were right at your ear, all he whispered were sweet nothings and a calming ‘shh’ once and a while. When you had a little composure Bucky reached for the card, as you read it your lips trembled even more. A hand stayed glued to your heart as your body warmed at loving words, you could barely read it with blurry vision from the tears but it still seemed crystal clear. Your finger traced over the signature: ‘love you to the moon and back, Bucky’. And you crumbled again, your forehead hit his chest as you cried away all the pent up emotion you thought you flushed out at your therapy session.

With all the crying you were so tired, Bucky had thrown on a movie you two could watch while enjoying your strawberries and wine. You only had two and half a cup before you were snoring on Bucky’s shoulder, he tried to nudge you a couple times but nothing worked at all. He watched the movie on his own and saved the last two strawberries for you in the morning. You didn’t even wake up at him getting up and leaving the room. When he came back he got you out of your day clothes and into something comfy.

*****

You woke up to the sun hitting your back, when your eyes opened they focused on the flowers and a smile graced your face. It was the first time in a long time since you smiled with your eyes, a little giggle even slipped out.

At that sound Bucky walked out of the bathroom, “well there she is,” he smiled wide.

“What does that mean?” you wiped the drool from the side of your mouth, “I had a nap, a really good one, too.” You seemed to be bragging.

“A nap? Baby, it’s eight.” Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“Ya, I fell asleep at about five so I had a three hour nap, no biggie.” You rolled on your back and stretched out, your gaze moved back to Bucky when you heard a giggle, “what?” you laughed back.

“Eight in the morning, the next day. Your three hour nap was actually a well deserved fifteen hour hibernation.” Bucky joined you on the bed.

“That’s why I feel so good,” you sighed, you looked over to Bucky and swatted his chest at his little smirk. “Don’t think like that.”

“I bet I can make you feel just as good-”

You cut him off with a kiss.

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