#i inflicted it on so many all those years ago

[radiojamming]

Now that the Terror fandom is growing as it rightly should, I think it's time to re-unleash the Goldner's Fleshlight.

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: After meeting Joel one late night at a bar you launch into a whirlwind romance with him. But, between a nasty breakup and the end of the world, you're left with nothing but your thoughts of the past and the way they haunt you all too well.

Warnings: 18+ Mature themes including: language, loss of virginity sexual references, SA (Not by Joel), Animal death, starvation.

Based on the song by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Winter 2023

Jackson was a town that was almost too good to be true. You had stumbled upon it nearly 7 years ago after fleeing in the middle of the night from a band of men that had captured you. Your sanctuary was just getting started then, but the group that was working there, welcomed you with open arms and as many supplies as they could spare.

It was your own little slice of paradise in this post-apocalyptic world you were stuck in. Away from FEDRA's iron fist and the horrors that evil people inflicted on others, most days you felt like you were living the life you used to back in 2003.

Of course, some things were different now. The TV in the corner of your living room was useless and most of your meals were communal in the mess hall. But, you loved it all anyway, glad to be away from the harsh world that lay outside the walls.

Even when you were assigned to clean out the horse stables, you loved your community. Jackson was your perfect little universe, undisturbed by the past and-

"Oh, shit...Joel?"

May 2003

College finals were the two scariest words one could say to you right now. Luckily for you, you had managed to somehow pass all of them this semester. Yes, you had somehow even managed an 80 on your biology exam, you still weren't quite sure how that happened. Maybe those 3am nights poured over your books did something.

"We should celebrate tonight." Your friend, Amelia suggested from her spot on the couch

"I was thinking about ordering a pizza." You sigh as you try to work out in your mind how much you have in your bank account. Perhaps you even had enough for some wings too.

"Not like that." She scoffs, " I meant we dress up real slutty and hit some bars. Get some guys to buy us drinks."

"I wanted to watch a movie tonight though." You sigh, thinking of the Blockbuster down the road. The second X-Men movie had come out a few weeks ago and you were dying to see Hugh Jackman on your screen again.

"You can spend the rest of your life as a grandma watching movies. You're only hot once." Amelia laughs

"But-"

"No buts. Your tits are gonna be at your waist one day and you'll thank me for this." Amelia declares before skipping off to her room, mumbling about which top she'd wear.

You sigh as you watch her door close. Amelia Caddel hadn't been your first choice for sharing an off campus apartment. Afterall, she was the opposite of you in so many ways. But, Miss Life of the Party had a steady deposit of allowance in her account from mommy and daddy, meaning she never missed rent, an important factor in a roomate.

"Guess you're spending the night alone." You sigh, looking down at your cat, Loki who purred, clearly wanting a treat or perhaps another heaping bowl of kibble.

Amelia fussed with your hair as the two of you entered your first bar.

"How're you going to pick up a guy if he can't even see your eyes?" She laughs

The stuffy air and the loud music, followed by a group of frat boys cheering for someone, reminded you why you never went out.

You watched with a sigh as she sought out the closest mid twenties guy she could wrestle a few drinks out of. You trailed behind, fidgeting with the skimpy black mini dress she had coaxed you into.

You'd have to hand it to Amelia, you certainly looked hot in it.

The feel of a stranger bumping into you and the sharp scent of aftershave filled your nose, and then big hands were wrapping around your waist, keeping you from stumbling.

"Shit sorry, hon." His Texan accent sent a small shiver down your spine.

"It's fine." You mumble, jumping away from the stranger's arms.

"Tommy, let's go! Quit flirtin' with the college girls!"

The man, Tommy, mumbles another apology to you before disappearing further into the bar, in search of whoever called for him.

Joel watched as his younger brother "accidentally" bumped into some silly college girl who seemed out of her element. Joel couldn't lie, it was something his brain might've come up with if he wasn't so damn tired from today's work. When was laying concrete going to get easier?

The younger Miller brother, who hadn't succumbed to back pain just yet, whispered some false apology in the girl's ears as she jumped away from him.

Joel called for him, he couldn't let Tommy terrorize some poor twenty-something girl who looked like a deer in the headlights under his brother's gaze.

"You're getting too old to be after college kids." Joel chastizes as he sits beside Tommy at the bar.

"Oh c'mon." Tommy scoffs as he orders a beer for himself and Joel.

"You're thirty, you're not some mid-twenties loser anymore." Joel points out.

"You're no fun, Joel," Tommy says with a roll of his eyes

Joel wanted to go home. He'd wanted to go home hours ago but Tommy had dragged him out after they finally finished working on their latest project, the new local Subway was nicely constructed by the Miller brothers.

Yet, here he sat, a few hours later, Two and a half beers deep, listening to Tommy try his hand at karaoke. Joel was pretty sure his ears were bleeding as his eyes scanned the bar. Most of the patrons were so drunk, they cheered Tommy on.

Joel found his eyes settling on the girl Tommy had "bumped" into earlier. She was still alone, sat across the room at a high-top table, sipping at some fruity drink. Pretty red heels were linked on the footrest of the barstool and Joel watched as she fumbled with her purse, looking for something with a deep frown across her pretty features.

If Joel didn't have a 13-year-old waiting on him back home, he might have slipped across the bar and sweet talked his way into this girl's arms. But the thought of Sarah back home, watching TV with Mrs. Addler had his ass glued to his barstool.

Instead, he observes as you finally find your phone and make a call. He watches as your features droop in disappointment as you yell over Tommy's singing to whoever was on the other end. Joel watched with a bit of amusement as you nearly fell off the stool when you went to stand up, you must've forgotten you linked those heels onto the footrest.

Joel let out a grumble of disappointment as Tommy launched into the beginning of Don't Stop Believin' by Journey. Why had he been given the world's most annoying little brother?

Joel's eyes turn back to the mystery girl and her delicate red heels just as some frat guy from Alpha Delta- who fuckin' cares, slings an arm around her waist, hand dipping too close to the hem of her skirt for Joel to be comfortable with.

As if he's on autopilot, Joel finds himself crossing the bar in long strides, ready to put a stop to whatever might come next.

"I don't see your friend now." The guy laughs as you shift your weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

Joel hears you mumble something about wanting to go home.

"I'll give you a ride."

The guy's sleazy tone has Joel cringing as he approaches. DId anyone teach these kids manners?

"Why don't you give the lady some space?" Joel suggests boldy

Alpha-Delta-Chad turns around to meet Joel's gaze, not releasing you just yet as he scoffs,

"Who the fuck are you? Her dad?"

"Just a concerned stranger." Joel nods to you in greeting, "She doesn't seem too comfortable with you, kid. Give her some room."

"How would you even know old man?" The boy asks, "You're like forty!"

Ouch. Joel was 35. Did he really look 40? Already?

"Let her go," Joel says, his voice deepening a bit

The frat boy's eyes scan Joel's figure. Either he decides you're not worth it, or that he'd lose the fight because before Joel knows it he's letting you go and murmuring another curse at Joel.

"Thank you." You breathe a sigh of relief, and a small smile graces your pretty face as Joel nods.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

The name slips out of Joel's mouth before he can stop it and he watches in amusement as you blink away in embarrassment.

Your eyes roam across his frame and Joel can't quite place the look on your face as you...size him up?

"Could you um...walk me to the bus stop? I'd go myself but I'm worried that guy might be waiting for me outside." You ask

Joel wants to say no. He wants to stay tucked away in the bar, sipping his beer, and hope Tommy accidentally swallows the microphone he's singing into. Yet, one look into your sad, and definitely drunk eyes has him folding.

"Sure, I'll walk ya."

A warm breeze blows through the air as your savior is beside you at the bus stop. He'd insisted on waiting beside you until the bus showed up, saying something about having a daughter back home and it not being right to leave you alone out here.

"So...what's your name?" You ask, your drunk mind disliked silences.

"Joel. Joel Miller." He says, "You?"

You softly say your name, shy under his gaze.

Maybe its the three margaritas but the man next to you is hot. Short brown curly hair with dark eyes to match. Not to mention the splatter of facial hair and mustache he seemed to pull off so effortlessly. He was definitely much older than you, at least over ten years your senior. But, he was attractive in the ways all the college boys in your classes weren't.

Your eyes raked over tanned arms, toned perfectly from whatever he did to get them. You could tell he was sporting a handsome dad bod under the plain blue t-shirt on his frame. You'd never been one for a rippling six-pack, a man who'd eat pizza and ice cream with you was always going to be attractive than one who spent his days drinking protein shakes and eating eggs for "gains". Joel seemed like a guy who'd be into a binge-watch of every Star Wars movie and indulge with you in an impulsive 2am Domino's order.

"Where the hell is this bus at?"

His deep voice had you snapping from your drunken daydream of pizza and dad bods.

"Oh um..."

You're not quite sure where the bus is. Hopefully, it'd show soon. Your legs felt like a newborn deer's, no way would you be able to walk the seven and a half miles back to your apartment like this.

"Joel!"

Another voice has you and your new companion turning your heads. Another man, somehow a bit familiar in your drunk brain is approaching.

"What're you doin' man? You missed my singing."

"I heard enough." Joel huffs in annoyance

Oh, so this was the guy who was badly singing to Brittney Spears and Journey. He looked a bit more familiar though...this was the dude that had bumped into your earlier!

"Now if I'm too old to be goin' after college girls, then you're definitely too old, brother."

"I'm not...Not goin' after anyone. I'm waiting for the bus with her. Some creep was hitting on her at the bar, I'm keeping her safe." Joel groans at this man's comment.

So he wasn't interested? You felt your heart sink a bit. Of course, he wasn't interested. He had a kid for crying out loud.

Oh god, what if he had a wife? Were you daydreaming about a married man?

Your eyes jump to his left hand.

Ringless.

Well, at least you weren't fantasizing about being a homewrecker.

"The bus? It's past midnight. The bus stops running at 11:30." The new guy says, looking at his watch.

"Oh...um. I'll just go then." You say, standing up on unsteady legs. Looks like you're walking. You didn't have the money for a cab, so your legs were just going to have to tough this one out.

"Go? Go where?" Joel's friend scoffs

You ignore him, he's so weird.

"Tommy, stop it." Joel scolds

He sounds like such a dad as you laugh to yourself while smoothing your dress out.

"Do you want us to give you a ride?" Joel asks, standing up next to you

"No, I can manage the walk." You brush him off, trying to ignore the way he's so tall all of a sudden.

You were even wearing heels and he was bigger than you!

"I can call a cab," Joel suggests, watching the way your ankle nearly twists when you take a step.

"I don't have any money for one." You whimper, as the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg.

Fuck these heels. Fuck Amelia for ditching you for another bar. Fuck Joel had his stupid dad bod and tanned skin. Fuck the stupidly attractive mustache on his stupidly attractive face.

This always happened when you were drunk. First, your legs turned into literal Jello and then you'd get all weepy about nothing. At least you'd have seven miles to cry your eyes out. Hopefully, Loki would let you hold him when you got home.

"Let me give you a ride. Do you live on campus?" Joel asks his eyes widening at the tears that dribble down your face.

"I'm just gonna walk." You mumble and bush past him, forcing your legs into an unsteady match.

"That's like...an 8-mile walk," Tommy says from behind you, estimating the distance between here and the college.

"Actually seven and a half." You sass, not interested in his comments or his stupid aftershave that invaded your nose as you walked past him.

You're not entirely sure how you ended up here, in the back seat of a pick up truck while Joel drove you home. You mumbled your address to him and he'd somehow known immediately where you were living.

Hopefully, you weren't going to end up dead in a ditch tonight.

Joel watched as you rested your head against the window. He'd walked you to his truck after you got a few feet away from him before sitting down on the curb, tears running down your pretty face, mumbling something about a cat.

"Fuckin' college girls." Tommy had mumbled as he helped Joel buckle you into your seat

"Let's just get her home," Joel said

"Yeah before she turns the waterworks back on." Tommy sighed

Joel drives towards the shitty apartments they rent to college kids. Two blocks away he had once been working in a fancy new condo building, putting up drywall and laying flooring. There'd been talk about developing your area as well, but six months later the apartments of Oliver Avenue were still as shitty as ever.

Joel guaranteed you were getting ripped off by your landlord. Probably paying too much for someplace that had thin walls and bad heating. Sure enough, he was right, as he parked his trunk in front of a building that badly needed a makeover.

"Stay here." He tells Tommy who seems to be a few moments away from falling asleep in the passenger seat.

Joel pulls you from the backseat, shoving Sarah's soccer ball back under the seat when it rolls out and tries to escape.

"Alright, what floor?" Joel asks as you stand beside him, tears finally dried up.

You wordlessly begin to plod your way up the steps and murmur what sounds like a five to him.

Joel makes sure you get your door open and watches as a black cat greets you as you push the door open.

"Hi, baby." You coo at the cat, scooping him up. "Did you miss me?"

Joel feels his heart speed up as you sweet-talk your pet. He tries to banish the idea of you talking to him like that, carding your hands through his hair, rather than this little black cat with a green collar and golden bell around his neck.

"Thank you, Joel." You say as you spin around to face him

"No problem." He hums, "Glad I was able to help."

You smile at him as your damn cat meows loudly, breaking the trance you had on him.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Joel."

July 2003

The fourth of July was serious business in Austin. From mega barbeques to fireworks that put Magic Kingdom to shame, your sleepy little college town was transformed for America's birthday.

A much-needed breeze flows through the park as you sit on the blanket you'd found shoved at the back of your closet. Summer was brutal this year, and you were sure that the Texas heat wasn't making the wait for fireworks any easier.

Your parents had invited you back home to Pittsburgh this summer. But, you found yourself more interested in staying put in Austin. Your sleepy suburb town back home would always be there, no sense in spending your summer cooped up in your childhood room. At least here you could go out whenever you wanted.

"Dad, let's go! All the good spots are going to be taken!!"

A young girl's voice drifts across the park as you turn to watch her pull what must be her father along.

"Hold on, Sarah! You're gonna make me drop all this."

"Move faster then!"

Well, shit.

Joel Miller, the savior of drunk college girls, was here in the park, walking towards you.

Your eyes widen as you take him in. At least you know it wasn't just the alcohol talking, Joel Miller was just as devastatingly good-looking now as he was a month and a half ago when he drove you home from the bar.

"H-Hi." You awkwardly stammer as he passes by you, arms full with a small cooler and a big blanket.

"Hello." He says, quickly

The double take he does is almost comical as he looks at you.

"Sarah!" He calls after the girl, "Come back here!"

"Didn't think I'd ever see you again." You smile, standing up from your own spot

"Well, I do live around here." He says with a lopsided smile that makes him look a bit more boyish.

The girl, Sarah, returns to her father's side.

"Hi." She says a bit flatly, clearly annoyed her father has stopped his march across the park to what she had deemed the perfect spot.

"Hello." You greeted her, with a soft smile.

She was so cute, with dark curly hair and black shorts paired with a pretty green and blue t-shirt. Sparkly sandals caught your eye as she stepped a bit closer to Joel, looking up at him for an explanation.

Joel introduces you to her, "I helped her out a month ago, got her home safe."

You're beyond elated he's standing in front of you again. For a little bit you swore he was a hallucination you'd dreamt up in a drunken haze. A handsome Texan man who'd driven you home safely after rescuing you from some sleaze. Amelia had scolded you for hours when she found out you hadn't gotten his number.

"Super safe." You smile at him.

Joel feels a nervous sweat break out on his forehead. Here he was with his daughter ready to watch their fireworks like they always did each year and he was flirting with a girl like he was 17 again. He'd be lying if you weren't on his mind regularly. The way you'd been dressed that night haunted him at night as he lay in bed, your sweet voice filled his ears as he went about his days. He'd wondered if you only used that tone for your cat.

"You two want to sit with me? I'm not sure if these are the best seats in the house but I do have some popcorn I can share..." You trail off, giving a smile to Sarah who enthusiastically agrees at the idea of free food.

Joel settles next to you as Sarah talks your ears off about soccer practices and the pool party Joel took her to a few weeks ago. He watches as you listen intently to his daughter's words. So rarely does a woman he's interested in take time to talk to Sarah. Yet, here you were, in college and interacting with his daughter better than most grown women did.

"So how old are you?"

Joel nudges Sarah with his shoe, doesn't she know that's a rude question? He could've sworn he taught her better.

"I'm 23. 24 this August." You say

"Wow," Sarah says

You turn away for a moment, reaching for the bag of popcorn that sits behind you. Joel's eyes widen as he watches Sarah silently mouth to him,

"She's so old!"

If you were old, did that mean he was ancient? God, how old did his daughter view him as? He could've sworn 35 wasn't that bad. Maybe it was though...

"So, 23. You're graduating soon then, yeah?" Joel asked

"I wish." You sigh, "I took a gap year after high school, and then just couldn't find the right major for a bit. I'm technically on track to become a Physician Assistant but I dunno if it's right for me."

Joel nods, he knows the feeling, not knowing if what you're doing is right. He'd felt that way when Sarah was born, and then when her mother left them, and then every time Sarah was hurt or crying, or just not perfectly happy, Joel felt that way, unsure of himself.

"You'd make a great PA, Sweetheart." Joel genuinely says, placing a hand over yours

"Thanks." You say a bit flustered at the physical contact.

"Gross," Sarah comments at what's unfolding before her eyes.

"You're gross." Joel counters, not missing a beat to tease her.

Sarah sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation, and Joel does the same.

You spend the rest of your summer with the Millers. In between public pool trips, and catching fireflies in the backyard, you somehow end up entangled with Joel. Staying up on the couch beside him, watching movie after movie when Sarah drifted off into dreamland up in her bed.

Before you know it, Joel is picking you up for dates and meeting you at coffee shops to let you talk his ears off about whatever book you've picked up for the week.

You let Joel take your virginity on a humid August night. After sending Sarah off to her friend's house you let him pull you into his room and under the sheets.

Breathless and sweaty you rest your head on his chest.

"You okay?" Joel asks quietly, running a hand up and down your back

"Mmhm." You sigh dreamily

"Didn't hurt you or nothin'?" He asks

"I'm okay, Joel." You laugh

"Just checking." He mumbles

Joel looks a bit out of place as he sits on your couch. Sarah had a week of soccer camp and the two of you decided to spend it together. Loki jumps up on the cushion beside Joel and lets out a loud meow.

"Pet him." You suggest with a shrug

"He doesn't even like me." Joel huffs staring into your cats eyes

"You nearly sat on him the first time you were here." You remind Joel of his previous crime from a week ago.

"I thought he was a throw pillow." Joel defends himself, motioning to the many pillows you and Amelia had scattered around the apartment.

"You thought I had a green-eyed pillow that meowed?"

"I dunno what you women are into, you're all so confusing."

You let out a scoff before plopping down on the couch next to him, Loki climbing into your lap and purring as you scratch behind his ears.

"The only confusing one here is you, Joel Miller."

Tommy isn't as bad as you thought he was.

Scratch that, he's fantastic, pulling out old photos of Joel from over the years. You nearly piss yourself though when he whips out an old family album. A nine-year-old Joel stares back at you as you look at an old photo of him playing tee-ball.

"Look how cute you were!" You gasp as you run your fingers across the photograph

"Joel Miller, star tee-ball player!" Tommy teases his big brother.

You smile as you watch Joel's face turn red as you take in even more photographs of him as a kid, you even see his 10th-grade photo, yes the one where he has braces and the worst case of acne known to mankind.

By the time the Texas heat begins to ease off and the leaves begin to change colors, you're head over heels in love with Joel Miller. From the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, to the way he'd dance with you in the dead of the night while the refrigerator door hung open, the light reflecting off your bodies as you laughed in his arms.

Three months, such a short time, and yet so much had happened. You tried to focus on the Anatomy lesson your professor was talking about in front of you yet you found your mind occupied with something else. It was as if you had been possessed, nothing but Joel filled your mind as you scribbled your notes onto your notebook. Anatomy class be damned, you were going to go mad thinking of him like this.

Your birthday, August 29th rolled around faster than you thought it would. You hadn't seen Joel all week. Between your classes, Sarah's soccer and school, and Joel's contracting, you had only time to talk to him briefly on the phone.

You had reached out to Joel earlier today to invite him to a small birthday party Amelia had insisted on. Nothing special, just some pizza and cupcakes, a cheap beer or two.

But now, it was going on 10:30 and Joel was nothing but a whisper in the wind. Sadness weighed on your chest as you watched the front door, hoping for a knock that would signal his arrival.

"Hey...I think we should just go to bed..."Amelia suggests softly from her spot next to you.

"No, he's coming." You mumble sadly tears tickling your waterline,

You stare at the last cupcake that sits on the coffee table. It was meant to be for Joel. You had scooped it out of the box thinking about how nice the icing looked on it. You had wanted him to have the best one in the box, even if that meant your own was a little lopsided and missing sprinkles.

Amelia pulls you into her side, letting you rest your head on her shoulder. She gently wraps her arm around you and quietly says,

"It's supposed to be fun, turning 24..."

September 2003

Three days pass before you hear from Joel again. His voice on the other end of the phone call is paralyzing as your world comes crashing down. The phone beeps as the call ends and you stand at your kitchen counter in shock, shocked that he's ending it all like this, with a phone call.

"If we had been closer in age, maybe it would've been fine."

His words bounce around in your mind as you slam your phone down on the counter. Loki jumps from his spot on the windowsill meowing as you cross the room quickly.

You pulled your covers over your head, blocking out the world as you heard Amelia return from her ethics class.

"If we had been closer in age, maybe it would've been fine."

God, that made you want to die. What did he even think of you? That you were some wide-eyed college kid who just existed in limbo for him?

You spend the next week in bed, plagued with tears and anger as you curse Joel out at least 1000 times a day. The knock at your door and Amelia entering your room with a box has you startled.

"What's this?" You sniff

"UPS guy just left it at our front door." She says before setting it on the bed and leaving you again.

You cut the box open and find your things inside it. Little things you'd left at Joel's over the summer. Hair ties, a brush, deodorant, t-shirts, and sweaters, even a photograph of you, Sarah, and him at the aquarium is nestled between the pages of a book you kept on his nightstand to read to him before the two of you dozed off. The box holds your entire relationship as you dump it out on your bed.

The scent of Joel, masculine and inviting clings to your belongings just like the way it clings to your heart.

Your hands shift through the items again, the scarf you wore to Tommy's house is missing. You had left it there and Joel had promised to return it to you.

"Who wears a scarf in Texas?" Joel snorts

"I do! And you better give it back, Miller." You groan

"I'll get it to you, sweetheart. Don't worry about it."

You wonder what has become of your scarf now. Perhaps it's sitting in a drawer in his room, nestled among his belongings, looking horribly out of place. Or maybe it's stuck in his truck, shoved under the seats under the pretense that it would make its way back to you one day.

You wonder what has become of Joel now. Perhaps he's lying in his own bed right now, thinking of you, your scarf wrapped around his hands, smelling of you and all his failures.

You wonder if this love affair bruised him the way it did you.

God, you had so many regrets.

December 2003

Cold air fills your lungs as your feet ache beneath you. Snow gently fell down as you sighed quietly. The walk into your hometown was no joke. The shitty beater car you'd stolen had died about 50 miles ago, leaving you vulnerable and scared.

Loki meowed from his crate as you quietly walked along. You shushed him and dropped a few treats behind the bars of the crate. He was going to need food soon if you intended to stay alive, your traveling companion wasn't known for holding his tongue when it came to hunger. The last thing you needed was to have an infected try to kill you because of your pet.

It had been nearly 5 days on the road now. and You'd managed to drive from Austin to Pittsburgh all on your own armed with a shotgun and a map you'd found in the glove compartment.

The past few months had been spent in Joel's basement. After things started going south outside your apartment building, you stuffed Loki into his carrier and filled a two big duffle bags with food and clothes for you and supplies for your cat before managing to somehow sneak into the parking deck and jump into your car. Amelia had never returned from her boyfriends house that night. You knew you couldn't go looking for her though, his home was nearly 25 miles away while Joel's was only 10.

It was mid-morning on September 27th when you reached Joel's place. The other neighborhood homes were empty and you nearly threw up at the sight of Mrs. Adler's mother lying face down on the driveway.

Your heart sinks when you discover Joel and Sarah are already gone. You hadn't expected them to be here yet, a part of you had hoped they'd be. It was Joel's birthday yesterday, you wondered how he'd spent his last normal day. Knowing him, he'd probably been at work all day.

You barricade the doors before slipping into the basement. Joel had spent time finishing it so it was nice for Sarah's sleepovers. You let Loki out before returning upstairs to bring down every nonperishable food item the home had to offer.

And so, there you sat with your cat, in your ex's basement, willing for him to magically appear and tell you everything was going to be okay.

March 2017

The Pittsburgh QZ was fucked. Royally fucked. The loud explosion from some truck filled your ears as you zipped your backpack shut. Loki let out a meow of protest as he disappeared in your bag. He was nearly 15 and his attitude about backpack travel wasn't improving.

You stick to the back alleys as you work towards finding an out. A decent-sized hole in a fence catches your eye and you take your chances, better than getting blown up by the Fireflies or FEDRA.

You're about 4 miles away from the carnage when a sizeable group catches your eye. They must've gotten out just like you.

A man, David, shares a can of flavorless chili with you and you sit on the ground beside him. But, the more you listen to him talk, you can't help but think he's a total nutcase. You thank him for the chili and the 8 cans of chicken noodle soup he's shared with you and decline his offer to join the group.

"We have so much to offer." He says in a soft voice, gesturing to the people scattered around eating and talking amongst themselves.

"I'll stick to just him, thanks though." You say petting Loki's head as you pull him from your backpack to place the cans of food inside.

"Suit yourself."

April 2017

You had dozed off. A rookie mistake to make in the apocalypse.

They had been on you before you knew what was happening. With nothing but a knife to your name to protect yourself, you were hopelessly outgunned.

"Look at what we have here." A deep voice booms, "A girl wondering in my woods, must be my lucky day."

A smelly man stands in front of you, and about 8 other men are circled around you. You squeeze your eyes shut as he lets a dirty finger trail over your face.

"How pretty."

A loud hiss cuts his next sentence. Loki, you brave boy, has climbed out of your backpack where he had been taking a nap. His back has hunched up and you don't miss the way his dark black fur is bristling in the low light of the sun disappearing behind the trees.

You aren't even able to try to arrange a deal for your baby as the man pulls a large knife from his belt and carelessly throws it at your cat.

A horrible screech from Loki fills your ears as the man coos at you and tells you it'll all be okay.

"We've got dinner boys!" The man who has killed your only friend in the whole world exclaims.

Your eyes slam shut as red blood begins to seep into the fabric of your backpack. The man says something about being a provider but you're too focused on choking back the tears that are forming in your eyes.

Hours later, you're tied to a tree stump, your arms behind your back. Your captors present you with a warm soup of sorts. Canned carrots and potatoes float in a clear broth but it's what sits in the center of the bowl that turns your stomach. What's left of your Loki is now being devoured by the men.

You can't do it. You had been starving, unable to catch anything for days. but you can't do it.

"Fine, don't eat." The leader and cat killer huffs as he runs his hands across your chest in an unpleasant matter, "You're going to wish you had though when we're done with you."

June 2017

The moon is your only light as you steal away into the night. Your heart is pounding but you can't or rather won't look back.

Your escape is credited to a man named Adam. He had always been softer to you than the rest. Less brutal than the others when he bent you over a tree stump and forced himself into your unwilling body, cooing in your ears about how good you felt even though you were dry.

Softer and easy to fool when you batted your eyelashes at him so he'd give you a second serving of the deer they'd killed. Gentle when he cleaned whatever wounds the others inflicted on you for their sick pleasure.

Tonight, you had used his softness against him. Crying and whimpering when he tied you to a tree, saying the restraints were too tight. He'd of course taken pity on you and loosened them before kissing your forehead and walking off to sleep.

It had been easy to slip out of the ropes thanks to Adam. You stole his backpack and stuffed it with as much deer jerky as you could get your hands on before snatching a gun off Adam's unknowing form.

Now, you were stumbling through the night, hoping to put as much distance between you and the men as possible.

Nearly three weeks had passed and you were still somehow free. The men hadn't found you and you were deep into the wilderness. Your freedom was something you had yearned for since the moment Loki had died. Yet, here you were, starving and wasting away because you couldn't kill anything to eat.

You drag your body into an old concrete building that was being used to control some form of dam. You rested your head on your backpack, thinking of how far you'd come.

Strangely though, you thought of your past. Fuzzy images of a college classroom came into your brain. Amelia's long blonde hair and the way she'd style it perfectly each day. Texas summers, filled with heat and perfectly seasoned barbeque.

What you wouldn't do for a big plate of ribs right now.

And then the curly hair of a little girl is dancing around your mind. Her warm laughter fills your mind as you think of Sarah Miller. With her sparkle filled sandals and her strange interest in gore filled horror films. You wondered if she was still out there somewhere. Perhaps stuck in some QZ with Joel.

Joel.

You think about Joel. You're sure you've thought of him more in the past three months than you did your whole relationship. Every night when one of your captors, or sometimes multiples had you every which way, you'd try to think about other things. Those other things often divulged into Joel and how gentle he'd been with you. Oh, how you missed his warm arms and soft southern twang. Hou you yearned for him even now. Your only real relationship experience was something you just couldn't let go.

When you were finally found by Maria, you were nearly ready for death. Brain filled with delusional thoughts of the past and starving, she had hoisted you up on her horse and rode off to Jackson, praying this mystery woman wouldn't die on the way there.

Winter 2023

You nearly fall over when his tired eyes meet yours. The loud voice of a young girl fills your ears.

"Do you two know each other?"

You push the stable door open to get a better look at the man who stands before you. For so many years you had pictured the man you dated for a few months, not trying to imagine the way the end of the world might've changed him. Your mind can't reconcile the Joel you once knew and the one before you.

For starters, he looks so tired. Graying curly hair sits atop his head, a salt and pepper beard adorns his face. Even his frame has changed, the winter coat he wears hides it but you can tell he's become riddled with muscle to take on the harsh outside world. The only thing that seems the same is his mustache, somehow untouched by time.

"Joel, wait up! There's something I gotta tell ya!"

Tommy's loud voice carries from wherever he is and you want to laugh at the younger Miller brother. Of course, he was going to try to intercept your meeting. Too bad he was too slow.

"Joel? Hello? Do you know her?" The girl asks again.

You glance at her, she can't be more than 14 or 15. Her pale skin is rosy against the cold Wyoming winter. She looks at you, probably for an answer since all Joel is doing is staring at you, most likely in shock.

Eventually, though, the man of the hour opens his mouth to speak,

"No, I don't know her."

This is my first time writing for Joel, hope you enjoyed :)

Next Part

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly @orcasoul

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: scars, smut - glorious smut!!

word count: 5.1k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx @anneas11

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

********************

Chapter 21

Y/n POV

As I closed the door to my room, Azriel stood with his lower back leaning against my dressing table, his muscular arms crossed. 

He was here. 

He was really here. 

My heart pounded at the sight of him, and I swallowed hard, praying he would not see my hands shaking. 

Gods, he was still so sexy. 

Even after six months of being away from him, he still took my breath away. 

Why had nothing changed? 

Since I had been gone for what seemed like an eternity, I had thought my reaction to him might have been milder.  I had spent the last six months convincing myself that he may never want to see me again, that he might simply be a part of my past, never to be a part of my present or future. 

And yet, here he was…back in my life in an instant with that same sense of untamed spirit just seething below the surface.  He had the same hazel eyes that could melt me with just one look and those chiseled cheekbones resembling a God. 

My heart screamed at me to run to him as my fingers itched to touch him…to make sure he was real and not some figment of my imagination. My head, however, told me to stay put and maintain a safe distance.

I slowly crossed the room and stood several feet in front of him, my pulse beating erratically.  He fixed his magnetic eyes on me with a dark stare, sweeping me out of reality and into a wave of emotions I had not felt since the last time I saw him.  His eyes lingered on my curves before he let out a long sigh and finally spoke. “You look amazing, Y/n...”

“Thanks.” I mumbled as I stared down at my feet.  I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes.  I knew if I did, I would get lost in him and to do so again would damn near destroy me. 

I sighed heavily, letting my shoulders drop., before bringing my eyes back to his.  “What did you want to talk about, Az?”

Azriel stood up straight and shoved his hands in his pockets. His eyes, filled with a mixture of guilt and raw emotion, never left mine.

“Us,“ Azriel whispered, his wings tucked tightly behind him, his hands clenched at his sides as if he were bracing himself for what he was about to say. The soft sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing him in a golden glow, but even that light couldn’t soften the tension in his face. I lifted my eyes back to his and he swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on mine.

“I owe you an explanation,” he said, his voice low but steady. “About everything. About Elain. About the way I’ve acted… the way I pushed you away.”

My expression didn’t waver as I tried to hide hurt lingering in my eyes, a wound he had inflicted and hated himself for. He drew in a breath, as if the words he was about to say required all the strength he had.

“Angel,” he began, his voice quiet but steady, “before you walked into my life a year ago, I never… I never believed I was worthy of something like this. Of you. I didn’t think someone like me deserved love, or even a chance at it.” His gaze flickered down for a moment, as if ashamed. “I didn’t do relationships. It wasn’t who I was. I thought it was easier to keep my distance, to let myself be… detached. To keep things simple. Physical. No strings.”

He took a step closer, his shadows stirring faintly around him, mirroring the turmoil he felt. “I had lovers. Many of them, over the years. But that’s all they ever were. I didn’t let them in. I didn’t… feel anything deeper. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I thought falling in love, letting myself be vulnerable—” His voice cracked slightly, and he looked away, his jaw tightening. “I thought it wasn’t meant for someone like me.”

“Elain,” he continued carefully, softly, like it might shatter in the air between us. “She’s… nothing more to me than a friend. She never has been. I thought—at one point—that maybe there was something there, something I could convince myself to feel because it was safe. Easy.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “But that wasn’t real. None of it was. It was an illusion I clung to because it kept me from looking at the truth.”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling a huge lump in my throat.  

“What changed?”

Azriel stepped closer to me and smiled softly.  “You.  You changed everything.”  

His eyes looked down as though was grounding himself for what he said next. “The truth is… I was terrified. Of you. Of how much I wanted you, how deeply you affected me. You came into my life and turned everything I thought I knew upside down. You made me feel things I didn’t think I deserved to feel. And that scared me more than anything.”

His hands clenched at his sides, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for me. “So I pushed you away. I kept my distance. And I used Elain—without realizing it at first—as a shield. But the truth is, Angel, it was never her. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

“I never saw this coming, but now that I’ve had it – I never want to let it go.  I want you and only you, Angel.  You’re all I can think about.” 

Azriel’s eyes found mine again, and this time they held a vulnerability that made my chest tighten. “You shattered every wall I built, without even trying,” he said softly. “You made me want something I never thought I could have. You made me believe that I could be more than the shadows I carry. That I could be… enough.”

 He stepped closer still, his voice dropping to a whisper, raw and full of emotion. “I love you, Angel. Not as a friend. Not as anything safe or convenient. I love you in a way that terrifies me, in a way that’s overwhelming and all-consuming and so much bigger than I ever thought love could be. I love you. And I only ever want you.”

His eyes searched my face as if afraid of what he might find there. “I need you to know the truth, because you deserve that. But you also need to know that those pieces of my past—they mean nothing to me now. They’ve never meant anything, not like this. Not like you.” He stepped closer, his voice trembling with sincerity. “You’re my mate, Angel. My only. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll let me.”

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were gathering strength to ask his next question.  He took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. 

“Is there someone else?” His eyes searched mine, his voice barely a whisper.

Azriel let out a shaky breath, his wings trembling slightly behind him as he waited for my response, every ounce of his heart laid bare before me.

I almost choked as the tears began to pool in my eyes before streaming down my cheeks. 

“What?”  

My breath caught in my throat as he closed the distance quickly between us, but he was suddenly so close to me, I couldn’t think straight.  It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and all I wanted was to be in his arms again, his body pressed against mine, kissing me until I couldn’t breathe.  

“I have to know,” He asked hoarsely as his hands cupped both of my cheeks, his thumbs wiping away my tears before his hands dropped back to his sides.

“Is there someone else?” 

At that point, my resolve completely obliterated.

“No, Azriel. There is no one else. I can’t love anyone else…because I’m in love with you.” I whispered as my arms fell to my sides, tears falling down my cheeks. 

Azriel wiped my tears. “Baby…please don’t cry.” he whispered  before closing his eyes, touching his forehead against mine, taking in what I had just confessed. We stood there for a few moments just breathing each other in before I got the courage to speak again.

I didn’t want to be afraid anymore. I didn’t want to believe that Azriel, of all people, would reject me. But the fear, raw and real, continued to claw at my heart, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that, one day, he might look at me—and see nothing more than the ugly scars left behind.

“Did you mean everything you just said?”

Azriel opened his eyes and gazed back at me, his face raw with emotion.

“Every. Fucking. Word.”  

He grabbed my hips and pulled me forcefully to him, slamming his mouth against mine in a bruising kiss.  Our kiss accelerated quickly, our lips slamming into each other for fear of this moment ending. My mouth responded hungrily to his and his kisses became deeper, his tongue seeking entry into my mouth…which I eagerly gave him.  As he wrapped his arms around my waist, I plunged my hands up under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his chest ripple under my hands.  He made a growling noise low in his throat as he pulled his mouth away from mine and began to kiss a trail down my neck.  

“Angel…baby” he murmured as he planted thousands of kisses on my tender skin.  “Fuck, I have missed you so much.”

His lips found mine again, his kisses becoming desperate, as if we needed each other more than air. I wrapped my hands around his neck to pull him tighter, trying to remove any space left between us.  His strong hands slid up under my shirt and caressed my back.  The heat of his palms burned my cool skin, and I arched my back into him, feeling his cock harden against me.  I inhaled sharply and felt Azriel smile against my lips, knowing full well the effect he had on me.  It was all I could do to cling to him to stop myself from completely drowning in him as tiny sparks danced across my skin.  

Desire pooled between my legs, and I moaned into his mouth as he claimed mine again and again, running his tongue along my bottom lip before gently sucking on it.  

“Azriel…” I moaned as his mouth continued to devour mine.  His familiar, masculine scent, cedar, shadows and mist, filled my senses and I began to tremble in his arms.  Not from fear or worry, but anticipation and longing. 

As he continued to kiss me, and the world seemed to fade away. His hands moved to cup my face again with a reverence that made my knees weak, as though I were something precious, something unbreakable. I let myself continue to sink into his kisses, into the warmth of his touch, the overwhelming sense of belonging he gave me.

But then, as his hands gently brushed down my sides, I froze. The memory of my scars flashed in my mind like a cruel reminder. The one on my abdomen, a trauma that I would carry for the rest of my life, I couldn’t bear to show him. I pulled away suddenly, my breath shaky, my arms wrapping protectively around myself as if to shield the parts of me I didn’t want him to see.

Azriel’s brow furrowed, his hazel eyes scanning my face with concern. “Angel? What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, as if afraid to startle me

I shook my head, my chest tightening as I struggled to find the words, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I just… I need you to see all of me,” I said, my voice trembling. “Not just the parts that are easy to love. The parts I’ve tried to hide, even from myself. I’ve spent so long feeling… ashamed of this. Of what it represents. But if I want to be with you—really be with you—I can’t hide anymore.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. He cupped my face, his thumbs wiping away from my tears.

“Show me,” he whispered softly.

I stepped back, my hands shaking as they moved to the ties of my dress.

Slowly, I pulled the ties of my dress, my fingers fumbling with the fabric as my heart pounded in my chest. I slid my arms out of the sleeves and let the dress to the floor, revealing the jagged scar that stretched across the lower part of my stomach—a mark left by a battle I had barely survived.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel held his breath as her dress fell to the floor, completely naked and bare to him.

Rage rocketed through him as he took in the scar below her navel, just above her pubic bone. A cruel mark that she would never escape.

A scar made using faebane, ensuring she would never heal and would be marked forever.

A word carved into her skin.

Whore.

The fury inside made him tremble.

A wave of protectiveness, so powerful it nearly took his breath away, consumed him. No one, no one, should have ever done this to her. She was the woman he loved more than anything—more than his own life.

“Fuck, baby…” he choked as he gathered her into his embrace, holding her tight against him as she shook in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, kissing the top of her shoulder.

He pulled back, lifting her chin with his fingers, his thumb brushing over her cheek to steady himself. His hands, usually so controlled, shook as he held her face. His eyes softened for a moment, the love he felt for her shining through, but when his gaze fell again on the scar, his jaw clenched with a force that nearly cracked his teeth. He couldn’t look at it without feeling a surge of anger, a primal need to protect what was his.

Slowly, with a tenderness that contrasted the fury inside him, he sank to his knees before her and lowered his lips to the scar, pressing a kiss there. His lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as if he could somehow erase the pain from her body, but the truth was, he knew he couldn’t.

Azriel looked up at her, his gaze holding hers, his hands on her hips and whispered.

“You’re beautiful. Every single part of you.”

He kissed the length of the scar reverently. As he stood back up, his eyes held hers, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with an intensity.

“The man who did this to you, whoever thought they could break you, you are strong and fierce, my beautiful mate.  I swear, I will never let anyone hurt you again. No one—no one—touches what is mine.”

His words were fierce, raw with emotion, and as he spoke, he kneeled again to kiss the scar, a slow, deliberate press of his lips, as if to mark it as his own, as if to take back the ownership that had been stolen from her.

Azriel pulled away just enough to look up at her face, his voice now softer, but no less intense. “And I will kill anyone who touches you.”

His gaze filled with a tenderness that seemed to be at odds with the intensity of violence in his promise, but she could see the truth in his eyes. The depth of his love, his protection, and his unwavering devotion. He stood and pulled her close. 

“I love you more than anything. And I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you again.  You are mine.”

She smiled softly, her eyes darting to the floor.

Gods, if she only knew how being away from her for the past six months was slowly killing him every day.  He lifted her chin back up to look him straight in the eyes.  

“Azriel - “ she started but there was nothing left to say except show her.  He silenced her, pulling her into another kiss.  Her lips were so soft and sweet that he began to feel a rush zip throughout his body.  

She slid her arms back around his neck, pulling him closer until he could feel every curve of her petite body up against him and he began to lose himself in her.  She was like a drug to him, and the more he had of her – the more he craved her.  The pull she had over him was overwhelming and in the past, it had scared him.  But after losing her for months, he was no longer scared. He wanted all of her…body, mind and soul. Her sighs and moans spurred his kisses on as her nails dug into his neck as his lips continued to caress hers.  

And the little sounds she made…fuck.  

He had not even touched her pussy yet and the smell of her arousal mixed with his own, the taste of her lips, were driving him crazy.  As her soft hands moved across his chest, her touch set fire to his skin, leaving him with a desire for her to touch every inch of him.  

He stopped long enough to pull his shirt over his head before his lips landed back on hers. He placed little kisses down her jaw to her neck and then licked the little patch of skin underneath her ear.  It was one of her most sensitive spots and as he licked it, she moaned his name.

Gods, how he loved her moans. 

He worked his way back up to her lips, eliciting a whimper from her that sent him right over the edge.  Desire flooded through him, and he slid one hand up her side cupped her breast.  He ran his thumb across her nipple and felt it harden quickly beneath his touch.  She began to tremble as he continued to kiss her and he felt her body press more into his, completely succumbing to him. 

No longer able to control himself, he slid his hand down to the front of her stomach to the apex of her thighs.  Her body’s response to his was intoxicating and his cock began to throb.  

He wanted to be inside of her.  

Now.

“Az-“

“I know, baby…” I whispered back to her, between kisses.  “I’ve got you.”  

An audible exhale escaped her lips as his fingers slid across her clit. He felt her hold on his neck tighten as he continued his caresses, increasing in pressure with each swipe.  He moved his mouth back to her neck and slowly nibbled and sucked on it. As her moans grew louder, his cock strained against his pants, and he ground it against her. 

He moved away from her clit, slid two fingers inside her and her breath caught.

“Gods baby...you’re dripping wet for me.” 

Fuck, her pussy was soaking wet.

He began to slide his fingers in and out of her.

Silky and tight

He moved his mouth back up to her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth.  

Mine.  

He was never letting her go again and he would fucking kill anyone who ever tried to take her away from him. 

******

Y/n POV

As I rocked my hips in sync with his hand, it was almost more than I could take. 

“Angel…you are so fucking beautiful.”

Azriel began to kiss a trail down my neck to my breasts. He swirled his tongue around one of my nipples before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it with soft, little tugs. He then swirled his tongue around my nipple again, lightly bit it and pressed his soft lips to it, kissing it to soothe the slight sting of his bite. He was slowly driving me crazy, and I felt wetness trickle down the inside of my thighs as he moved from one breast to the other. 

As he kissed a trail back up to my neck, I tightened my arms around his neck and pressed my hips into his as his fingers continued to slide in and out of me. I felt his hard cock against me, and I could no longer stand his pants between us. 

I had to have Azriel now. 

I was tired of waiting. 

“I need you, Az.”

He pulled back slightly and looked at me, his breathing heavy.

“Say it again…”

I stared back into his hazel eyes, his pupils blown. I pulled him closer and whispered against his lips. 

“Make love to me, Azriel.”

He moaned and kissed me again, sliding his hands under me to grip my ass, wrapping my legs around his waist. He picked me up and carried me over to my bed, laying me down carefully. He stood up and unzipped his pants and slid them down his legs, never taking his eyes off me. His cock sprang free, and my eyes drank in every detail of his gorgeous body. The tip of his thick cock was seeping from the head and just knowing I had this effect on him and his body made me even wetter. 

He climbed over me and laid down with his arms on either side of my head. As he kissed me again, one of his hands caressed down my stomach and I arched my back into him to let him know I wanted his hand to continue roaming down my body. As he reached my pussy, he slid his fingers up and down my clit several times before sliding a finger inside of me. He groaned as he continued to kiss me while inserting another finger inside me, eliciting a whimper from me. 

He pumped his fingers in and out of me several times before moving his fingers back up to my clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make me writhe underneath him. He slid his fingers inside me again, arching them up to hit the spot he knew would soon send me over the edge. I arched my hips against his hand, seeking to satisfy the building release inside of me. Azriel groaned and then stilled his fingers inside of me, pulling back to look me in the eyes. 

“I need to taste you, baby.” His said, his voice deep and dark with desire. “Not only am I going to taste your pretty pussy, I’m going to taste every inch of you.”

Mother above, Azriel had a filthy mouth. 

He slowed the pump of his fingers as he kissed his way down my neck, breasts, and stomach. It felt like he was everywhere at once and my senses were overloaded with his scent, his tongue licking my body and his fingers curved up inside of me as they slid in and out so easily. 

I felt my orgasm begin to build as he made his way down my body. When he reached the apex of my thighs, he settled in between them and latched onto my clit, sucking it into his mouth, alternating with licks up and down. 

“Mmmm.  You taste so fucking good, Angel.���

He lapped, licked and sucked on my clit until my legs began to shake. My breathing grew heavy as I was right on the edge of my release. I closed my eyes and arched my back when he suddenly stopped and pulled his mouth away. I gasped from the sudden removal of his mouth, and I pulled up to lean back on my elbows, clearly annoyed. 

“Az!”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Eyes on me, baby. No closing them. I want to watch you fall apart while I am eating this sweet pussy.”

Looking at Azriel as he feasted on me was one of the most raw, intimate things I had ever experienced in my life.  Watching him as he made me come was like baring a part of my soul that would only belong to him and no one else.  

I nodded my head as he began to suck on my clit again, alternating between lapping it with the flat part of his tongue before latching onto it. He pumped his fingers in and out of me faster and his other hand found mine, slowly intertwining our fingers together. It was almost as if he was afraid I’d disappear into thin air. I never knew just how intimate holding someone’s hand could be until now. 

With my free hand, I reached down and ran my hand through his dark wavy hair as he continued, his eyes locked on mine. When he began to moan as if he couldn’t get enough of me, the vibrations sent pulses straight to my clit and I began to shake, my orgasm building at a speeding frenzy. 

He pumped his fingers even faster and whispered.

“Let go, baby.”

Azriel latched onto my clit and sucked hard, ripping my orgasm right from me and sending me over the edge, screaming his name. I kept my eyes on his as long as I could before I became a writhing mess with my head falling back on the bed. He continued to lick me slowly, letting me ride out the pleasure as long as possible before he stopped and slowly kissed his way back up my body. 

******

Azriel POV

The sunlight illuminated the soft curves of her body, and he had never seen anything more fucking sexy than watching her come with his face between her legs. He missed her so much that he wanted to kiss and lick every inch of her body, staking his claim to her and coming inside her sweet pussy, permanently marking her as his.  

As he kissed his way back up her body, his eyes drifted over the cruel scar left behind. He pressed gentle kisses against the scar, against her skin. He let his gaze continue over taut curve of her stomach, the soft swell of her breasts, and her swollen lips from his kisses. He settled between her hips and pulled her hand, still intertwined with his, over her head.  With his free hand, he ran his thumb softly back and forth over her swollen bottom lip. 

“Angel, these past six months have been hell. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t fucking breathe without you. Everything is going to shit because I’m without you.”

She smiled softly, her eyes filling with tears. One slowly slid out of the corner of her eye, and he wiped it away with his thumb. 

“The way you make me feel safe, loved, and seen – even with all of these scars…I don’t even know what to say.” She whispered as she raised up to kiss him softly, tasting herself on his lips. “I love you, Azriel.”

He brushed the hair back out of her face as his beautiful eyes lovingly gaze back at her. “You just said everything I needed to hear.”

Azriel leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, his tongue swiping across her lower lip as she opened for him. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he ground his cock against her core, eliciting a mewl from her. Azriel smiled against her mouth, fully aware of what he was doing as she rocked against him, again desperately seeking that needed friction.

“Az – please,” she panted, her breathing shallow as she writhed underneath him.

He chuckled deeply, as his eyes danced with mischief. “My Angel is so greedy.”

She looked down at his cock, glistening and dripping from the tip and wrapped her hand around him, pumping his shaft with several long strokes. As her hand slid back up to the tip, she rubbed her thumb in a circle over it and slid it back down again.

And that was Azriel’s undoing.

Growling, his restraint snapped as he grabbed her hand away from his cock, intertwined his fingers with hers and pushed both of her hands above her head. He lined up the head of his cock with her entrance and pushed into her in one thrust. Her breath caught, and they both moaned as he seated himself inside her.

Fuck, she was so tight around him.

He stilled as she adjusted to the size of him, kissing and licking her neck.

“Azriel-I need –“

He brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her long and slow. “I know, baby. I know.”

He started thrusting inside her, slowly, almost pulling completely out before he slid back in again. He wanted her to feel every inch of him moving inside her. He moved his hands to her waist and wrapped them around each side, watching the outline of his cock sliding up inside her abdomen.

“Fuck, Angel – look at you.  Taking my cock so well.” He murmured, his hazel eyes darkening as he gazed down at his cock sliding in and out of her.

Her breathing became heavier as her blue eyes darkened, full of love and desire for him.

He could get lost in those eyes for the rest of his life.

He picked up his pace as thrust into her, the head of his cock dragging against the walls of her pussy, as he bent one of her knees so he could thrust deeper inside of her.

He felt her pussy tighten against him and he knew she was close. Her gasps of pleasure were music to his ears, and her body’s responsiveness to him was addicting.

As if she were made just for him.

And at that moment, he decided he could spend the rest of his life between her legs and die a happy man.

The room was filled with the soft sounds of their lovemaking, the creaking of her bed, the rustle of the sheets, and the sounds of wet flesh as his cock thrust into her.

He had dreamt of this moment for so long and it was all he could do to hold on.

“Come for me, Angel. I want to see you come all over my cock.”  He commanded as he stared down into her blue eyes.

That was all it took for her to go over the edge, screaming his name as her head tilted back, writhing underneath him. Her walls fluttered around his length as she rode wave after wave of ecstasy.

Watching her fall apart for him, he followed her over the edge, her name a whisper on his lips as he emptied himself inside of her.

As he pulled out from her and laid on his back, tucking her into his side and grazed his fingers across her lower back, he felt the weight of his devotion, the depth of his passion and the breadth of his love for her. He whispered his love to her, his voice hoarse with emotion, and her response was a soft, sweet whisper that sealed their love.

And in that moment, he knew, that she was his forever.

He was finally home.

The end.

[solarbird]

“Are we willing to fight for it?” Crowd: “YES!” “And when we fight?” Crowd: “WE WIN!” — Kamala Harris to campaign staff, 22 July 2024

That’s right, the “if we fight we win” isn’t from me this time. It’s from Kamala Harris, and I am kind of in shock.

One of the things I most feared about the “replace Biden” movement was the donor class yanking the party right again and hand-picking an all old white dudes ticket and absolutely tanking every chance we had of winning this election and stopping Trumpism for good.

Politically active Black people I know personally were expecting that to happen, because that kind of shit has happened so many times. And when political Black people talk about this shit in the Democratic party, you better listen, because their history on this stuff is solid.

I mean, that’s not the only reason I feared it, I have plenty of my own experience watching this same shit go down. But it’s a big one.

That – and all the many money and organisational problems I have described which would result – was about the biggest problem I had with replacing Biden. Particularly once it was clear the money people were moving on it so hard. I was so sure they’d do again what they’ve always done, slide the top of the ticket back to the “right,” repudiating so much economic and climate good the Biden administration has done, trying to haul us back to Clintinesque neoliberalism which would fail more spectacularly than ever before.

That’s also why I was an instant loud and dare I say it strident pivot to Harris when Biden actually did drop out – it was all to stop that money move from happening. That’s why I was out Sunday as loud and long as I could be, shouting, “WHITE PEOPLE, GET HER THE NOMINATION. FUCKING DO IT” while various usual clowns and dilettantes wibbled on demanding an ‘open convention’ and nattering about a ‘flash primary’ and going off about ‘not voting for a cop’ and the wretched spectre of Joe Manchin dipped a skeletal toe into the race.

None of that was an option. It’s still not an option. It had to be her; it has to be her.

And that speech I’m quoting shows why.

I’m still stunned. I never expected to hear a presidential candidate echoing my own words back at me.

I mean, Biden understands exactly what we’re dealing with – fash propaganda aside, he really is still all there, and his words show it. But he’s not able to frame it that way, it’s just not who he is. To see a candidate frame it like this… exactly like this… that’s something new. And I did not expect it.

I am so rarely truly surprised in politics. It has been a while since I have been surprised at all.

This has surprised me.

Another political writer I follow described her as the first Generation X candidate, and maybe that’s why. Technically she’s like two months too early for GenX, she’s in that transition zone, but y’know what? If she wants to grab that label I am fine with that, because those are some words from someone who fucking gets it. From someone who has figured it the fuck out.

Go watch her speech, particularly, oh… the “I know Donald Trump’s type” section starts around 19 minutes in, but the part after that, that’s where it really starts to matter, at 21:45. Here, I timestamped for you, hopefully it’ll work where you’re reading this and if not, just skip ahead:

I’ve been saying – this is the turning point year. The peak year of a fascist movement weakened but not destroyed by self-inflicted wounds of COVID, the last year of the backstop, the year after which we can start to win.

But still I expected that this year that we’d still have to fight under the old rules, playing the old games of the Baby Boom, even if I knew that one final year of holding would shatter it all, and let us make and play by new rules in ’26 and ’28.

Hence, one more year of the bulwark, one more year of the hold.

Until two days ago, on Sunday, July 21st, 2024, that was exactly how it was playing out.

Then a political miracle happened. Biden left the race and the donor class didn’t get their push to the right, and some of them apparently didn’t even want it because they dropped money again the moment Harris announced her campaign.

I guess maybe those rich bastards finally learned a thing or two about not throwing elections.

And that means…

…maybe we don’t have to wait ’til ’26 and ’28.

Maybe it’s not one last hold after all, before the spring.

Maybe the rules can change now.

Maybe Millennials and Zoomers are going to seize the moment this year.

If they do – if you do, if you go in, if you mean it, if you don’t waver and trip yourself up in details and personality and propaganda and purity tests and and and all of it…

��then…

…this year won’t just be a hold.

This year will be the fucking landslide we have needed for eight years now to wipe Trumpism and its like off the map for a century.

Wanna make that happen?

France and England have shown us the way, and christ, I want to make that happen.

How about you? You up for it? You ready to do the work?

Let’s go, then. Everybody.

All in.

104 days remain.

[certifiedskywalker]

Three Weddings and Your Funeral (Part 2) - Daemon Targaryen

Anonymous asked: Hi certi, how are you ? I love all you're stories and most you do daemon targaryen characterization justice could you do second part  to Three Weddings and Your Funeral - Daemon Targaryen ?

Before the Dance of Dragons, there was another waltz. You and Daemon Targaryen were always drifting in and out, always spinning about one another without moving at all. Your dance of stillness stretched across the continent; but you thought you ended that dance long ago…Daemon, as always, had other ideas.

Part One

A twig splintered beneath your foot with a sharp, ear-tingling snap. At the sound, you caught your loud, ragged breath in your throat, careful not to add insult to self-inflicted injury. You let your gaze fall to the split thing under your shoe and cursed it in the quiet of your mind before daring to look back up towards the abandoned fishing hut. The storm-toppled tree branch that split its planks would be a warning realized too late. When you did look, its foreshadowing was the furthest from your attention.

“I thought I taught you better,” Daemon chided, slinking out of the shadows cast by the hut. His dark armor and silver hair glinted in the moonlight. Under its glow, he was alive and rippling like the bay waves that lapped quietly at the shoreline. One step in the wrong direction and you would be overcome: dragged under and drowned in him. It didn’t help that his eyes moved like the tide too: wishing and washing up and down your frame. “You look well.”

You swallowed after a long moment, forcing the caught breath into your lungs. “Sneaking about King’s Landing in your shadow hardly constitutes a lesson.”

Daemon hummed, the sound light and affirming, tilted up like the start of a dear song; and there you were, being lulled into the warm ease of familiarity. No, nothing about being familiar with Daemon was warm or easy. It was sweltering and you had somehow forgotten about the heat. It returned to you then, and the memory stung with vengeance. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice did not waver with the question, which surprised you. Perhaps time weakened Daemon’s ability to drag you under. 

“I could ask the same of you,” he countered. The closed-lip smirk etched onto his features was unmoved by your bravery. “You sent word.”

“And you listened, after all this time.” Daemon lingered in his spot in the sand before he stepped towards you, his expression becoming clearer and all the more taunting. It was as if he knew how you, just hours before, had clutched the parchment and traced his lettering. “Did you ever stop listening?”

Nettle-like memories again: endless, stinging flashes of tourneys and weddings spent at Daemon’s side. So many years spent biding by his beck and call like a hound eager to please. What did you have to show for your dedication? A single kiss, before being left entirely to fend for yourself. How you had loathed his silence then; but, with him stood just a pace away, you found yourself unwilling to give him the satisfaction of the truth.

So, you ignored him and asked again, this time through gritted teeth: “What are you doing here?” 

Daemon cocked his head, his smirk widening ever-so-slightly, and stepped towards you until he was only an arm's length from you.

“Why?”

“Why?” 

“Why did you come to meet me here?” His eyes were dark but not like the pitch night about you. The fire in him shone through as it always had, but it was dimmer than you remembered. At your last meeting, his gaze had been wild, spitting like coals needing air…needing you, however briefly. What had he blamed then?

“Impulse.”

With the word, memory stung Daemon too. His smirk melted into the lines on his face, some old and others new. Impulse made your hand twitch with an itch to reach up and be taken under his current. Then, you could learn those new lines and trace them as you had with his lettering. 

You managed to still yourself, curling your fingers into tight fists. Daemon’s gaze flicked your hands before it settled on your face with a gripping cold. His scowl-stuck lips parted, sealed, then parted again, a hesitation that had you almost gleeful. At long last, you had knocked him off balance; though, he eventually found his words.

“You married,” he snapped, his tone icy and startling, and suddenly you were the one careening. He leaned in, his eyes searching yours for…what you were unsure. “Did you not think I heard?”

Your marriage into House Cox of Saltpans had been no great news, hardly news at all. It, like many a marriage, was strategic: safety from dancing dragons seemed a better bet in the far, underfed reaches of the Riverlands. 

Saltpans was a quality choice in that regard, having been stymied long ago by men who called themselves River Kings and ruled the Bay of Crabs by boat before Aegon conquered by dragon. Left charterless, the town never sprawled into a city, and trade, while present, was limited to the sweet meat of pygmy crabs and seashell beads carved by those living nearer to the Trident. With such limitations, House Cox, as the town’s stewards, had few arms to provide to the war effort, an insufficiency that left it rather uninvolved in combat. 

At most, what you heard of the Blacks and Greens was the distant roars of whichever Targaryen most recently claimed the ruins of Harrenhal. Though, it seemed that relative, personal peace had worn out. The wave of dread that accompanied that realization washed your mind clean enough to clarify the object of Daemon’s searching eyes. How could you?

“I am married,” you replied, your voice barely above a murmur, “as are you, thrice over.”

Daemon scoffed, letting his face turn down and to the side.

“Did you truly expect me to wait for you after all that happened?” 

“Do not think me so foolish,” he snapped, his head lifting to meet your gaze. In his eyes then, you saw the Daemon so many feared, the worst of the man you had loved for so long.

“I knew you to be so foolish, or at least so cruel as to expect that of me.”

“Yes, so cruel,” he stepped towards you as he spoke, his boots sinking to the sand with such heated anger that you were surprised the grains did not turn to glass beneath him. “Cruel, yet I have kept my promise. You, your Lord, and these wretched reaches of the Riverlands have been spared dragon fire. Do you think that was by fate? By the Old fucking Gods?”

He was close enough to you then that his breath kissed the peaks of your face, just as it had so many years ago, on another beach, when he told you of his intentions with Rhaenyra. The aching depth of feeling then… It welled up inside you and spilled onto your lips. “Daemon-”

“It was me,” he finished, his nose nearly knocking yours as he leaned closer. “Nyke jāhor daor ivestragī ao zālagon, and you have not burned.”

Daemon smelled of dragon and sweat, and there was the swelter again. Perhaps it was that familiar heat that pushed you to take that one, drowning step, or maybe you were just exhausted by a dance you thought ended years ago. As if you were with Caraxes, you reached a careful hand up to test the heat of the air about his face. Your palm was immediately met with warmth and Daemon’s cheek as he pressed his face into your skin. 

Your breath hitched at the feeling, but your thumb traced the peak of his cheekbone with a gentleness you feared you had lost when you lost Daemon. Comforted and angling for a different approach, you asked your first question again, gentler than before: “Is that what brought you here?”

Daemon merely closed his eyes and pressed his face harder in your touch. So, you asked another way: “Were you compelled by another impulse to tell me, again, that you have danced about me without my knowing? You have known where I was since my leaving you and, again, shielded me from the hard truth?”

“From war,” he murmured, the edge of his lips tickling your palm.

“The truth,” you asserted, and before he protested, you continued. “How?”

Daemon’s eyes fluttered open and it was as if you were children again, before weddings and feelings and knowing. “When I first took Harrenhal for Rhaenyra. I heard of your marriage from the Strong’s there and sent to have eyes on you.”

“By your own admittance, House Cox is removed from your war. There are no spies here in Saltpans.”

“Anyone can be bought,” Daemon answered, much too simply. 

His features went startlingly grey as if remembering a time buried under the sea’s stone bottom, and his eyes fell past you, seeing through the sediment of time. Just like that, Daemon was far from you again. Within your grasp yet entirely out of reach; but there were no arms of another brilliant bride for him to run into. He was, for however long you could stretch this moment, only with you, and how right that felt.

Right, but you knew that, with all he had confessed, you should feel violated, exposed. You should be scathing and demanding an apology. No, you should be demanding that he leave. You and Daemon were married after all, not to each other. Never to each other.

That thought, as it always had, pulled you out from under the tide of him. “You did not answer my question.”

“I did,” he said, his voice alarmingly soft as his gaze flitted back to you. “I have protected y-”

“No, Daemon,” you interrupted, your hand falling from his face. He went rigid immediately, his posture straightening as if shocked by a stabbing blade. The heat of him lingered, but the comfort you had taken in it was gone. “Why are you here, after all this time and everything you have done? If you knew I was here for so long, why not come to me sooner?”

Daemon just stared at you, his sharp eyes and features unyielding. You drank in the sight of his steadfast expression, unsure of how long it would be before you saw it again and too sure that Daemon would leave without giving even a moment’s notice. It was then you saw his armor again, but this time, you saw past the shine of it. You saw the scorch marks, the scratches, each new, like the line in his face. A different sort of heat rushed like a wave against you, nearly knocking you over.

When you looked up at Daemon again, tears stinging in your eyes, he knew that you understood. “I’ve come to take Harrenhal for the last time.”

“The last time,” you echoed grimly, your tears falling freely.

“I wrote to you and then to Green’s own kinslayer,” he winced as if the word struck him before pivoting in his speech. “I am to face Aemond.”

Then, it was your eyes that searched Daemon’s. Your object: fear. When you found no trace, more tears streamed down your cheeks, but Daemon quickly raised a hand to wipe them away. Despite the tenderness of his touch, the pad of his thumb was rough against the apples of your cheeks. Had he ever been soft? You couldn’t recall a time he wasn’t all rough edges.

“He will have Vhagar,” you murmured as the tips of his fingers skimmed the edge of your lips.

“And I will have Caraxes.”

“Daemon, he is swift and fiery, but Vhagar is-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his hand cupping your face. His thumb rubbed against your cheek and, despite the shadowy loom of a stacked fight, Daemon smiled. “Do you remember our first meeting?”

All thoughts that consumed you were of your last meeting, your parting words a terrible echo in your skull…it will be your funeral. How could he be smiling?

“It was Viserys and Aemma’s wedding,” Daemon pressed on, “and you were waltzing with some hoary goat. Do you remember?”

You stared at Daemon, trying to place his smile and intent. Your funeral. You shook your head as you were unable to think of anything else but Daemon’s doom.

“Old fool kept leaning on you. Too frail maybe, or ripe with lust, I never did know which. All I knew is that I needed y- I needed to intervene,” Daemon cocked his head and leaned towards you. His breath fanned across your face as he asked in a whisper: “Do you remember how?”

The question had you drowning in him as if it were the first time. “You came in like the sea and washed me away into the rest of the waltz. You led,” you sniffled through a bitter smile, “rather poorly, I recall.”

“Yes, well, if you recall, I despise weddings. I never intended on enjoying myself, it jarred me.” Daemon brushed the tips of his fingers through your hair slowly, savoring the feel of those strands of you against his skin. “Though, I do like to think we have been dancing ever since then. Married in our own way, without the garish decor and ghoulish crowd.”

“Daemon-”

“So, if you find it in yourself, I would like to dance a touch longer.” He took a step back and let his hand slip from your face just to let it hang in the air between you. An offering you could not refuse.  

The time for words having passed, you took Daemon’s hand and let him lead you until dawn broke at the edge of the Bay of Crabs. When the first rays of Sun kissed the sand, he let the hand holding yours fall while the other remained wrapped about your waist. He pulled you against him until you were sharing the same air, and you could not imagine a day to come where you did share the world with him.

“I cannot turn from you again,” you whispered, your lips brushing against Daemon’s as you spoke. His hand held you tighter.

“You will not have to,” he replied, before kissing you at last. There was no rush to his kiss, despite the distant cries of a battle-hungry Caraxes. There was only Daemon’s last, perhaps only, bit of softness; saved for you. Lips still locked, he spun you in the sand. 

When you parted and opened your eyes, you saw, past Daemon’s shoulder, the shoreline castle seat of House Cox. Quickly, you refocused on the man before you, wishing you could drown in the pools of his eyes as you had done in the past, in those moments that stretched just long enough. All steps in our dance.

“I’ll go,” Daemon said, his tone gentle but his words an order. “Then, after a while, you will go.”

“What if I do not listen this time?”

Daemon let out a breath of a laugh, one heavy with knowing but sweet enough to make you hope. Perhaps you were the fool. “We both know that you will.” “Just this last time,” you murmured. “After this, you are to listen to me.”

“Of course, issa jorrāelagon,” Daemon leaned up and kissed your forehead. The swelter eased with the act and you felt your stomach twist. He took a step back and smiled. “Of course.”

Then, Daemon Targaryen kept his last promise to you: he turned away. 

[4only1]

The Bolter

Seongji Yuk x Reader Word Count:1689 Note: Based of The Bolter by Taylor Swift Masterlist ------------------------

By all accounts, he almost drowned

When he was six in frigid water

And I can confirm he made

A curious child, ever reviled

By everyone except his own master

Seongji’s life wasn’t good. He often thought he didn’t deserve it, having survived by pure luck. His life should have ended in the sea, those many years ago. It was by pure chance that his master found him, causing him to start anew, with a more lacklustre appreciation of his newfound freedom.

No. It wasn’t freedom. He was still bound by the memories, by the trauma inflicted on him by the Shaman. The townspeople. It haunted him so badly that he couldn’t be around anyone, choosing to seclude himself. 

‘Who could understand such a life?’ he often thought, as rain would patter against the aluminum plating of the shack he called home. A gloomy sky reflects his mood. He truly did think nobody could relate. Until he was met…

With a quite bewitching face

Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless

Excellent fun 'til you get to know her

Then she runs like it's a race

(Y/N) was not from around there. That much was obvious. She had an aura that Seongji had never seen in that sullen town before. The first time he had seen her, his first reaction was to run. Yet he didn’t.

She was in the water, dead eyes stared back at him, and a familiar feeling rose in Seongji. It was similar to him. He stared at the girl, unsure of what to say. He was captivated, yet scared. That familiar contracting around his throat began, yet it stopped almost immediately after. Her eyes weren’t dead, they were determined.

“What’s your name?” It was the first words he had spoken to her. A genuine interest in someone else. She stared back for a moment, before greeting him with her voice. 

“(Y/N) (L/N)”

Seongji soon learned that…

Behind her back, the townsmen laughed

And they nicknamed her “The Bolter”

It was befitting. She bolted every chance she got away from the Shaman’s house, only to return eventually. That first meeting ended with a snap of a twig triggering her to run, the water crescendoing around her.

He learned more about her every time he saw her. The first meeting was the name. Second, was age. Third was her favourite colour. Tenth was her favourite animal. Nineteenth he learned her favourite word.

The 30th meeting was when he finally learned who she truly was. Parents from far away, influenced by the Shaman's teachings moved to Cheonliang to become a part of his group, dragging the poor girl along. It was shortly after he left the cult that she joined.

She was a servant, yet also an entertainer, an object of attraction for the Shaman and his guests. Something for them to look at and be pleased, yet not touch, for it was a sin to ruin something so perfect. Her beauty was something he couldn’t deny, yet his disgust of the town grew upon further knowledge of what occurred. 

The fifty-third meeting was when things took a turn. They were close, for them, it was Seongji and (Y/N) against the world. It was a wonder when it would get taken to the next step. Holding hands, leaning into each other, heads rested upon shoulders, were gradually added to their run-ins. That fifty-third meeting…

Started with a kiss

"Oh, we must stop meeting like this"

But it always ends up with a Town Car speeding

Out the drive one evening

If there was one thing Seongji hated, it was how short the meetings were. Scratch that. 

If there was one thing Seongji hated, it was a Shaman. The cause of all his problems was also the cause of her problems. Another similarity the two shared.

It was like she had an internal alarm, knowing exactly when she needed to return to that wretched place. The cycle was one she was used to, the same rinse and repeat. It started with a disagreement and…

Ended with the slam of a door

Then he'll call her a whore

Wish she wouldn't be sore

But as she was leaving

It felt like breathing

Whenever she came back, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Deep inside he held the fear that one day she may never return.

Every time that damned Shaman and his men dragged her back, or she chose to return for some unknown reason…

All his fuckin' lives

Flashed before his eyes

It feels like the time

He fell through the ice

Then came out alive

(Y/N) had one single thought when she first met the Shaman…

He was a cad, wanted her bad

Just like any good trophy hunter

(Y/N) was cautious normally, but with Seongji, she let her guard down. She never would have stayed in the water if it were anyone else. The cold made her acutely aware of her surroundings, but somehow, he slipped past her. 

It wasn’t until the man was staring down at her, did she realize he was even there.

The monster of the mountain. (Y/N) was warned to never go into the mountain, or else she would encounter a monster. But, would a monster be so beautiful?

Despite leaving in a hurry, she came back. She kept coming back, over and over again. Every meeting she felt herself being drawn to Seongji in ways she could never explain. She got bold, grabbing onto his hand, hugging him, resting against his broad shoulder.

The first kiss was magical…

And she likes the way it tastes

Taming a bear, making him care

Watching him jump then pulling him under

And at first blush, this is fate

Becoming a caregiver to the children that Seongji had unwillingly collected was something she enjoyed. Especially with how vastly different they each were. Teasing Vin Jin was fun, Mary was around for girl talk, and the boys all together treated her like a big sister.

Life is good…

When it's all roses, portrait poses

Central Park Lake in tiny rowboats

What a charming Saturday

When Sujin appeared, she instantly recognized her. A young girl in a similar predicament as her own. A generational problem of that damn Shaman’s family, she thought. 

She bit her lip and her palms were sweaty, an unpleasant feeling crept up on her…

That's when she sees the littlest leaks

Down in the floorboards

It was that familiar feeling in her…

And she just knows

She must bolt

Like every time they met, it…

Started with a kiss

"Oh, we must stop meeting like this"

But it always ends up with a Town Car speeding

Out the drive one evening

It was bad this time. Vin Jin had stormed into the temple, with an unparalleled rage. She bolted after him, desperate to prevent something tragic from occurring.

What did she think would happen? Something different? No. It was the same rinse and repeat like always. It…

Ended with the slam of a door

Then he'll call her a whore

Wish she wouldn't be sore

But as she was leaving

It felt like breathing

Her world came crashing down once she freed herself from the room she was locked in. As she stared at the scene in front of her, the expression on her face was one of pure hopelessness. Seongji was beaten, folded on the ground several meters in front of her, missing two fingers and two toes.

The shaman’s words were fuzzy in her head, as…

All her fuckin' lives

Flashed before her eyes

It feels like the time

She fell through the ice

Then came out alive

The conclusion didn’t fully register until it was all over and they had safely returned to the mountain. It was finally happening. She was free. 

As things slowly settled down, the short moments became longer, and the bond became stronger. It was exciting to tell the stories and tales of her life. The Cheonliang family gathered and enjoyed it as she explained…

She's been many places with

Men of many faces

First, they're off to the races

And she's laughing drawin' aces

Seongji had doubts at first. Was everything okay now? He knew he would have to leave, but he didn’t want to leave (Y/N) behind. Deciding to be a bit selfish for once, Seongji decided he couldn’t bear to be apart from her ever again. 

“Let’s leave. In a few days from now, let’s meet up at the town’s entrance and leave.”

They both had doubts about how things were in that cursed town…

But, none of it is changin'

That the chariot is waitin'

Hearts are hers for the breakin'

There's escape in escaping

Every word…

Started with a kiss

"Oh, we must stop meeting like this"

But it always ends up with a Town Car speeding

Out the drive one evening

The family gathered and waited with bated breath, hoping for good news. The voices inside the shack came to a quiet. The children’s snooping soon… 

Ended with the slam of a door

But she's got the best stories

You can be sure

That as she was leaving

It felt like freedom

Despite what she wanted and what they planned, it didn’t happen. Of course, the Shaman came between them one last time. In the form of his son.

The water greeted him. The sea that had once saved him. He was here to return the life it had given him...

All his fuckin' lives

Flashed before his eyes

She waited, hoping that the worries deep in her mind were unfounded. But despite her best efforts, the man’s arrival never came. Overthinking was a sign of trouble, and at a sign of trouble, she bolted. It’s what she did best.

(And she realized)

Embracing the sea that had once embraced him, he is reminded one last time…

It feels like the time

He fell through the ice

After the final struggle that damned town put them through, neither he nor she is aware if the other…

Then came out alive

------------------------

I took over a month off and cut you bitches some slack. Tell a friend to tell a friend, heh, I'm baaaaaaaack.

I'm alive, and will be veeeeeeeerrrry slowly posting out stories I've been writting. Cheonliang arc is probably my favourite arc in Lookism, and I've always wanted to write a story about it.

If anyone were to be interested in it, I would be happy to create a small series where I break down my writings and explain moments that may be confusing. I had a lot of thoughts when writing this one and I hope that you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

[pyrodolls]

clean (sub zero, scorpion x reader)

warnings: self harm, slight angst to comfort

pairings: bi-han and kuai liang x gn reader (separate)

a/n: this is a bit self indulgent, i am now 10 months clean as of today. i usually don’t write kuai liang, but i thought he’d be one of the most comforting characters to have by your side. i hope this can provide some comfort to those struggling.

(please read the warning before you continue.)

bi-han walked into your bedroom and saw you looking down at your old wounds. they looked to be self-inflicted, as they were all faded straight lines covering your arms.

bi-han is no stranger to scars. as the grandmaster of the lin kuei, he has grown used to the injuries he gains in kombat.

but he was not aware you had scars of your own. especially self-inflicted ones.

“beloved?”

you quickly hid your arms as soon as you heard your boyfriend’s voice.

“good evening, bi-han. how are you?” you asked, pretending he saw nothing.

he went up to you and gently grabbed your arm, taking a closer look at your scars.

“what is this…?” he asked. he already knew the answer, but he hoped he was wrong.

you went quiet. there was an uncomfortable silence between you two, as the only sounds you could hear were his deep breaths and the wind blowing outside.

“a few months ago…” you took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. “i… wasn’t doing very well. so i resorted to the only thing i thought i deserved. i felt like such an idiot at the time. i was making so many mistakes, so i just decided to give myself a… punishment. i haven’t done it since, i swear-”

your boyfriend interrupted you by pulling you in for a hug. he knew you were most likely better now. but would hate for you to think he doesn’t care about your feelings.

“if you ever feel that way again, please let me know.” bi-han whispered, holding you tight. he never cared about someone like this before. and now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like to love, he doesn’t wish to part from it.

he has also never been in your shoes, so he wants to comfort you as best as he can. but he doesn’t exactly know how to comfort someone, so he hopes he can hold you in his arms and it’ll be enough.

you are enough. he just wants you to know that. even if he has to remind you over and over. even if he ever loses his temper and you get into a fight. he would still love you. he always will. bi-han cherishes you as one of the only people that truly make him happy, so he hopes what happened to you in the past won’t have to happen again.

-

kuai liang felt sick when he saw your scars. he hoped they were old. but whether they were old or new, he should let you know that if something was going on, he would be there for you.

he wanted to tell you that immediately.

“my love..?” kuai liang called out, trying to hold back tears. he tried not to cry, knowing this was about you, not him. but he couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over him at the thought of you hurting yourself. he cared about you so much, his biggest fear was losing you.

“yes? is there something wrong?” you asked.

upon seeing you, kuai liang immediately embraced you as if he hadn’t seen you in years.

“do you understand how much i love you? i will always be here for you. at your happiest and lowest. no matter what, i will always help you when there is something wrong. even if i cannot solve the problem, you know i will do whatever i can.” he whispered, as he looked you in your eyes, the ones that he loved very dearly.

“what is this about?” you asked nervously.

“i saw your injuries…” kuai liang mumbled.

his gaze fell down to your arms. there were so many scars littered across your skin. they were faded, but that doesn’t mean they were never there.

“i just…” kuai liang sighed. “…wanted to let you know that i am always here for you, if you ever feel that way again. i am so sorry that your emotions drove you to the point of self-harm. i am not judging, but i do not it to happen again. i’ll do everything i can to prevent it.”

you were better. you had no desire to harm yourself again. sometimes the thought pops into your head every now and then, but you refuse. even though you were better, you still appreciated kuai liang’s support and determination to prevent it from ever happening again.

“it’s been 10 months.” you mumbled, sitting down against the wall.

kuai liang gave you a ‘hm?’ sound, as he sat down next to you.

“today marks 10 months since i last did it. i’m 10 months clean, kuai liang.” you explained.

“i’m proud of you. let’s make sure that number doesn’t go down, okay?” he encouraged, patting your back as a sign of support.

“yeah.. i try. i always try.” you admitted, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“i know, my love. i know.” kuai liang smiled, giving you a kiss on the forehead. he truly was proud of you. you were so strong, and he admired your honesty throughout the conversation. he understood that your past was difficult, but he believed that someone’s past does not define who they are.

even though you have been through tragedy, your existence is not a tragedy.

kuai liang accepts you wholeheartedly, and he’ll always be there to support you.

[sonofthesaiyans]

Happy Birthday Hange.....A Scout to the end and a true friend..... ⚔️ 💚 ⚔️

A salute to our birthday girl, the ultimate Scout and a gal who embodies the Wings of Freedom more than any other.....

Our beloved Hange Zoë. ❤️ 🎂 🥂

Sometimes I need a moment to remember just how much I love and appreciate Hange, who has been a unrelenting force in AOT and stands as one of the most noble gals you could ever hope to have by your side. Of all the people to sign on to the Scout Regiment, perhaps nobody believed in the cause as strongly as Hange did. In my book, if Sasha stands as the true heart of Attack on Titan, then Hange has earned her right to share that pedestal with her, for she is truly the heart and soul of the entire Regiment, and even with the entire world stacked against her she has never given up on herself or her people. Even in humanity's darkest hour, Hange was one of the few who refused to break.....For she truly believed there was a future worth fighting for in the unworthy world she was born in to. And there were few more deserving of a brighter future than her.

It's truly a bittersweet occasion. For her birthday should have been entirely hers, untainted by the saga that had come to do such a disservice to her in the final act. Instead, her birthday marks the day that the last good thing in Attack on Titan was stolen from us by Hajime Isayama.

Four years ago today......By this point the story had gone completely astray and nothing seemed to be held sacred anymore by Isayama, and thus we lost the last true guiding light in the story........One that not even the likes of Levi or Armin......And certainly not Mikasa.......could ever hope to compensate for. Indeed, even one chapter or episode without Hange pushing forward with us was a self-inflicted wound from which Attack on Titan never recovered.

And we all know Hange deserves so much more than that. The world and Hajime Isayama himself are completely unworthy of Hange Zoë....But Hange Zoë deserves the world and so much more.

Hange is so many things: Eccentric, unpredictable, extraordinarily energetic.......It seemed like nothing could stop this gal. She may have been a handful to those who knew her best......But she was also insightful, considerate, and uncommonly kind and humble. Hange could care less about fame or glory, her passion was knowledge, of both the Titans and the world beyond the Walls, and if not for her Paradis may have known no other world beyond Wall Maria......And the only thing greater than her pursuit of knowledge was her love and loyalty to those she served with.

We know so little about Hange's past or even her family......The Scout Regiment in effect was her family. And she went through so much to give them some chance to live, often without thanks and so often without the desired outcome. But Hange always valued the lives of her people, and in the end, she DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER....than what she got from those who betrayed her efforts. Who betrayed the meaning of what she thought for. None more so than from Isayama himself.......Hange was a true hero through and through, and the story should have honored that. ISAYAMA SHOULD HAVE HONORED THAT.......

Hange wasn't just the friend Levi Ackerman just could not get away from despite all their headbutting, she wasn't just Erwin's righthand woman and torch-bearer, she wasn't just a soldier.....Hange was a true friend to all of us. I think we all loved her dearly as one of our own.

So give your hearts to Hange, one of AOT's greatest, and the one who still richly deserves the future she fought so hard for. For she dedicated her heart and soul for the future of humanity.

Her courage, her determination, her humor, her love.....those are Hange's gifts. Hange is a gift to us all.....I only hope one day our birthday girl is repaid in full for everything she deserves. ❤️

Happy Birthday, Commander Hange. Your spirit stays with us, and you deserve so much better. Isayama certainly doesn't deserve someone so special as you.

There is no Attack on Titan without Hange Zoë.

[lethaldefect]

Very specific and random headcanons about Aaravos, his time in prison and his condition after being released:

(with a special dedication to @purpleguyssimp and all my mutuals. I hope you enjoy it ♡)

the dimension he was trapped in contained nothing but the sky and a stretch of land. The landscape never changed or ended. Wherever he went, everything always looked the same. The only point of reference was the house, a perfect replica of the house he had lived in with his daughter many years before. And no matter how hard he tried to escape it, all roads always led to this house.

in this dimension, nothing changed, and nothing could be controlled. Always the same time of day, same season, same temperature. No rain, no wind, no snow. No real sun, no real stars.

he was the only living creature there. No birds or other animals. In the centuries he had spent here, he had never seen even the smallest fly. There were only a few plants that seemed to be frozen in time - always the same. They never withered, never lost their leaves, and when he picked one, a new one appeared in its place after some time. Identical one.

the magic in the prison kept him alive. The prison provided everything he needed. A garden with plants from which he could make his own dinner, running water, and access to a fire. Although he wasn't really hungry, sleepy, or cold. But he ate—the same thing over and over again every day; he slept—to stave off boredom; he lit a fire in the fireplace to keep warm—when his mind played tricks on him and he felt as if he were freezing.

every day was practically the same. And he always remained the same as the day he was imprisoned. The same hair, the same clothes... even if he tried to change something, cut his hair or alter his clothes, after a while, everything always returned to its original state. The same as the interior design of the house and its furnishings, which, no matter how much he vented his anger on it, always returned to its previous state.

because the purpose of the prison was to keep him alive, he didn't get sick (because there was nothing to even get sick with) and he couldn't hurt himself. And he tried a lot of things. Every wound, whether it was a paper cut or the fatal wounds he inflicted on himself during those worst moments... everything healed almost immediately. Even the pain was taken away from him.

there was only him. Alone with himself, his intrusive thoughts and his fragile psyche. Alone in a house that he had abandoned long ago, but here it still bore the marks of his old life and Leola's presence. Alone in a house that looked exactly as it had on the day his daughter was taken from him.

the only real difference was the huge mirror hanging on the wall in the room that had once served as his office. A mirror through which he sometimes saw Avizandum watching him, enjoying his suffering. A mirror that always looked at him as if mockingly and reminded him of the fact that on the other side, life went on. Without him.

escaping from prison was a salvation, but at the same time, his greatest punishment.

after centuries spent in an unchanging, constant environment, the collision with the real world was a shock to the body.

he was oversensitive. The outside world was full of stimuli he had forgotten about. The lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, the tastes and smells too intense. The water was too cold, the grass too prickly, the clothes too rough... it was always cold or unbearably hot.

he had become so unaccustomed to the touch of others that after regaining his freedom, physical contact was simply painful. The slightest touch caused his brain to tell his body to react as if he had been bandaged or electrocuted.

his entire body ached. As if he had just taken a spectacular fall from the very top of Storm Spire that even Viren would be proud of. He could feel every bone, every muscle, every tiny cell in his body... and everything radiated with pain so intense it sometimes took his breath away.

the first few weeks after his release were like a fight for survival. Constant migraines, insomnia, stomach problems, general weakness... He was frustratingly weak. He couldn't stand straight, and at times he fought to stay conscious.

magic didn't help. In prison, his magic was significantly limited. And after leaving, it returned with all its power and was as unstable as if he was using it for the first time. Although the muscles remembered how to cast spells, the body received them at least several times more intensely, which was not good in his condition.

he was overwhelmed. And so terribly tired. Weakness and centuries of isolation had caused him to catch all sorts of diseases like a baby in a nursery during the winter.

it was also frustrating that the world had changed... and he had been left behind for 300 years. People spoke dialects and languages ​​he didn't know. They used words he didn't understand. New cities and settlements sprang up. Those he remembered from his youth had long since disappeared. It was still the same world he had left. The same magic he had mastered. And yet everything was so different that he felt like a stranger in the place that had once been his beloved home.

but he had to go on. As much as he could. He had so many things to do. For Leola. And for Claudia.

Congrats to everyone who made it to the end of this 💜 Sorry if there are any mistakes, English isn't my first language...

I forgot how much I like writing headcanons. I really hope you enjoyed it. I can write more if you want. I also accept requests.

Anyway, feel free to discuss in the comments, or you can just text me in dm 💜

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

“I need a place to stay.”

“I need a place to stay.”

Those were the first words Michael had uttered in hours. He had been sitting near-comatose in the corner of Jon's office ever since they'd both stumbled free from the Distortion's Halls, unmoving and unresponsive until now. Jon started in surprise, completely unprepared to hear those words come from Michael's mouth, sounding so hollow and tired. He completely understood the feeling.

"Right," he sighed in agreement, before he paused awkwardly. "I, ah...may also be short on...accommodations. I was, I was in hiding before the Circus kidnapped me, and now...I don't know."

Michael laughed, short and sharp and nothing like how he had sounded before. "Great," he groaned, shoving his tangled hair back and rubbing at his forehead with both hands. "That's great." He had a headache, Jon knew- Knew, a headache he'd been suffering from ever since he'd stepped through the Distortion's door so many years ago. Jon could almost feel it in his own head, aching and heavy, and cracked his neck to try to alleviate it. He was...quite stiff, he realized, and quickly pushed that thought from his mind.

"There's a cot in Document Storage," he offered weakly, and Michael stopped massaging his head to squint up at him irritably.

"I won't fit on that," he snapped sullenly. "I...fuck." He winced suddenly, flinching quite violently. "I shouldn't know that," Michael muttered to himself. "I shouldn't know- I think the Distortion has been spying on you."

"That...makes sense," Jon conceded. Who knew what else had eyes in the Archives watching him. The flash of horribly familiar paranoia made his stomach turn and skin crawl, sparking a desperate urge to be out of the Institute before he did something drastic. "I'm booking us a hotel room," he decided firmly. "And I'm expensing it to the Institute."

"That'll show them," Michael encouraged half-heartedly. Jon busied himself with making the arrangements, while also thinking about what other arrangements he needed to make. Michael had nothing but the clothes on his back and the trauma that his twisted counterpart had inflicted on him. Was he still tied to the Institute, after what had happened? God, was he now another Assistant Jon now had to look out for? He'd already gone through hell and been betrayed by one Archivist, how could he stand to work with Jon, if that was even what he wanted? Had he just gone from one torturous hell prison to another?

Jon couldn't fathom what he could do about that.

A round of calls and an awkward ride share later, Jon realized he'd been a bit too hasty in booking a room. "What do you mean, there's only one bed?" he demanded. The tired and harried-looking desk manager just gave him a blank look.

"That's all that's available tonight, I'm sorry," she said, completely insincerely. "You can try somewhere else, but at this time of night they'll probably all be booked."

"It's fine, Jon," Michael spoke up, hunched over the counter and head hanging low, hair spilling messily around his face. "Just take the room." Jon was so put off that he almost didn't notice that Michael had called him by name for the first time, because he sounded so profoundly and plainly miserable. He swallowed down his reservations and confirmed their reservation for the room instead.

The room was, as expected, small, and did contain only one bed. Michael sat on it listlessly, eyes unfocused and drifting away. "I, uh, I'd like to use the shower first," Jon said lamely, and received only a nod of acknowledgement. Michael's behavior, or lack thereof, was concerning, but so were so many other things, like the Unknowing, and finding answers to his millions of questions, and the heavy layer of lotion all over him.

Jon fought to remain calm as he showered, he really did. He should be enjoying the feeling of warm water running over him, cleaning his skin, but the layered-on oils were difficult to wash off, even with the tiny bar of soap the hotel provided. Choking back the noises trying to claw out of his throat, Jon scrubbed harder, making his skin burn and chafe, his muscles protesting the harsh movements. But it was working, his skin was free of that awful heavy sensation, and it almost felt good, after so much cooling softness. God, he never wanted to feel the touch of lotion against his skin ever again.

"Michael?" he called as he left the bathroom, shivering in the cold air, shoulders exposed by the towel he had wrapped around his chest. "Shower's free, if you'd like-"

He stopped when he found that the room seemed alarmingly empty. Jon's knees nearly gave out in surprise, stumbling into the doorframe as his eyes flew around the room. He breath caught in relief when he caught sight of Michael, crammed in the small space between the wall and the single bed, limbs sticking out jarringly, face hidden in a pillow clutched in his arms.

"Michael?" Jon asked as gently as he could. "Are you...what's wrong?"

"Walls," Michael gasped, muffled by the pillows. "They're too- it was...I don't know where- I can't, I can't, it's too big, there's nowhere I can, I can't-"

He sounded so panicked, so desperate and terrified. Jon hesitated, then stepped forward and crouched next to him, careful of the drape of the towel around his body. Bracing himself and pushing down his own awkwardness, he reached out and took one of Michael's dangling hands in his own uninjured one. It didn't feel the way it had before, or the way that...that Sasha had described it in her statement. It was a perfectly ordinary hand, slightly cold and a bit thin, but utterly normal and human. Just like the rest of Michael.

Michael had tensed sharply when he took his hand, but quickly deflated, turning his head free of the pillow to look towards Jon with red-rimmed eyes. "Your hands-" he stopped to swallow thickly. "They're not...they didn't lotion those?"

"No," Jon confirmed, nearly choking on a very inappropriate chuckle. "No, they didn't, I don't think they were going to...use them." God, that was awful, it was absurd, but he couldn't stop the strained laughter that kept breaking loose from his chest, unstoppable and inappropriate. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he roughly swiped it away with his free hand. He shouldn't be laughing, he shouldn't be caught up in his own horror when Michael had gone through far worse than him, and for much longer. But he couldn't stop.

Michael was watching him with eyes that were unfathomably deep, like they could swallow him whole. Jon wondered, near hysterically, if one could get lost in the eyes of the former Distortion, or whatever Michael was now. But he was not a threat, he reminded himself as Michael unfurled from his tight crouch and crept closer to him. All of that rage and betrayal was nowhere to be seen, for now. He wondered where it had gone.

Keeping hold of his hand, Michael stretched his other arm out and slung it over Jon's shoulders, pulling him in until they were both crumpled together, like two fallen walls of a demolished building. He sighed, and it stirred in the drying strands of Jon's hair. "What are we going to do now, Archivist?" he asked, hollow and empty again. His abrupt turn of terrified energy seemed to have dissipated for now, gone along with Jon's own panic. Which was the intention of his pathetic attempt at comfort, just not quite like this.

"You can call me Jon," Jon answered, unable to stop himself from leaning into Michael's side. Michael was leaning just as heavily on him, his long tangled curls draping over his bare shoulder, and he didn't hate it. "Please don't call me Archivist anymore."

Michael sighed again, harsh and painful. "I'll try," he whispered. "Its still in my head, it still wants to-" he cut himself off, which Jon was grateful for. "No. No. You're Jon. You've done me no wrong. You heard my story. You...you know now."

"I do." Like Martin, like...like Sasha, he knew Michael now, Knew him, had his statement on tape and seared into his mind and heart. He didn't understand what that meant, not yet, not fully, but it meant...something. "I...I'm sorry. About everything."

"Yeah." Michael's hand flexed in his, then settled. "So am I, Archi- Jon. Jon. I'm sorry."

They were such small words, but meant so much. They could be lies, but after hearing his statement, after seeing him fall apart, Jon didn't believe they were. Michael was no longer the Distortion, he had no reason to lie. Jon had to learn to trust, somehow, and who better to start with than someone who had been so betrayed? Michael pressed his head down, resting his cheek on top of Jon's head, and Jon closed his eyes, leaning into Michael's warmth. What else was there to do?

[rockyp77mk3]

Right my side lost and your side won. I am trying to understand but I want to know what is the big difference between the Progressives and conservatives? Why do Progressives piss off conservatives so much? We only want equality and fairness.

Thank you for the question. These questions are deceptively simple but they require somewhat complicated answers. I will try.

Oh, I am not just a conservative. I am a Constitutional Conservative which means that the Constitution is considered the supreme law of the land. It is the guide against which all legislation, taxes, regulations, and issues are judged. It applies equally to all and is therefore a protection for all. It can only be changed by amendment and is not subject to any foreign law or restrictions even those promoted by the UN.

Since I like checklists I will try to answer your questions in some kind of order.

Problem solving. When presented with a problem Conservatives try to solve it using known facts and reason. Progressives tend to use spending and regulation. I have never witnessed a Progressive try to solve a problem (Or perceived problem) in any other way than raising taxes or sponsoring legislation that further truncates our individual rights.

Control. Progressives seem to love control, either being in control or being controlled in every aspect of life. They want to tell or be told what people can own, how far people can succeed in life, what people can think, what people can eat, what people can drive, and lets not forget what people should do with the very money they earn. In that last one Progressives are content to confiscate wealth through taxes for redistribution to their liking. Conservative just want to be left alone. We want to keep most of what we earn, we want to enjoy our enumerated rights unfettered by social pressure or governmental overreach. We would like government to literally get the Hell out of our lives.

Lack of tolerance. When a progressive gets an idea they believe it to be so good that it must be shared with (Inflicted upon) others even at the point of a governmental bayonet. Socialism for instance, also limiting 2ND Amendment rights, private property rights, etc. Conservatives don't care what you want to do as long as we are left alone to do what we want to do. If you don't like guns, fine, don't own one. If you want to be a socialist fine, get fifty of your closest friends and create a commune, I wish you luck. Do what ever you like, just leave me and my rights alone.

Happiness. Conservatives seem to be relatively happy. Progressives aren't happy unless they are angry or upset about a situation that either happened over 100 years ago or is an isolated incident, or is just something with which they don't agree. Progressives aren't always right but they are always certain. In that pseudo certitude they are willing to trample any and all rights. Individuals be damned the cause is all.

The US is always wrong. No matter the issue Progressives will unerringly take the side of anything that goes against the US. Progressives will support despots, terrorist groups, rouge nations, and criminal politicians as long as those support the inherent anti US sentiment of the hard left. Conservatives acknowledge that the US makes mistakes, sometimes hideous mistakes but at our core we are generally damn good. For example, if Kamala had won you won't see too many Conservatives wanting to leave the US. We are Americans and will stay and fight to the last.

Equality. Progressive want an equality of outcome. A guarantee that all people will have the same success. They call this "Equity". Conservatives believe that equality means that all people will have a fair chance at success. That hard work, effort, and inventiveness will pay off. You can't ensure outcomes only starting points.

There are more but you get the idea. By the way, Progressives don't piss us off all that much, we just don't want you in charge.

[alicerosejensen]

Shades Of Cool

So here is the angst as promised. I have a lot of requests in messages and I will try to fulfill them, but now I want to write something sad. There was already a similar text, but it did not say exactly how the reader died.

Warning: mention of suicide; the reader has suicidal tendencies; longing with a bad end; Leon is hurt but holding on; Leon!Vendetta

(Depression is my profession, huh.)

Leon knew you had a failed attempt in the past. Everything has been documented for a long time and is in your medical file, the information of which Hannigan requested at the request of Leon when you first met him. Just to make sure you has nothing to do with Umbrella or other bioterrorists. Of course, you did not have any dark spots in your biography that would have made another chip on his heart if he knew that you were one of those who create bioweapons or have any dealings with them.

Except one.

“Suicide attempt…two years ago. Poisoned by sleeping pills. According to the medical records, she was barely resuscitated." Hannigan's voice came out with a sly grin as Leon's heart sank.

But why?

Leon did not ask you because he realized that he opened that page of your life about which you did not want to tell him yet and had every right to do so. However, you still remembered that sad look of his when he came to your house and hit his shoulder against the door frame. You never told him about it, but you suspected that he knew. You had a few cuts on your arms, but you lied to him that your cat left them for you as a child. Complete nonsense and Leon, holding your wrist in his hand, ran his thumb over deep footprints, looking intently at them.

"Never do that again" from his serious tone, everything inside turned upside down and, meeting with the blueness of his eyes, you lost all words and thoughts, feeling only shame in front of him. As if your problems are too small compared to his and how could you do such things with your body when he sees horrors literally every day? Goosebumps ran down your spine as Leon's lips touched each of your scars as he kissed them. “If something is bothering you, we can solve it differently”

But you didn't know how to decide otherwise. This is something that Leon should have understood before the irreparable happened. Leon was afraid to build relationships, and you didn't believe that someone could love you. Like it was impossible. But if Leon dared to let you get closer to him, to his heart broken into many parts, then you inflicted another knife wound on him.

Pictures of your meeting, communication, joint meetings, ringing laughter, everything revolves before his eyes as a bright kaleidoscope around one colorless event.

His indifferent face seems to show no emotion as he stands in front of the bed, peering down at your lifeless body sprawled on the clean sheets.

He didn't come home to you to find you dead.

But you're so tired of everything. Always not good enough. Never smart enough or pretty enough. There was always... there was always something missing. Eventually something started telling you to stop everything again.

Leon didn't need you. He preferred to while away his days in bars or in correspondence with Ada Wong, which he probably thought you knew nothing about. For everyone, you were too stupid and naive to notice clearly obviously, but you noticed ... you just didn't always show it. Maybe of course you took everything to heart, but even your family constantly inspired you that you were not as good as the rest. This was the reason for the first attempt. But love is short-lived, like a candle in the wind. So you went out like a candle, leaving behind only a dissolving haze. This sea of endless self-loathing covered you in endless waves, plunging you deeper and deeper into a dark abyss from which you no longer wanted to get out. At some point, you just realized that no one will even notice if you leave.

Suppressed by childhood fears, these deep wounds never healed. And the pain was too real, even though you somehow charmed Leon with your inner light and agreed to be with him, you were still alone with this pain.

There was so little good in your life that in the end even Leon turned out to be something negative that finally knocked you off your feet, made you drown, even though he remained your most beloved person. You were always very close to him and very far at the same time, because it was Leon who set the distance. The only woman he could let in without fear and looking back was not you at all.

And yet there was something that brought a smile to the face until the very end. Moments when Leon said that you belong to him and he is obliged to take care of you but in fact even he threw you away as an unnecessary thing.

You are so tired... Leon finally pushed you away after the death of his entire squad. He didn't need you anymore, no matter how hard you tried to help him, he just left without a word, taking the bag with his few things, leaving you in the middle of the room broken like a doll.

With slowly flowing tears on your cheeks, broken from the inside, and only when the door finally slammed shut behind him, you felt pain in your knees when you fell, hitting them on the floor. No word could describe how you felt when he left "us" behind. It hurt more than any betrayal, forcing you to roll onto his side of the bed and touch his nonexistent face. No one could help you forget him, and you were so tired of falling asleep thinking about him, unable to stop loving him. It was so cruel. You literally choked on your own howling and coughing, choking on tears.

He didn't even have anything to say to you. He just left when he saw fit, kicking you out of his life.

You thought pain was the worst feeling, but worse was the endless silence inside you that followed Leon's departure. Not even going to delve into the reason for the distance, as if out of spite, your whole family began to put pressure on you again, condemning you for a small mistake. As if a huge black cloud clouded whole life. You didn't want anything else. There were no tears, no sadness, no joy. You have always been worse than others. From early childhood. Even at your crappy job, you were considered worthless, which eventually led back to the only solution to the problem.

But even if you died, you would create unnecessary problems for your family with a funeral, and they certainly would not want to do this. The guilt was precisely because of this: the knowledge that someone would take the time to prepare your body for burial. But the upsides of your death seemed to far outweigh the few downsides when you were holding a full vial of sleeping pills in your hands.

That's why you corrected yourself. Cleaned up the house, had a nice chat with the upstairs neighbor while she complimented the dress you bought, thinking you were probably going on a date; made the bed with new linens, took a shower and put on light makeup before pouring a full glass of water and drinking sleeping pills one after the other until you emptied the whole vial and your poisoned body collapsed on the bed, staining the pillow with a thin line of blood running from under your nose and mouth.

However, even outwardly you did not look like a sleeper. The heartbeat gradually slowed down, and you plunged deeper and deeper into the dark bottom, from which there was no longer a single chance to get out. There was not even a farewell note, although you wanted to apologize to everyone for the fact that those around you spent so much time on you, but all their hopes were crushed. So death really was a deliverance from all problems.

You just finally solved all your problems in one single right way.

And Leon hated himself for leaving you for months without saying a word. However, something affected him in New York that he rushed to you as soon as the plane landed back, banging on the door of your small apartment to no avail.

This time he wasn't even drunk. Beaten, bruised, but completely sober and alive, unlike you. Because your heart hasn't beat in at least four hours, so your lips have taken on a bluish tint.

"Sweetheart, I know I acted like a fucking asshole but please let's talk. Open the door, I know you're home"

The comic of the whole situation was that the door was actually open, you deliberately did not close it so that in the morning your friend would find you.

"I love you... I was afraid that I might lose you too if I was by your side, but now I understand that I was an idiot! Please, let's talk, I don't want to lose you anymore."

Nothing.

Leon took a deep breath, resting his forehead on the door, trying to hear your steps or movements. Silence. But he knows that you are at home - he saw the open window. He knew that he acted like a son of a bitch, he knew that you had every right to hate him, and yet he wanted to return you.

Another series of knocks followed by no response. Leon accidentally put his hand on the door handle, and then with a click it opened, causing him to freeze in place in amazement. Leon pushed open the door into a dark hallway, and the dim light from the next room made him move further inside, shuddering slightly as the chill of the night ran down his spine.

"Sweetheart?" He slammed the window to a distinctive click, but you still did not respond to his voice.

Your phone was on the table, and next to it was an empty vial of some pills with an almost empty glass of water. Leon unlocked your phone by looking at the list of recent messages, but there was nothing interesting about them. However, taking a vial in his hand and reading the name on the label...

You definitely didn't have any sleep problems! A flash of insight, backed up by the knowledge that you've already had one failed attempt in the past, made Leon's heart sink and freeze as he entered the bedroom and saw your silhouette lying on the bed.

"Baby..." Leon quickly ran up to you, after a few seconds of silent stupor.

Leon turned your body towards him, feeling for a pulse, rubbing your shoulders. The sight of gore on your face for some reason raised a flash of accumulated negative feelings. Pressing your head to his chest, Leon flipped the lamp button to light up the bedroom a little and swallowed the bitter lump in his throat when he saw the lifeless pallor.

"Don't you dare die, do you hear me?!"

You didn't hear. Leon scooped you into his arms, hugging you, whispering something in your head while he searched for the phone in his pocket. While the ambulance was coming, those minutes seemed to drag on forever. Any attempts to bring you to your senses, to at least open your eyes a little, were not blamed for success.

But it was unbearable when the doctors declared death in an unimaginably dry voice without even trying to do anything, despite his furious cries after your body was immersed in a black body bag. Leon just watched silently as the ambulance drove away and the police considered that death by suicide was not worth close attention. "Unrequited Love" would then be whispered among themselves as Leon read a copy of the autopsy report that Hannigan got for him, looking at him with a regretful look.

The following days passed in black despondency and alcohol. Leon would like to burn out all the feelings from his heart for you along with the endless guilt for leaving you. It feels like it's rotting from the inside. There is not the slightest desire to look at you dead, but he comes ... He comes and looks with an empty, otherworldly look at the same serene you. Already in a different dress, but still beautiful, albeit lifeless. he would like to make love to you now, hold you in his arms and luxuriate in bed. Count your moles, cover your back with light kisses and hug you. He would like anything now, but not to see you dead. His hand covered yours with his thumb, running over your knuckles as if remembering what it was like to hold your hand. Some looked at him in bewilderment, but Leon didn't care anymore. He gently stroked your face, trying to ignore the urge to smash everything around from the purest rage and despair that filled it.

But in the end, when all other senses recede, when the lid of your coffin closes forever, only a black, empty nothing remains inside Leon.

[sweetmage]

Ohhh kiss prompts!!! Kiss on a scar for handers or your cyberpunk bois! Whichever is fueling you the most 😂💚

Thank you so so so much for this prompt, I had so many feelings about them 🥺

I chose Handers! I'll put it under the cut!

In all their years together, Hawke never asked about that scar. He had more than share himself; souvenirs from battles past that formed latticework of raised flesh all across his skin, a map of every close call he'd had. But Anders's was different. It was a neat line on the left side of his chest with its matching exit wound on his back. It was warped and discolored on its borders like it'd been cauterized and stood out starkly among the others, whipp scars, magic splashback burns, and whatever he'd inflicted upon himself in moments of despair. Absently, Hawke let his calloused fingers brush against it, and he felt Anders stiffen in response.

"Hawke?"

At once he snatched his hand back like it'd been burned. "Uhh, what?"

"Did you want to ask something?" Anders propped himself up on his elbow to look him in the eye.

"No," he said, shaking his head but it was painfully short-lived. "Well, maybe. What's with the scar?"

He sighed and looked away. "Templars," he said, as if that explained it all.

"Templars," he spat back, like the word tasted foul on his tongue. "What in the Maker's name did they even do to you? Looks like you were skewered like one of those little Orlesian sandwiches. You know, with the olives?"

"Glad I can always count on you to be sensitive and mature, Hawke." Anders sank back into the pillows, head haloed by his hair. He didn't look upset though, the slight quirk of lips betraying his amusement. "Edan was away," he said of the Hero of Ferelden. "The stand-in Commander was less than understanding of a certain mage's plight. And by certain mage I mean me and by plight I mean not wanting templars sniffing around my quarters."

"I think I know where this is going." Hawke frowned.

"Not enough of them dropped dead in the joining. All the ones that survived hunted me. They knew what I did with Justice. They'd see me dead for it. But Justice wouldn't allow that." His hand drifted to the scar, rubbing the toughened skin. "He protected me, kept me alive."

"That... definitely got you in the heart."

"I don't know how he did it. It was like the Fade itself flooded me. I didn't need to breath anymore, my heart didnt need to to beat for a while. I didn't even feel the pain at the time, just this... anger."

"That sounds like the Justice I know."

"It wasn't him," Anders said. "I don't know where to draw the line, but I swear that rage was all mine. He just kept me alive long enough to act on it."

It was hard to imagine what Anders had gone through, the persecution, the fear, and the desperation. His own life as an apostate had been sheltered, safe, and privileged in comparison. The best he could do now was wrap him up, hold him tight and plant kisses in his hair until he felt his body slacken in his arms. It was a poor consolation, but it was all he had to offer. Anders seemed to accept it.

"I'm fine, love. I've been through worse."

"I know, but..."

"You're sweet to worry, but it's okay. It was a long time ago."

Hawke didn't say anything else, but he did reach down to lace their fingers together, feeling each knobby joint lock with his. His lips left Anders' hair, traveled down to his chest where he gave that scar special attention, kissing around its raised edges.

"Hawke?"

"Let me love on you a little. Is that alright?"

Sighing, Anders' fingers wound through his hair and he nodded. "Not like I could stop you if I tried."

"You know me so well," he replied with a lopsided smile.

"I guess I have him to thank for us, in a way," he mused. "I got to be with you. I didn't think I'd ever get to love anyone like this again, or that I should."

"He made the right choice," Hawke agreed, tucking his head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart, unmarred by his ordeal, beating just for him now. "And I'll always be grateful for that."

[seramilla]

I was so excited I don’t think I actually finished the sentence in my first ask. Ignore that.

Please can I have more SeraMille adopted daughter Vaggie?!?!?

Idk if this is a new au but this is immaculate. Gimme.

You don’t have to include it but can you imagine

“she was my daughter first!”

“How was she your daughter you weren’t even there?”

Amazingly this works no matter who is saying what.

Carmilla and Sera just stand there dumbstruck for a few moments after Vaggie exits, looking for all the world like fluffed up, crumpled cats who'd been startled by a loud noise. Then, after the fog of confusion has lifted, they both stand there looking at each other, pointing their fingers and/or claws in accusation and bewilderment.

"YOU KNOW VAGGIE?!" both women shout in unison. Then a pause, followed by a "HOW? WHEN? WHY?" They both need to stop reading each other's minds.

After calming down with a few deep breaths, Sera asks in a more measured voice, "How do you know Vaggie?!"

"I'm her mentor!" Carmilla shouts, finding it a little more difficult to understand how the High Seraphim of Heaven knows a former Exorcist in the first place. Especially this one in particular. "Who do you think supplied the Hotel with holy arms? I'm her benefactor now! How do you know her?!"

Sera stands in silence for a minute, then finally admits, "I...I met her during my annual audit of the Exorcist barracks. She was so...private and small. Always off by herself, not training with the others. I wanted to make sure she was okay, and we started talking every year. She started coming out of her shell after that, but I didn't see her again until the Morningstar's daughter showed up at my doorstep!"

Carmilla doesn't seem satisfied with that answer. What business does the High Seraphim of Heaven have mingling with the Exorcists in the first place? Sera had told Carmilla she hadn't wanted anything to do with Adam's (now Lute's) army since the first man fell. But it seems like some of Sera's actions from those times are coming back to haunt her.

And then Vaggie walking right into the room just as Sera had been so thoroughly sucking Carmilla's face...Carmilla wonders if her ego will ever recover from this. How had she not noticed the other angel coming toward her office? She's usually much more aware of her surroundings than this! She's getting slow on the uptake.

"Just so we're clear," Carmilla starts, shooting the Seraphim a glare that's full of more heat than Sera had been expecting, "I am her mentor now. Whatever Adam and Lute did to her, I am the one who's spent the last several months trying to undo all that damage they inflicted on her psyche. I taught her how to fight against her own kind. I'm the one she has sought guidance from. I do not need you interfering and bringing back traumatic memories of that time for her. I love you, but please, if you would...keep your distance from Vaggie."

Sera is absolutely gobsmacked. Her lower jaw literally hangs open at Carmilla's words, unable to believe that the overlord is really asking this of her.

"What...what are you talking about? You don't have any claim to that girl! Who do you think protected her and the other Exorcists in Heaven?! If not for me, Adam may have done so much worse to her, long ago. You know how he treated any soldiers that he deemed weak! I saved her! She was my ward, first!"

Carmilla moves away from Sera. She wants to say so much in response, but what good comes from arguing right now? She hadn't wanted to fight with the Seraphim today. She'd thought they'd moved past so many of their misgivings about each other, but apparently...there is still a lot of baggage there. They will have to deal with it, eventually, if they intend to move forward in this little secret relationship of theirs. But right now...

Vaggie needs comfort. Carmilla needs to find her, explain everything, and make sure she is all right. So instead of arguing, Carmilla turns on her heels, heading for the door to her office. When Sera tries to stop her, Carmilla shoots her a glance. One that beseeches Haven't you caused enough damage today? Sera looks so...meek and disarmed by that glare of hers.

Sera pulls back, and doesn't say anything. Instead, she simply looks at Carmilla in disappointment, opens a portal, and then makes her way back to Heaven, where Carmilla thinks she belongs right now.

It doesn't take long for Carmilla to find Vaggie. Anytime the fallen angel is distressed, her first and primary source of comfort is Charlie, so Carmilla makes her way to the hotel, not ready for the stares from the patrons, or to have to start answering questions for why an overlord is there. Not many in Hell know Carmilla is one of Charlie's greatest allies now, given how fond Carmilla has become of Vaggie.

Her alliances and power are tedious, and her strength lies more in what her enemies don't know, rather than what they do. Vaggie can defend herself just fine, but Carmilla doesn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to the angel, if she can help it.

Carmilla manages to dodge a few patrons in the lobby. Thankfully, most of Charlie's lessons have concluded for the long weekend ahead, so it's not difficult for the overlord to sneak by. She's light on her feet, so making her way up the stairs only manages to alert Alastor, who's been watching her carefully through his shadows. He won't harm her or alert anyone to her presence, though. He knows better than that, with Lucifer around.

Vaggie had confided to Carmilla that she loves the library. She'd spent a lot of time in there after Charlie found her, using it as a sanctuary and an opportunity to learn about her new home here in Hell. That's where Carmilla ultimately finds her, bent over on the floor crying, as Charlie kneels beside her, patting her back and stroking her hair.

Charlie doesn't say anything to the overlord when she notices her...just sort of glares up at her with that same disappointment that Sera had given her before she fucked off back to Heaven. Carmilla decides right then and there that she absolutely despises that look. She's getting it from all sides today!

That's when Vaggie notices Carmilla, too. She looks like she might protest Carmilla's presence here, but Charlie gives the angel a quick peck on her cheek, saying "It's all right, sweetie, I'll be right outside," before shooting Carmilla that fucking disappointed glare again, and leaving to give the two their privacy in the library.

"What do you want, Carmilla?" Vaggie asks, voice all nasally and congested from crying. Vaggie wipes a string of stray snot from her nose. She's trying to hide her face, not quite successfully, hoping that Carmilla won't see her in such a state. Carmilla can't help that sudden sinking feeling of her heart falling into her guts. It's awful. She wants to throw up.

"I wanted to check on you. Make sure you're okay. Vaggie...I'm so sorry you had to witness such a sight. I didn't...I didn't mean for you to see that."

"See what?" Vaggie's tone is a little mocking at this point. She seems done with any explanations Carmilla might give, but still demands answers from her, anyway. "See my mo--mentor fucking kissing an angel?! And Sera of all people?! My first mentor? What the fuck were you thinking, Carmilla?!"

Carmilla's own anger and frustration starts to flare, just a little. Just enough to feel the heat creep up the back of her neck and into her face. She knows Vaggie is confused, but she doesn't have to talk to her like that. She doesn't have the right...

"I was thinking that I love that angel, Vaggie. Which you might know, had you bothered to ask me instead of running away. Mine and Sera's relationship is tenuous, but it goes back much farther than you think. It's complicated. I had no idea of your history with her. If I had, I would have explained myself sooner."

"How can you love her?" Vaggie asks, completely dumbfounded by this revelation from the overlord. She stands up, finally facing Carmilla on her own terms. "Didn't you know she betrayed me and Charlie? She let Adam and his fucking army lay waste to our old hotel! She's sold her fucking soul to Heaven! What is there left to love?!"

"Stop it," Carmilla barks, claws fisting together so tightly, they almost pierce the skin of her palms. Vaggie doesn't know...can't possibly know the history she and the High Seraphim share. Can't possibly comprehend all the invisible strings and power plays at work in Heaven that had forced Sera's hand when it came to Adam. Maybe someday Vaggie will...Carmilla needs to have that conversation with her. Someday. But right now, she's too frazzled.

Every word that Vaggie utters about her lover is like an angelic weapon directly speared through her own heart. Every single one is like a sleight against her personally, in ways Vaggie can't possibly understand. Carmilla's heart is wrenched open like a raw, infected thing. Vaggie can't know all the ways in which her words are physically, emotionally painful. So Carmilla goes easy on her...she doesn't need to know all the details right now. She can still protect Vaggie from that...for a while.

Carmilla moves toward Vaggie, noticing how the little angel flinches and almost pulls back from her, before Carmilla places her hand on Vaggie's cheek. She wipes away the salt and moisture from the stray tears that continue to fall from Vaggie's eye. Her huge claw makes the fallen angel look so small. Vaggie looks up at her then, beseeching Carmilla for answers; desperately seeking realness from one of the few people who bothered to care about her and Charlie down here.

"There is so much I want to tell you," Carmilla explains, but that's as far as that explanation gets. "I will tell you. I promise. You have my word. But for now, just know that Sera's control in Heaven isn't absolute. She and I have a complicated history. But I...I can't help my feelings for her. I'm very sorry you had to find out about it this way. But please...if you can trust me...I won't keep something like that from you again."

Vaggie still doesn't seem to find this explanation adequate, but she nods. She looks off into the middle distance, past Carmilla's shoulder, still visibly frustrated, but her face going softer now.

"...You promise?"

"I promise, mija."

Carmilla pulls Vaggie in for a tight hug, just then. Carmilla is worried Vaggie might pull away, but the fallen angel doesn't.

She actually hugs Carmilla tighter. Carmilla allows herself to let out the relieved, quiet sigh she'd been holding in the last several minutes, and lets her body go slack, as Vaggie buries her face deeper in Carmilla's front.

Thank fuck, Carmilla thinks, that her adopted daughter doesn't hate her.

[zarnzarn]

"Repeat that," Dream says, gliding into the booth silently. Everyone goes still, like prey, backs stiff and eyes wary. "An omega who...?"

For all their bluster about being the strongest of humanity, not one of them replies for a long while. Dream waits, patiently.

"Who has not been mate-caught in six hundred years," Someone finally says. Dream raises an eyebrow. They crumple. "Yeah, he's human. No one knows his deal, he only ever tells anyone he's decided to never be caught and never was."

Dream hums. Another joke of his sister's, then. She did so enjoy making all the immortality seekers lose their mind by granting it to random people once in a while.

Still, he's intrigued that this one's mind never came to his notice with the way the dreams of all overlong lifespans eventually buckle under the strain.

"Show me," He commands. There's a collective intake of breath, and pained eyes darting at each other. His brows furrow, and he skims their minds- swirls of panic over betrayal of a friend, daymares of an Endless breaking in what the whole world considers an unbreakable man, plans to extract the omega before the run started.

Dream barely holds back a roll of the eyes. As if an omega from the 1300s did not live through the sweet origin and dark horror of the Mating Runs both.

"Hob Gadling," He murmurs, pulling the name onto his tongue as he turns to leave. Many dream of him, across the globe, of both inflicting violence and taming him with affection, and hopeful daydreams of youngsters wanting to be him, or be his friend. Many have written and spoken his name through the ages, and many have been close to him, until Dream can almost pluck the golden-hued outline of him from the air.

He ignores the yelling from the League of Justice as he sweeps away to the entrance of the starting line, ignoring the way people gasp and scatter out of his way as he scouts them, fear in their eyes.

He turns a corner, wondering idly if he should tuck the League and their associates into a dimension for a bit while he assagues his curiousity as they yell panickedly at him and try to lead him away without touching him in any way.

"What's all the commotion?" A voice cuts through, familiar vibrations from the memories Dream has just pulled on, and he turns.

Everything stops. Dream feels the outfit he'd worn 672 years ago coalasce onto his skin, complete with the crown. "Oh," He manages.

"It's you," Hob Gadling says, with a note of wonder in his voice. He barks a laugh. "You bastard, you never did show up those hundred years later!"

"Hob!" The Amazon princess hisses in fear, jogging forward to take his elbow and whisper in his ear. "That is the Nightmare King! For once, I beg you, be respectful, he is more powerful-"

"I'll admit, I had not imagined you would have survived even to that," Dream murmurs, the stadium falling silent as they realise he's there and actually speaking for once. He has not indulged in the habit since the failed summoning, much. "I only heard of you seventy seconds ago, as the omega running the Mate Runs for over six hundred years."

Hob clicks his tongue chidingly, shaking his head mockingly. "Well, even I cannot forgive a friend five hundred years late to a meeting." And then he looks at Dream, tilting his head as he seems to see right through to the core of him, lips splitting into a wicked grin. "Unless, of course, you're here to try and take a bite."

Dream's breath catches in his chest, sand swirling to life around his body as he meets determined brown eyes, blazing with passion and mania.

The princess breaks out into scolding as she physically tries to drag Hob away, her associates and other strangers around joining her, trying to distract Dream and keep him from Hob.

He licks his lips, feeling the horrors that make up half of him banging to be let out.

There are so many watching.

He shouldn't. He knows how this ends.

Hob still stares back at him with a proud smile and no fear and his restraint snaps.

"Do you think you can escape an Endless?" Dream purrs, stepping forward. "Do you think that I am not every inch your worst nightmares? That I not would be barbaric enough to discard your species' silly custom for the new obsession it is and throw you down to the floor and have you right now, in front of everyone, in the old ways I know you still remember? That I would not win your challenge immediately, if I participate, and have you by your own rules instead?"

Hob chuckles, stepping forward to meet him in return, even as despair coats those around them as they watch their foremost omega champion sign away his fate in a fit of stupidity. He surveys Dream head to toe, body language nothing but interested as he twists his neck and wrists, getting closer. A roar is building in Dream's chest, fire licking up his throat to the back of his teeth, as Hob slowly brings his hands up.

And shoves Dream to the ground.

"If you want to actually prove yourself, you'll be human for the race," Hob says casually, crouching down on his heels to Dream's level. And he meets Dream's eyes levelly, and Dream knows he remembers why the Runs were made, how do many alphas and omegas who fell in love before would tear each other apart in their passions, hair-trigger temperaments disastrous for pairings until tired out in advance. Which is why humans all should have formed socially acceptable triad relationships, but it's not Dream's job to correct a species' stupidity to ignore their own evolution. "You're down in the mud, like any of us, see?"

And he has other problems.

Hob smirks, dark-eyed and sharp-toothed.

"And if you want me," Hob continues lowly, arousal painting his tone. Dream pulls enough from the memory-river to know this is extremely erratic behaviour for him, and cannot bank the smoke in his lungs and trembling in his claws at the idea of this omega's craziness being just for him. "Too fucking bad. So did a lot of beings, Nightmare King. Even your sister couldn't catch me. What makes you any different?"

With that, Hob rises to his feet and walks away. Dream's mouth falls open in offense, even as his lips are still upturned in excitement, sparking a chain-reaction of tittering fear in all the people standing around him.

Oh, this one. This one would do nicely.

"Hob!" He calls, dissolving his robe for a set of looser running clothes, smirking as he watches the other's fingers twitch as he catches sight of the accepted invitation. Dream can catch him. He remembers, after all, the long history of this event and what alphas of today so easily have discarded as a stupid ritual.

And exactly how Hob dreams to be romanced.

"Would you accept my courtship?" Dream breathes, pushing himself into the other's space and holding out a small flower from the bush behind Hob's house that his parents had carefully planted when they finally stopped travelling, tied in the ribbon that Dream had absent-mindedly absconded with from the White Horse that had once stood where they stood now. "To know you and yours, to have your claws in my flesh, to forgive my transgressions?"

"In your dreams," Hob laughs, even as he bends to Dream's fingers and lets the flower be tucked behind his ear, clever eyes sparking with mirth. Dream's lips twitch.

Hob straightens up and studies him, a hint of seriousness this time. "Only if you catch me," He says finally, and Dream's newly made heart skips a beat. "Which you won't."

"We'll see," Dream promises. Hob smiles and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, light as snow. Grabs him by the neck and throws him to the ground again, and Dream is already laughing as he hits the floor.

"READY!" The announcer yells as Dream walks over to the starting line, alphas scattering out his way with yelps as he makes his way to the front.

"SET!" People are still screaming protests.

Hob looks back at him, unconcerned, and grins. Dream smirks back.

"GO!"

[hamliet]

Hi, Hamliet! First of all, thanks for your fics and metas! As someone who is blind to LGBTQ you helped me to learn. Also, you are the only one (that I know until now) who also love to talk about Christianity and know about Bible.

See, I was raised by a religious mother who is homophob and now she love "that" president who got chosen again. I love my mum so much, but it's okay that I'm sad by her choice right?

She really chose him just because he "looks religious", can you believe that?

And I tried talk to my mum about how I enjoy queer thing, and she looked at me sad and angry so I lied. Then she sent me sermon of how LGBTQ people will end in hell. And how she is proud that the real gender is only male and female.

Because of that I kinda loose a little faith in christianity (is it weird, I'm so sorry)? Have you ever feel that?

My mum really love king David's story, so when I found your post about how he is a disaster bi, I laughed so hard. Because my mum who is anti LGBTQ not realized that the person she like is bisexual, too...

Also, Paul not married at all, can he be ace or aro?

If I can asked, what is your fav story from Bible and your fav person in it?

Hello hello!

First off, I'm sorry about your mother. I understand. My own mother isn't pro-him, but a lot of my loved ones, including people who actually helped me find a real faith instead of the indoctrinated fundamentalism, have fallen to him. I hate what that man and what he stands for have done to them. I want my loved ones back. Give me back my loved ones, you alt-right brainwashing conmen.

And, I'm also angry. I don't know that I'll ever really forgive them--or, that even if I love them and forgive them, the anger won't cease so long as we live with the consequences they have inflicted on, to use the biblical term, "the least of these." Basically, the vulnerable, the people those in power don't consider. I don't think it's wrong to feel that righteous anger.

But I still want them back.

Just remember that the Bible says this about looking religious:

Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to (Matthew 23:13).

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world (James 1:27).

I don't say this to condemn your mom, or my own loved ones. Just to say that Christians in America--particularly evangelicals--have utterly lost sight of who Christ is, and when someone actually speaks the word of Jesus to them, they want her executed for treason. The American church has sold out for power, for comfort, for wealth, but you can't serve God and mammon. And the consequences of it will be its destruction. The problem is that so many innocents don't deserve this.

As for the LGBTQ thing, sigh. I'm sorry. It's awful. Sometimes I just want to ask people to read about Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome--which was only first recognized 200 years ago--and tell me with a straight face that there are only two genders, and that we know everything there is to know about gender and couldn't possibly be missing key information, even biological information, that informs gender identity.

(I'm not saying there is certainly biological information or that that is necessary to believe queer people are perfectly and wonderfully made in the image of God, as are we all. I'm just saying that I do think people who default to biology need to consider how much we still don't know and are discovering about genetics.)

I don't think it's weird to lose faith. I think it's what happens when we're in a culture where the people who boast about their faith are so far from the very faith they describe. It's a natural consequence. All the far-right conservatives in the US would be better with millstones hung around their necks for the damage they're doing to everyone--both the vulnerable, and to God's name. Because God's name is synonymous with the vulnerable. If you treat the vulnerable with anything other than love and respect, I'd say that's blasphemy, because he's on their side.

So, the funny thing about my favorite Bible story and character is... it's David and specifically his story with his son Absalom. I actually wrote a whole theology paper on it.

The saying that David was "a man after God's own heart" is true, but while we often assume that means God's heart has us slaying giants and ruling, the reality is that David was never closer to God's heart than when he was weeping over his lost son. Because God himself knows what it's like to lose a son.

The irony, though, is that Absalom went really, really wrong. Just like the path so many Christians in American are taking right now. A path of power and self-aggrandizement, where the hypocrisy is out for everyone to see, and the innocent pay the price.

I think God's weeping over them, too.

Oh, and about Paul, for sure he could be! He actually was also quite likely married at one point, because he claims to not be lacking in any qualifications according to the religion of his day--and one of those was to be married. A lot of scholars theorize his wife left him after he converted, which would certainly explain a lot of his darker view of marriage. </3