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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

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Captain's Orders 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy.

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now.

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it.

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out.

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work.

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices.

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction.

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head.

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad...

“You work?” You ask.

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?”

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money.

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.”

“Right,” you try not to seethe.

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky.

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt—something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell?

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch.

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again.

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes.

“I’m getting ready--”

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet.

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.”

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says.

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round.

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner.

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides.

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls.

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists.

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil.

“Boring,” she chirps.

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies.

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think.

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read.

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume.

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered.

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own.

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence.

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying.

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna.

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up.

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth.

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.;

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first.

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so.

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell.

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.”

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out.

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.”

“But I need a keyboard.”

You ignore them and keep going.

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!”

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner.

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks.

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time.

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out.

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible?

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens.

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again?

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her.

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.”

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?”

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.

“Is it mom?” You whisper.

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.”

You make a face. What?

“Who...”

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion.

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.��

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening.

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks.

You glance at him again. You’re lost.

“Do I know you?” You grimace.

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--”

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--”

“Outside. Privately,” he says.

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book.

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.”

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be...

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head.

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers.

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #captain's orders #captain america #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers

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suzdin · 23 hours ago

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Home Is Wherever I’m With You

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After the tragic loss of your father and home, you find yourself at the mercy of a cold, detached stranger who holds your fate in his hands during a violent snowstorm.

Notes: okay fair warning, I started writing this when I was feeling extremely low, and finished it several weeks later when I was doing better, so if it seems disjointed and sloppily thrown together, that’s why! But I swear there’s a happy ending!

Warnings: ANGST!!! I cannot stress the amount of angst. Suicidal thoughts and ideation, especially at the beginning. Alcohol consumption. Main character deaths; all of them. Lots of depression and poor mental health, mostly with Joel. Angsty!Joel, asshole!Joel, soft!Joel, semi-dom!Joel, protective!Joel, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), face riding, unprotected p in v, creampie, biting/marking, pregnancy heavily hinted at, more angst

Word Count: 7,100+

dividers provided by: @saradika-graphics ❣️

Tags: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @berryispunk @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @natdeandar @guelyury @daddy-dins-girl

Joel crouches in front of the old cast iron stove, his knees groaning in protest as he stokes the embers within using an extra scrap of wood.

He doesn’t know why he’s going through the trouble. It isn’t like he’ll be around much longer. Maybe he just wants to feel warmth one last time before he does it. And this time, he won’t miss.

He’ll be cold soon enough anyway.

He gets the fire breathing again, closing the hatch and settling back into the old leather recliner in the corner, worn and cracking with age, much like himself.

He palms the neck on a bottle of bourbon, taking a hefty swig and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his face crinkling in rumination as he watches the flames dance behind slats of iron.

Sarah. Tess. Tommy. And then Ellie. He had failed each and every one of them; those he claimed to love, who he vowed to keep safe. He had let them down. He had let himself down.

He takes another pull on the bottle and sets it down heavily on the table next to him, replacing it with his Smith & Wesson, heavy digits curling around the grip.

He traces the scar on his temple with the point of his index finger, feeling the faint indentation in the flesh; a constant reminder of yet another failure.

He lowers his hand back to the revolver, finger circling the trigger guard, dark eyes downcast as he attempts to summon the strength to do what he needs to do. Again.

His hand tremors as he lifts the gun and presses the cold barrel to his temple, thumb cocking the hammer back with a hollow metallic clunk that resonates through his skull and soul.

“C’mon, Joel. Get yourself fucking together for once.”

His eyes close, nose scrunched in a deep scowl.

Just do it, Joel. Pull the fucking trigger.

The ball of his index finger curves around the bend of the trigger, twitching with indecision when the back door to the cabin abruptly flies open, temporarily snapping him out of his psychosis.

It’s just the wind. That’s all it is. A gust of wind from the incoming snowstorm.

He doesn’t move from his space on the recliner. The cold won’t matter in a few seconds anyway. He lifts the barrel to his temple again, aligning it just right…

The back door clicks shut. It wasn’t slammed, like the wind would have done had it been the culprit. It very audibly clicked. Like someone or something shut it themselves.

Immediately following the click, he hears the unmistakable scrape of boots on wood, the revolver lowering from offensive to defensive position.

No sooner do you get the door closed that you notice a faint flicker of light from the adjoining room, your heart beginning to thrum like a jackhammer in your chest. From the outside, in your weary state, the dilapidated old cabin looked abandoned as far as you could tell, realizing too late that it isn’t.

But now you’ve stumbled into someone’s den, and they could very well be armed and aiming to shoot. They could even be cannibals for all you know.

You could leave. You could just leave and pretend this never happened. But you haven’t seen any other shelters for miles… and the storm was only going to get worse.

“Who’s there?” a gruff male voice calls out from the other room, breaking through the stifling silence. You go stock still on instinct, your hackles bristled along your spine.

When you’re able to gather your bearings, you respond with your name, your vocal cords numb and strained from the cold.

“I mean no harm. I just need a place to sleep out of the storm. I promise to leave at first light,” you quickly add.

Joel stiffens when he hears a woman’s voice, his finger still circling the trigger guard as it had only moments before when the gun was trained on himself.

“Are you armed?”

“Just a small pistol and a jack knife. And I’m out of ammo,” you call back truthfully.

Everything is quiet for a moment aside from the crackle of flame and the howl of wind that rattles the windows and bends the outer wood. The silence between you and the unseen man feels like it stretches on for ages.

“Approach the door with your hands raised. An’ when I say, slide the gun and knife over to me.”

“Alright,” you reply quietly, approaching the ajar door in front of you, hands already skyward, kicking the door the rest of the way open with the toe of your boot.

You step forward two paces into the room, the scent of alcohol stinging your nostrils, your gaze settling on a haggard looking man in the furthest corner from you. His hair is wild and askew, eyes sunken in like a corpse, recognizing the hopeless glint behind them; no doubt a reflection of your own. A large pistol is clutched in his meaty fist, cocked and aimed.

“Gun first. Then the knife,” Joel says, his brow angled downward in a dark line, shading the even darker set of eyes.

You keep one hand in the air as the other reaches into the band of your jeans, removing the pistol and sliding it to him, stilling as it hits his boot.

He picks it up, discharging the clip to find that it is indeed empty, as you had claimed. He sets it next to the bourbon.

You slide the knife next, an average, run of the mill jack knife with a four inch blade. He inspects it, noticing a few remnants of blood still tarnishing the steel.

“Who’d you kill with this?”

“I used it to skin hares and squirrels.”

His face pinches with confusion, tilting his head at you like a dog hearing an unknown sound for the first time.

“Y’skinned hares and squirrels with a jack knife?” he questions doubtfully.

“It’s all I had,” you explain.

Joel eyes you warily. You’re definitely not dressed or equipped for this kind of weather. The only thing that seems to be keeping you warm is a thin hoodie, a regular set of jeans, and a pair of boots soaked through with snow.

He sighs. He isn’t going to kill himself with you here. He may not be the nicest or most caring man in the world, but he isn’t about to traumatize you. He’ll wait until you leave. You said you’d leave at first light.

In the meantime, he has to deal with someone being in his space, which he doesn’t exactly want to do, especially in his last hours. But he isn’t about sending you to your death, either. You probably have more to live for than he does.

“Here,” he says, kicking an old wicker chair toward you. “Your feet’re soaked. Take off your boots and warm your feet ‘fore you get frostbite.”

You lower your arms and take a cautious step forward, and then another, slowly sinking into the flimsy and rotten chair, bending to unlace and remove your boots.

You try to wiggle your toes but they won’t move, at least not yet. Joel watches with a scrutinizing glare, his hand still on the Smith & Wesson in his lap.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, pushing your boots aside.

“Ain’t important.”

You cast him a look but don’t press, scooting your sore and frozen feet closer to the stove, feeling yourself starting to slowly defrost.

You thank him for letting you stay.

He ignores your gratitude, dark browns drifting over your frame.

“Where’d you come from?” he asks.

“Ain’t important,” you counter, casting him another glance.

He leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees, pinning you with a deep scowl.

“I’m the one with the gun,” he chides in a deep timbre, his tone brooking no room for protest. “Guns,” he quickly amends.

Your eyes lock with his momentarily, assessing his conviction before deciding not to test it.

“A settlement near Billings.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

He leans back, his gaze unmoving, letting out a breath through his nose.

“An’ exactly what prompted you to run out into a snowstorm with just a hoodie and no supplies?” he asks.

You flinch as if he’d just backhanded you, averting your gaze. If you were looking, you might notice his face softening, if only just a hair.

“Raiders came into our settlement. My father… he gave me the pistol and distracted them while I snuck under a gap in the fence. I didn’t have time to grab anything else,” you tell him.

“And your dad?” Joel asks delicately.

“Didn’t make it out,” you reply grimly, your body beginning to tremor, a combination of repressed emotion and your muscles beginning to thaw.

Joel falls silent, absorbing your words as truth. He can’t find a reason that you would lie about something like that.

“I’m sorry,” he sympathizes, his voice gentling.

You bring your knees to your chest, your chin resting between them, arms wrapped around your shins.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice hardly above a whisper.

——

Your eyes snap open, realizing you must have drifted off at some point, finding yourself curled into a fetal position directly in front of the dying fire.

A blanket you’re sure wasn’t there before is wrapped around your frame. You’ve no idea where it came from, it’s a bit scratchy and smells funky, but what matters is it’s warm, subconsciously pulling it tighter around your shoulders when you feel a chilled breeze brush over you through the cracks in the wall.

“Mornin’,” Joel hums softly above you.

“Morning,” you echo, shifting as your eyes scan the room, the cabin just as dark and cloaked in shadow as when you arrived. You’re unsure how he knows what time of day it is, but you decide not to question it.

He’s in almost the exact position in the old recliner as the previous evening, his hand unmoving from the revolver still in his lap. You can’t help but wonder if he had any rest at all, not sure if him watching you sleep should be comforting or disconcerting.

You sit up with a stretch, your joints crackling like twigs as you work out the aches of not only having traveled this far on foot, but also sleeping on a hard wooden floor all night.

Better than freezing to death, you decide.

You scoot until your back is flush with the wall, leaning against it as you silently study Joel.

“Thank you for the blanket—“ you begin, but he quickly cuts you off with a hard glare, nudging your dried out boots to you with his foot.

“Boots’re dry. It’s morning. ‘bout time for you to leave,” he says, his voice low and rough.

It dawns on you that it’s still dark because the storm hasn’t lessened at all, banks of snow clogging the windows and doors, blocking out what little available sunlight there is.

Your brow knits together and you cast him a wary glance, bottom lip trembling.

“But it… it’s…”

“The deal was first light, darlin’, and I’ve given you plenty more than that.”

“Please… just… a few more hours? Until the storm dies down some?” you plead, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes, preemptively threatening to freeze your eyelids together.

He’s silent and contemplative for what you feel is longer than necessary, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.

He knows he should send you away, even if it means a certain death. He can’t have you here, swimming in his grief, prolonging the inevitable.

The other option, of course, is to shoot you and then himself, a swift and merciful death that you deserve far more than he does. His fist tightens around the butt of the revolver, an action that does not go unnoticed by you.

“No,” he says plainly.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you say, your voice cracking with emotion and desperation, shifting to your knees as you shuffle a few inches closer to his chair. He did give you a blanket, so there is a human being in there somewhere. “I can’t—“

“I can barely take care of myself, much less another person. Ain’t nothing you can offer me, nothing to barter with—“

“I’ll let you keep my gun and knife. Please. Just a few more hours…”

His jaw ticks again. Your odds are already low as is, but liberating you of your only means of defense, your only means of perhaps obtaining a meal, if only a meager squirrel or hare, would completely diminish any shred of a chance you have left.

He could give you his one and only jacket. Not that he’s going to need it after you leave, anyway.

“No,” he says again, more sternly than before.

His gaze is unmoving from yours, the slow, steady circling of his pointer finger on the edge of the trigger guard doing little to settle your nerves, the conflict apparent behind his dark eyes.

You know you don’t have much to offer. You’re not great at hunting. You’d exhausted your entire clip on what barely qualifies as a meal, leaving you with very little sustenance once the bullet had almost completely obliterated any viable meat.

You can’t fight or shoot worth a damn, either. Your father had tried to teach you in vain, his frustration with you growing to a fever pitch over the years, but it had never been your forte.

Because you never thought you’d have to live without him.

You can scout. Gather. Keep the cabin up, replace rotting boards and rusting nails, keep it clean and tidy. But not in this weather, and not for a few months yet.

So you default to the last thing you know how to do well. The only thing you know without a shadow of a doubt you’re good at, if any of the men at your settlement had anything to say about it before they perished.

You inch closer, your tired knees scraping against the dirty, splintered wood, hands trembling as you hesitantly reach toward his parted knees.

He anticipates more begging and pleading. Maybe a sob story or two.

What he doesn’t expect is for your hands to grab his belt, the meat of your palm ghosting over his crotch as you fumble to undo the worn rungs of leather.

His cock twitches instinctively and he can’t recall the last time a woman touched him like this. Made him feel anything but dead inside.

He moves with a sudden swiftness that surprises and startles both of you, the hand not currently on the revolver grabbing hold of your wrist like a striking serpent, his grip biting into your delicate bones so roughly you realize how effortless it would be for him to snap your wrist, should he feel so inclined.

He rises to his feet, dragging you with him and giving you a hard, reprimanding shake, teeth bared inches from your face.

It occurs to you seeing him fully upright like this just how tall, how imposing he is; worn, threadbare flannel stretched to its limits across broad shoulders and thick biceps.

“Christ, woman, the hell is wrong with you? What kind of man do you take me for?” he growls, a subtle twang piping up in his voice, his clenched fist releasing your wrist with a minor shove. You stumble backwards, catching yourself on the wall.

His nostrils flare, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, his eyes slipping shut as he tempers his simmering anger… and something else he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fuck,” he grunts, eyes slowly opening again, rough digits carding through his graying curls. “If it means that much to you… you stay until the snow stops, an’ not a second later,” he nearly spits in your face. “Got it?”

When you easily nod in agreement, he stalks out of the room with a huff, every heavy footfall vibrating beneath your feet, slamming the door shut between you, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, alone and unsure what to feel.

—

Joel goes into the now defunct bathroom, the traditional porcelain toilet that was maybe brand new decades ago currently unusable, the water in the tank and plumbing frozen solid, the pipes under the earth most likely cracked and warped.

He drops trow and leans forward with the flat of one palm against the wall, the other hand gripping himself.

He lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in, pissing into the cistern he had dug under the cabin two summers ago, a task only made more difficult by the partial erection he now has thanks to your — albeit brief — touch a few moments ago.

“Fuck, Joel,” he sighs as he empties his bladder, his cock only growing stiffer in his hand as he imagines how good your lips would have felt wrapped around him, what kind of pretty sounds you would have made for him.

“Fuck,” he grits again, cramming his painfully hard erection into his jeans when he’s done.

—

Hours turn to days, days to weeks, weeks to months — “until the snow melts an’ not a day later” — spring not far around the corner, the sun growing brighter and hotter in the sky with each passing day.

Joel’s suicidal ideations were still an ever present plague on his brain, though he kept that part of himself tucked neatly away, as he did most things that were personal and private. He never spoke of Sarah, Ellie, anyone. Never talked about his life before Outbreak.

In turn, you never talked about yours either, aside from what you’d told him the first night, too frightened that you might scare him away simply by opening up, by trying to stitch together what little relationship you had with one another.

The more time you spent with him, the more of a burden you began to feel. It didn’t matter how much you helped out, even if you kept a respectful distance between you, especially when he seemed extra bristly or in his head that day. He was always skulking about, his face pinched in indignation in what you were certain was unspoken hatred for you and your existence.

It was early morning and you were at the edge of the valley, the spot near the treeline that was choked with underbrush, gathering pathetically small handfuls of wild strawberries and huckleberries that were just beginning to fruit. Definitely not enough to have much impact on your aching bellies, but it could be supplemental to whatever protein Joel could scrounge up, which hadn’t been much as of late.

You wipe a fresh layer of sweat from your brow despite the air still being bitterly cold, collecting what meager pittance of berries you can, sucking in a breath of air as you steeled your nerves to head back to the cabin.

—

Joel’s door is still closed when you return. Not surprising, considering how early you’d gotten up that morning, Joel likely still exhausted and aching from the ineffectual hunting trip the previous day.

You place the berries into a bowl on the counter, your fingers curling into the peeling linoleum as you stare out the window that overlooks the southern end of the valley, sun cresting through the twisted and gnarled branches of still-bare trees.

You’ve been milling around the idea of leaving for weeks now. You’ve come close to doing so several times, knowing it would make Joel happy to not have you on his mind or in his space anymore.

Your hand hovers near the hunting rifle slanted against the wall, ultimately deciding against it as you tuck your pistol and knife into your pants, tossing half of the berries into a bag and shrugging on the jacket Joel had found for you on a hunting trip.

You take a final glance at his door before sucking in another sharp breath, opening and closing the back door for what you assume to be the last time.

—

Joel hears you return only to leave again a few minutes later. He thinks little of it, something you do frequently throughout the day when foraging or inspecting snares.

He wishes he could express his gratitude to you, thank you for how much you help out. How much you’ve improved his life just by being here. It kills him to see how you shrink away every time he enters the room, but he understands why. He hasn’t given you a reason not to.

Once he’s sure you’re out of earshot, he resumes pumping himself, hips bucking into his fist seconds before spurting hot ribbons of come onto his lower abdomen, eyes rolling back in his skull, your name a curse on his tongue as he imagines your mouth working him over in place of his fist.

As much as he’s wanted to touch you, sink himself into you every night, he’s been too afraid. Afraid to even speak to you, afraid of becoming attached only to lose you, like he’s lost all the others.

—

When you don’t return by mid day, he begins to worry.

He tries not to. He tries to tell himself maybe you decided to forage a little longer than usual, or maybe you’re at the river searching for freshwater clams since the weather is slowly beginning to warm.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That something is wrong.

He finds the bowl of fresh berries on the counter, evident that you had been foraging at least part of the day. But it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t good enough for him.

When you don’t return by nightfall, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that something is wrong.

This isn’t you.

—

Two days pass and you realize just how badly you fucked up.

The berries barely made a dent in your hunger and the only other food you managed to find were a few wild mushrooms that you’re pretty sure weren’t the edible kind, if the half gallon of resulting vomit an hour later was any sort of indication.

You fucked up. You fucked up royally and you miss the cabin. You miss the warm stove and the bed Joel made for you close to the fire. You miss how he always kept you fed and protected, even if you’re certain he hates you.

You miss Joel. You miss his grunts, you miss the way his face pinches when he glowers. You miss what he looks like when he chews, almost like he’s angry at his food somehow. You miss his smell when he comes home covered in grime and sweat from a full day of hunting.

Dusk has fallen on your second day without food or water, your bones feeling like powder and your muscles like jelly. You’re exhausted, head pounding with a combination of fatigue and hunger as you take shelter from the wind in a small outcropping of rocks, wishing he was here with you.

You’ll go back tomorrow, you decide.

—

Joel watches the sun sink behind the horizon of trees, cloaking the surrounding forest in near darkness.

He knows he should stop to rest for the night. Like you, he left in a rush without grabbing much in way of supplies or sustenance, but had been lucky to graze a buck that he was passively tracking while searching for you. He’ll likely find it soon.

He periodically came across fresh deer imprints in the earth, clean tracks slowly changing to drag marks, indicating the buck was either dead or close to death.

But you were constantly at the forefront of his mind. You were his focus. His reason to keep going. His reason for continuing to live.

And when he finds a perfect indentation of your left boot moments before the sun lowers completely from the sky, he knows he can’t afford to stop now.

—

It’s still dark when you wake up, your eyes coming into focus along the faint edges of what you can see, which isn’t much. Some rocks. Some trees.

You shift, rolling to your opposite side to go back to sleep, tucking your hands under your cheek as a makeshift pillow. A breeze blows over you, made stronger by the funnel of rocks, and you shiver, pulling your jacket tighter.

Snap.

Your eyes fly open again, immediately jumping to your haunches as you palm the pistol next to you.

You train your ears toward the source of the sound, somewhere in the trees, listening intently, your mind on shuffle with all the possibilities of what it could be.

It didn’t sound large enough to be a bear. A puma, perhaps, one who didn’t seem to be hunting you, hopefully, due to how loud the sound was.

Infected? A slim possibility. Rare up here, but not unheard of, which left you with the most likely option: it was human.

You attempt to still your breath, your fist white knuckled around the butt of the gun. It’s too dark to see anything, and all you hear is the soft whistle of the wind.

—

Joel registers the sound of you shifting from somewhere up the incline above him, limbs turning to stone as his mind cycles through all the same scenarios as you.

He lost your tracks halfway through the night, finding himself going in circles, so it’s quite possible it’s not you he’s just stumbled upon.

He slowly removes the rifle from his shoulder, lifting it to half mast in case whomever he’s stumbled across is hostile… or infected.

“I’m armed!” he calls out, lifting the rifle to a defensive position with the butt pressed to his shoulder. “I have no beef with you if you have none with me,” he adds.

You swear your heart stops, tears suddenly stinging your eyes with salt.

“J-Joel?” you whimper, almost imperceptible, but it’s just loud enough.

Joel can only react, unthinking, responding on muscle memory alone as he somehow manages to traverse the steep, rocky incline in seconds without eating it.

You jump upright to your feet, despite how weak you are, and before your brain even has a chance to tell your legs to move, you’re struck by a wall of muscle, thick arms coiling around you and pulling you against his chest.

“Thank god, thank god,” Joel sobs into your hair as he drags you down to the ground with him, his voice softer than you can ever remember, the wetness of his tears soaking through your shirt. “I thought I’d lost you…” he whispers, his voice wavering.

He inhales your scent deeply, his hold on you nearly painful, but you don’t mind, your face against his chest as your own tears start to fall.

—

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmurs softly as you’re walking back the following day, glancing over at you, dark brown eyes gently regarding your side profile in the early morning light. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t care. I just…”

“I know,” you respond, pausing to collect your breath and your thoughts. “I know why you did it. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I scared you…”

“Hey,” he says, gently cupping your jaw as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, calloused thumb tracing your jawbone, pausing at your bottom lip. “S’okay.”

Your lips pucker, impervious to stop yourself from planting a small kiss to the pad of his thumb as it brushes your lip.

He lets out a low breath, his hand snaking around to the nape of your neck, fingers lacing through your hair as he tugs you closer, lips crashing against yours in a passionate, heated kiss that flows trembling from him with every fiber of withheld emotion and desire.

—

You arrive at the cabin half a day later, impressed but not surprised by how swiftly Joel was able to navigate both of you back safely.

He even successfully locates the downed buck, stiff with rigor mortis and cold, half chewed by a pack of wolves that scatter with a single rifle shot fired over their heads, the large animal now dragging listlessly behind Joel as you finally break through the barrier of trees encasing the valley where the cabin resides.

Smoke still curls from the chimney, fire long gone but embers undoubtedly still hot, and you find yourself smiling. With relief, with anticipation.

You’re exhausted, famished and dirty. Yet you still assist Joel in stringing up what’s left of the buck to the outside of the cabin until he can properly butcher it, feeling obligated to do so after everything that’s happened, despite his protests.

Once the task is complete, you retire to the warmth and comfort of the cabin, curled against his chest, feeling at home for the first time in months.

His fingers idly trace the bow of your spine, both of you falling into a fast sleep for what feels like days on end.

—

“I was so goddamn stupid,” Joel growls softly as his lips chart a path down your soft inner thighs, finding himself grinding his hips into the mattress for relief. “So goddamn stupid an’ bullheaded, an’ I almost lost you for it.”

Your spine arcs instinctually when his breath ghosts tauntingly close to your soaked folds, your fists finding his graying locks with a tug.

“Joel, stop talking and make it up to me,” you whine, earning a disapproving glance from between your legs, but there’s an undercurrent of playfulness behind his eyes.

“Make it up to you, huh?” he purrs, separating your folds and inhaling your natural scent. “By tastin’ this perfect little pussy?”

“Yes,” you whine again, writhing like a worm cooking under the sun in his grasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Uh uh,” he scolds, moving further away from where you’re desperate for him. “Ask nicely.”

His lip curves almost imperceptibly into a sly smirk, his gaze growing a shade darker.

“Please, Joel,” you amend, still wiggling, almost involuntary at this point, his fingers digging into your hips as he pins you against the bed.

“Please what?”

“Please, I need to feel your mouth on my pussy,” you whimper.

His nostrils flare, smirk growing just enough for you to realize you weren’t just seeing things.

He doesn’t waste another second as he dives in with a low, reverberative growl and begins feasting on you like a man starved, his meaty forearm barred across your hip to hold you in place so he can eat you out properly.

His tongue parts your folds, licking a broad stripe up your seam with a groan as he tastes your essence for the first time, moving back down to your opening to tongue fuck you, the ridge of his nose grinding deliciously against your throbbing clit.

You tug harder against his strands with a moan, helping to guide him where you need him most.

Joel grunts your name into your core, eyes locking with yours over your mound, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart right then and there.

He abruptly pulls his mouth from you, making you whine in protest, another smirk notching the corner of his lips as he rolls onto his back, rigid cock swaying slightly with the motion of his hips.

“Get on my face, baby, I need to get deeper,” he says, grabbing your wrist and gesturing you closer.

You don’t even have to give it another thought, scrambling over him, folded knees planted on either side of his head.

He yanks you down abruptly to his waiting and eager mouth before you’re halfway settled, tongue curling into your wet heat with a deep groan that vibrates straight through you.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, directing your movements, grinding you against his face as he continues to feast on you like you’re nothing less of a five star meal.

Your hands furl the edge of the headboard, spine arching, and it doesn’t take much longer in this position to be sent over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you like a bolt of lightning, Joel’s name a sacred prayer on your tongue as everything inside of you completely uncoils.

He keeps you there long enough to let you ride out your high, tongue still laving at your spasming walls until it’s too much for you to handle.

You shift off of him, his facial hair glistening with evidence of your release as he pulls you down into a rough, needy kiss, letting you taste yourself, flipping you over and pinning you beneath him, arms caged around your head as he grinds his hardness against you.

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about you like this,” Joel confesses, nipping at your jaw, then your bottom lip. “How you would feel. How you would taste.” He kisses down to your collarbone, his teeth gently grazing.

“And you have no idea how many times I touched myself thinking about you,” you confess in reply, Joel’s head lifting to meet your eyes at your admission. “I had to bite my lip every night to keep from moaning your name...”

“Fuck…” he growls, settling his pelvis between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, lifting one to prop against his shoulder.

“You make me feel things I haven’t felt in years,” he rumbles, giving himself a few firm pumps before notching himself at your entrance. “Y’want me to go fast or slow, darlin’?”

A warmth spreads through your chest at the simple act of him asking, knowing it isn’t just mindless sex to him, that he actually cares, if that wasn’t already obvious from how enthusiastically he just ate you out.

“Slow, then hard and fast,” you tell him, earning another deep rumble as he starts to push himself inside of you, fat head stretching your walls.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he says softly as he steadily gains ground, his hips shuddering with restraint once he bottoms out, sheathing himself fully. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re strangling me,” he grunts. “I don’t know how long I can last...”

The pain of withholding in his voice is palpable.

“Joel, you just made me come super hard,” you tell him. “Don’t hold yourself back just for me.”

His bottom lip juts out and quivers with the thin veil of control he still has, fingertips digging into your hips, crescent moon shapes left behind in your skin.

“Y’sure?” he asks, internal conflict evident in his voice as he rolls his hips half a thrust forward. “‘cause soon as I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back…”

“I’m sure,” you reassure him, letting him hear the conviction in your voice.

He takes in a steadying breath and gently gyrates his hips forward once, twice, his head tilting down to watch the way he disappears inside of you.

It must be the way you’re taking him so well — or maybe it’s the months of not allowing himself to touch you — the thin thread of restraint suddenly fraying after the initial soft, testing thrusts, a barely audible ‘fuck’ escaping his lips seconds before he begins railing into you with everything a man of his age has to give… which is a lot.

Joel’s hand is on your calf, holding your leg flush to his chest, the other on your hip in a bruising hold, watching the way your body sways in rhythm with his motions, teeth bared in concentration.

“Darlin’… I’m… I… where do you want it?” he pants, the question almost sounding pained.

You know you should make him pull out and finish on your stomach. Contraceptives are a rare luxury these days and you’d always made your previous boyfriends pull out. But you can’t stop yourself, the permission spilling from your lips thoughtlessly.

“In… inside…” you whimper in desperation and Joel doesn’t even think to question it.

He collapses on top of you, his hips sputtering and shaking, a deep, guttural snarl sounding from his chest as he spills into you, filling you to the brim with hot jets of spend.

Despite not coming a second time, the sensation of him shooting inside of you still feels good, his warmth filling every crevice it can reach inside of you.

He buries his face against your neck, gingerly taking some of your flesh between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to leave a faint impression.

His hips gradually slow and still, your name a reverent curse on his tongue.

“Christ,” he pants, wrapping you snugly in his burly arms. “Christ, darlin’.”

—

Spring finally reaches the valley, replenishing the land with color and sunlight, allowing you and Joel to wander out further and further every day.

He tells you he wants to find something nicer than the cabin. Somewhere larger, more permanent, even though you’ve told him time and again that you’d prefer to stay.

And you do, for a spell.

That is until you find your body growing more sensitive than usual. Until you find it increasingly difficult to keep some of your meals down, trying to convince Joel it’s nothing, that it’s just a summer cold, when you both know it’s not.

Joel dotes on you, burdens himself over you, knowing exactly what it is without wanting to say it. All the signs are there, almost textbook, unable to keep his memories from drifting back to the days before Sarah was born, how her mother’s symptoms were damn near identical.

He doesn’t dare tell you how scared he is, how much this terrifies him all the the way to his bone marrow, but you know. You see it in his gaze when he looks at you, feel it in his touch when he pulls you against him at night.

—

You’re on a scouting run one warm summer day, Joel hardly more than two feet from you at any given moment, so many unspoken words and feelings still hanging in the air between you.

He reaches for your arm to steady you when your feet slide on a patch of loose rocks, his palm instinctively moving to protect your stomach. You’re almost sure he wasn’t even aware he did it.

“Joel,” you say, placing your hand over his. “I’m alright.”

His brow furrows, silence speaking louder than any words he could say.

He’s reverted into his headspace again, more quiet these last few days than he has been. And it worries you. You hate that he bottles everything up, but you know that confrontation could make him shut down even more.

You begin walking again, his hand absently resting on the small of your back, and you continue down the path in stagnant silence.

Suddenly, Joel stops, eyes squinting to confirm what he’s seeing is real.

A neighborhood.

—

The neighborhood would have been considered a new development before the world went to shit, most of the lots bare and choked with two decades worth of weeds, some houses half built and some finished but likely vacant at the time.

There are only a few that look to have been potentially occupied before everything, three larger homes next to one another in a cul-de-sac at the end of unmanaged, cracked pavement.

There’s not much of interest in the first few homes you inspect, watching the way Joel silently scrutinizes everything as a potential future dwelling, not a single corner left unchecked, his latent instincts as a contractor still well ingrained in him despite the expanse of time.

By mid day, you’re both sweating profusely, Joel moreso than you since he isn’t letting you do much, forcing you to put food and water in your body, brooking no argument when he gives you his ration as well.

He knows you should head back soon before you’re out too late, but there’s still one house left to search and he doesn’t want to make the trip a second time if it isn’t worth the trouble.

The largest house, a two story spruce green craftsman with gray trim, his heart aching with nostalgia at how much it reminds him of his former home in Austin.

You start the same route as with the other houses; from the top, room by room, working your way down, your anxiety growing the lower the sun dips in the sky, knowing you only have a couple hours at best before it’s too late to leave.

The main floors scoured, you follow Joel to the basement, your hands on his shoulders for stability as you slowly work your way down the creaking stairs, your eyes adjusting to the shadows the deeper you travel.

When you’ve reached the bottom, Joel pulls out his flashlight, hitting it against his palm a few times before it flickers to life, the thin beam of light reflecting off the freshly disturbed dust.

You cover your nose and mouth with your shirt to keep out some of the flying particles, watching as Joel stumbles upon a stack of neatly piled and labeled storage totes in the furthest corner from the stairs, adrenaline beginning to course through him like a drug as he reads the faded sharpie scrawled on the sides.

“‘Canned goods and preserves’,” Joel says quietly, his voice higher in pitch than usual, more hopeful. There’s at least four totes labeled canned goods that you can see, possibly more, dates ranging from anywhere from late 2000 to summer of 2003.

He moves slightly to the right, his body tremoring as he examines the next set of totes.

Multiple totes labeled MREs, dated around the same range as the canned goods. He rips the top off of a few of them open to confirm that his eyes aren’t deceiving him, that this isn’t a cruel dream, nearly doubling over when he sees just how real it is.

“Joel?” you ask, concerned, stepping nearer to him when you see him trembling and clutching his chest. “Baby ..?”

He suddenly turns and throws his arms around you, and it dawns on you that he’s crying, he’s crying and trembling, eyes full of happy tears.

“A fucking prepper. A fucking prepper just saved our lives,” he whimpers into your hair, squeezing you against him, and all he can think in that moment is thank fuck for those crazy assholes. Thank fuck for people like Bill.

—

In the weeks that follow, you and Joel clean and repair the house — Joel doing most of the work, per his insistence — but it’s in surprisingly good shape despite its age and lack of upkeep, and even with just the two of you, it doesn’t take as long as you’d expected.

You can’t help but miss the cabin, the natural beauty of the valley. But Joel was right to move you. It’s safer here, more insulated from weather, more space to grow. And perhaps, one day, the cabin can be someone else’s salvation, as it had been for you.

Another night falls on one of the final lingering days of summer, barely able to see the shine of Joel’s eyes in the dim light as he climbs over you, parting your legs with his knee, rumbling low in his chest as he peppers kisses and bites down the column of your neck.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #angst with a happy ending #smut

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angelshipper · 3 days ago

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I never said any of that? I explicitly said I don't ship Tim and Steph that much in the tags. And it didn't "fizzle out years before". They just announced they broke up basically right after Tim came out as bi, with little actual explanation at the time, which imo is a disservice to the characters. I am not critiquing DC or even fandom for focusing on Tim & Bernards relationship. Thats the nature of fanworks, they tend to get shippy and they tend to be focused on the ship. And obv if they’re going to be in a comic together the focus will be on his current relationship, I never said anything about that either.

I never said they should get back together, either, and most of my post wasn't about canon at all. It was about fandom and how most people dismiss their relationship, and I had very little to say about canon aside from 1 line saying they should have handled their break-up better. I was saying that the explicit act of erasing his PAST relationships with women is dismissing his bisexuality, not his current relationship with a man. My question to you was how is it comphet if he’s romantically and sexually attracted to her.

I don't ship timbern or timsteph, I barely even like Tim as a character. I'm bad at explaining things, so just summarizing my thoughts-

My intention was, as follows: Saying Tim was NEVER attracted to women, dismissing his past relationships with women and saying they weren't "real", and acting like the most consistent romantic relationship he had since the 90's isn't important to him because it was with a woman, that's what I thought came off as dismissing that being bi means being attracted to 2 genders, and that includes the opposite gender. In fandom spaces (and even in comics too sometimes), when Tim’s past relationships with women are brought up, they’re implied to be “lesser” than his relationship with a man.

I don’t ship Timsteph beyond seeing the pairing as cute. I don’t look for content of it, just if it comes up in my feed I’m not exactly mad about it. I legitimately don’t see where you got the idea that I wanted them to be canon again because I don’t. I honestly could not care either way.

Does anyone else dislike it when people dismiss Tim and Stephanie's relationship. Like on the one hand, I get part of it is a joke, and that people are just being lighthearted. But on the other idk. Part of it feels like they're just erasing Tim's bisexuality, and the fact that he is not solely attracted to men, but I also feel like it complete diminishes just how much Tim and Steph meant to eachother. Thats not even talking about how poorly DC handled their break up.

#just where did you get the idea I want them to be canon again?#I'm not saying they have to mention his past relationships obviously #But they do come up #and when they do #they tend to get dismissed #or implied to be less important #sorry for the long post i wanted to make sure i didnt get misunderstood again TvT

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jinwoosbabyboo · 2 days ago

Text

Daddy’s Home - Husband Rafayel pt. 2

Random posts on the TL w/ husband Rafayel and your twins ft the aunties pt. 1

misshuntermc

��️ liked by seagod_raf_, simonesays, liiisa_ and 67k others

misshuntermc: He won't stop climbing into the drivers seat

tagged: seagod_raf_

comments

seagod_raf_: Little mans chauffeur when?

↳ misshuntermc: Nooooo Im not ready for him to grow up

liiisa_: This little boy got more drip than me

↳ seagod_raf_: Im his dad of course he has style ↳ liiisa_: MC you picked out a cute outfit ↳ misshuntermc: Thank you ☺️ ↳ seagod_raf_: 🙃

thomas.thomas: His fathers menace tendencies are showing

↳ simonesays: Lord help us all if he ends up like his daddy ↳ seagod_raf_: 🤨🤨

seagod_raf_

♥️ liked by misshuntermc, thomas.thomas, simonesays and 88k others

seagod_raf_: “I can’t see fucking shit outta this thang”

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: If she trips and falls I will drop kick you through the floor

↳ seagod_raf_: Actually trips and falls build character 🤓☝🏼 ↳ simonesays: girl do you need backup?? ↳ liiisa_: I’ll go to war over my niece ↳ talkthat_tara: We ride at dawn

thomas.thomas: Are those my sunglasses

↳ seagod_raf_: I can't see fuckin shit 🫣

misshuntermc

♥️ liked by seagod_raf_, imjenna, nene.nero and 79k others

misshuntermc: Nothing feels better than this

tagged: seagod_raf_

comments

seagod_raf_: Your son stepped on my left nut when he tried getting back to you

↳ misshuntermc: OUR son ↳ seagod_raf_: Once I get the feeling back I'll claim him again

talkthat_tara: I’m sorry the pic is cute but Raf getting his nuts stomped is taking me out 🤣🤣

↳ liiisa_: SAME 😭 ↳ simonesays: No fr I can’t even focus on the picture 🤣 ↳ seagod_raf_: I’ve reported all your accounts for harassment

thomas.thomas: wasn’t he supposed to be sculpting today?

↳ misshuntermc: he said he needed “inspiration” ↳ thomas.thomas: I hope you can hear me sighing right now 😒

misshuntermc

♥️ liked by seagod_raf_, simonesays, imjenna and 77k others

misshuntermc: She’s showing her Lemurian colors

tagged: seagod_raf_

comments

seagod_raf_: Her scales are starting to show I'm so proud

↳ misshuntermc: 😘

liiisa_: I promise I be forgetting you guys can breathe underwater I almost had a heart attack when babygirl didn’t come up for 3 minutes

↳ simonesays: “Aunty why can’t you stay underwater with me?” Baby Aunty is human 😕 ↳ talkthat_tara: No fr she wanted to have a tea party in the pool like honeybee I will die ↳ seagod_raf_: Must suck being only an air breather 🤭 ↳ misshuntermc: Don’t be rude to my friends ↳ seagod_raf_: Yes ma’am ._.

#love and deepspace #lnds #lads #l&ds #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel fluff #lads smau #nikaaaaimagine

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idliketochill · 15 hours ago

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Charms (+ con restock) are in yahoooooo

#fate go #fate grand order #fgo #honkai star rail #limbus company #arknights #original character #yeahhhh I’m not tagging them all #just an update post tbh #acrylic charms

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 days ago

Note

idk how but i saw your caleb fic on ao3 and your note about caleb and incest and… i have some mixed feelings.

dumbing caleb’s character down to him just being in an incest trope is kinda wild? he’s definitely more than that. and as a black reader it would be hard to imagine that we would be blood relatives. your whole note just comes off very close minded and exclusionary in that regard.

this isn’t at all to knock incest at all btw but yeah

💀💀💀 i don’t think this is bait so im going to try to answer this in good faith but im also not sure what to say to this ask

“dumbing down caleb’s character to an incest trope,” i don’t think you are correctly identifying what the trope in caleb’s romance is but it’s not incest itself. incest is a theme in caleb’s romance, that has narrative purpose. the familial relationship is integral to caleb’s character and his view of mc. caleb experiences cultural values of being the oldest son in his sense of duty and responsibility towards mc - and this, externally, conflicts with his romantic affection and desire for her.

their relationship exists primarily as brother and sister. but the romantic and sexual aspect is also there, which would make it incestuous. this to me, is not up for discussion. i’m assuming you did not read the fic, merely looked at the tags and presence of sexually explicitly content and assumed what is actually being discussed in the text without actually reading it

additionally, i put in the tags and also in writing that caleb and mc are adoptive siblings. which would negate mcs race being relevant in the first place ? they are also, again, canonly adoptive siblings in the game - stated in every language except en localization which deliberately scrubs the evidence of this. i state in my authors note i base my caleb on the cn translations

all of my mcs are race neutral because i am not white but south asian. describing my work as exclusionary when i explicitly write to make sure my readers don’t include any number of visual descriptiors is insulting.

i think it would be more honest if you did just say you did not like incest and did not want to read it. that’s your prerogative. it’s not responsibility to monitor what you do or don’t read though

#return to sender #incest cw #diss course

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kaisentine · 2 days ago

Text

── 𝑇ℋ𝓔 ℒ𝓐𝓝𝓖𝓤𝓐𝓖𝓔𝓢 𝓞ℱ ℒ𝓞𝓥𝓔 : the end of cupid’s bow!

ྀ۪۪۪ 𓈒 ─ 𝒯o start things off, i just wanna thank you guys for 200 followers! it’s been a little over 2 weeks since i reached 100 and i’m happy to add another hundred of you guys to that! for this milestone, i present to you the languages of love with the bllk boys! this is also in honor of valentines day . . .

𝓉his is a masterlist event ( honestly it’s more like a 200 follower special IDK ) where i write certain blue lock boys in the face of the 5 different types of love languages! they are multi-character works. they have no set release dates but hopefully i’ll be able to post them all before march 14 ( no promises! i’m a student guys have mercy . . . ) ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა lmk if you want to be tagged! tw : michael kaiser and itoshi sae are everywhere. edit : they aren’t going to be posted in order :’)

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙞 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ₊˚ෆ. physical touch

── there isn’t anything more romantic than physical touch! the question is : how does he like to do it? ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, oliver aiku

𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾’𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ! ♡

𝙞𝙛 𝙖 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩, 𝙘𝙖𝙣’𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪? ₊˚ෆ. acts of service

── he’s such a gentleman, isn’t he? maybe or maybe not . . . let’s rate how much of a gentleman he really is! ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo, oliver aiku

𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓇𝑒 ♡

𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝? ₊˚ෆ. words of affirmation

── he’s not quite good with his words but you are . . . maybe he’ll take your personal lessons this time and put it to good use! ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei

𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒, 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 ˙◠˙ ♡

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨, 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮! ₊˚ෆ. gift giving

── there’s no price for a gift if you’re getting it for someone you love—he really fucking loves you. ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, oliver aiku

𝒾 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒾 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 ♡

𝙞 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙞 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ₊˚ෆ. quality time

── just for now, you and him are the only people in the world. ft. micheal kaiser, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, oliver aiku

𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒 ♡

#ᥫ᭡ office #ᥫ᭡ end of cupid’s bow #LETS NOT TALK ABT HOW LATE I POSTED THIS #mb if it isnt valentines anymore #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader

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adieutristana · 4 hours ago

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Hey :3

could you please write arcane women with a chronically ill user? Especially a FAINTING CONDITION, I have one and I would love to see how would they react and take care!!

of course! thank you for the request <3

disclaimer that i do not have any experience with this kind of condition. i did some research and did my best to portray them accurately, but as always, i’m open to feedback.

summary; headcanons of arcane women and fem!reader with a fainting condition.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn

tags/warnings; hurt/comfort, fluff, chronically ill!reader, mentions of fainting (duh), medical talk

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* the first time it happened, jinx was in absolute shock. one second you were upright, talking to her about your latest endeavors. the next second, you looked a bit out if it, like your vision was starting to blur and you were becoming disconnected from reality. the next second, your body was going limp, and jinx was scrambling to catch you.

✧.* it'd be an understatement to say that she was panicking. she's shaking you, yelling at you, trying to manipulate you into a sitting position so she can try and figure out what's wrong. she got so desperate that she ended up pouring some cold water over your face, and that was what brought you back to consciousness.

✧.* she's bombarding you with questions as soon as she sees your eyes begin to blink open.

✧.* "what happened, toots?!" she'd ask, or, "you went all... blank, then nothing. what's that about?"

✧.* she can come off as a bit blunt with her questions, but she doesn't mean anything by it. jinx is just a girl with little to no filter- she genuinely is concerned.

✧.* you take a few moments to come back to your senses, all the while jinx is sat next to you with a hand gripping your knee, tight. it's both for you and herself, for jinx to reassure herself that you're here, you're alive, and you're (hopefully) okay.

✧.* once you're in a sound state, you explain to jinx that you have a fainting condition. you'd meant to tell her earlier, but it kept slipping your mind, until you'd actually fainted. you reassure her that it's nothing life-threatening, nothing that'll put you in danger (in most situations).

✧.* jinx still worries, of course she does. she worries about you when you're just going to the convenience store to grab water bottles, so her anxiety when you tell her about your condition is off the charts. regardless, she tries to hone it in and trust your word. you've lived with it for years, and you know your own health better than she does.

✧.* after the first conversation, jinx doesn't bring it up often. of course she'll talk about your condition if you're the one to mention it, but she doesn't want you to feel like she's treating you any differently.

✧.* tries to distract you with colorful smoke bombs, affection, and jokes after you regain consciousness most of the time. peppering your face in purposely wet and rushed kisses in an attempt to see you smile. she knows it'll take you some time to come to, but she wants you to be in good spirits when you do! jinx hates a lot of things, but none quite as much as seeing you unhappy or in distress.

✧.* but she keeps both her hideout and her bags stashed with things that'll help in case of another fainting spell. if there's one thing that jinx is, it's observant. she knows every one of your habits, your little quirks. she could write a damn novel full of things about you that you haven't even noticed about yourself.

✧.* and if she notices those telltale signs- your eyes beginning to cloud, starting to space out, losing your balance, she's on it. water is a given, she'll also usher you to sit or lie down so that you can focus on your breathing. if it's bad enough, jinx will try to guide you through some breathing exercises, even though she doesn't have a clue what she's doing. she's trying her best :(

✧.* "you're lookin' all... far away again. sit down, toots, breathe." she'd say, her face getting impossibly close to yours, thick brows furrowed.

✧.* does as much research as possible! there's not much that frustrates jinx than not being able to understand something. these things are like a puzzle to her in a way. she wants to be able to analyze, understand, and help. she knows there's really nothing she can do to prevent fainting spells, as much as she wishes she could. regardless, helping you through them becomes one of her most important self-appointed duties.

✧.* if she sees you standing for a bit too long, your girlfriend would make sure to ask you to take a little break. she doesn't want you to start getting lightheaded and have another spell when it might be preventable

✧.* jinx would also make sure that you're not close to any hard surfaces or corners if she notices you right on the brink of fainting. the last thing that she needs is you to hit your head on the corner of a table.

✧.* "hey- hey! get away from there," a jumbled mess of words, before wrapping her arms around your waist, slowly pulling you away from near a hard counter and supporting your fall.

✧.* she becomes pretty good pretty quick! it just gave her a scare at first is all :(

vi;

✧.* it was one of the first things you'd told vi when you first began dating- that you have a fainting condition. you faint from time to time, there's signs, and you can't control it. it happens, and it's bound to worry her, but you're okay.

✧.* she'd hear you and listen to you, vi always does. but i don't think the magnitude of your words would really sink in until the first time she witnessed a fainting spell of yours, and she was in shock.

✧.* she was utterly panicked. holding you across her lap, checking your pulse at both your wrist and neck, shaking you, trying to talk to you, anything.

✧.* it seems fruitless, and vi can feel tears beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. she didn't realize the sheer depth of what you'd said until now, and the girl is internally beating herself up for it. you told her you had a fainting condition, of course you'd faint! how could she have not been prepared?

✧.* but eventually, you do start to regain consciousness. she immediately holds you close to her chest, whispering quiet and rushed 'ohthankjanna's and 'you're okay, aren't you? please tell me you're okay.'

✧.* it takes a moment for you to return back to consciousness, weary eyes looking up at vi. you can only slowly nod. it's not much of an answer, but it's satisfactory for vi- letting her know that you hear her and you're alright.

✧.* "i'm so sorry i wasn't prepared, you told me and i still-" "vi, love, stop. it's fine, i'm fine."

✧.* she makes sure that she's prepared for next time. she doesn't want to make you feel as if you're delicate, like you can't take care of yourself. vi knows you're more than capable, but still, she's your girlfriend and she wants to look out for you.

✧.* she asks you to describe everything to her- how you know it’s getting bad, what works to help you both before and after the fact. it’s vi trying to understand exactly what you need, rather than simply assuming.

✧.* after those conversations, your girlfriend does grow to recognize the signs and symptoms you have rather quickly. the moment she sees you start to look a little out of it, she’s pulling you away from anything you could fall onto, coaxing you to lay down or sit down with your head between your knees.

✧.* “hey, hey. sit down, okay? i’ve got ya, cupcake,” she’d whisper, her hand rubbing gentle circles into the small of your back. she’d press light kisses to your temple, plump lips a reminder of her presence and affections.

✧.* there’s always a few water bottles in her bag just in case though, and some snacks (your favorites, too) whenever she feels you may need them.

✧.* while vi did freak out after the first fainting spell you had, she learns to manage them soon after. now that you’ve talked to her and she knows what to expect, she can rest assured that you’re alright and you’ll come to with a bit of time and support.

✧.* once you do regain consciousness, she doesn’t make a big deal of it. VERY affectionate, though. she’s just so happy that you’re doing alright, she can’t help it… chaste kisses to your lips and tight embraces when she notices your light grumbles and your eyes fluttering open.

✧.* if you were having a conversation before fainting, she’d wait out the episode, then continue the discussion like nothing had happened. while vi absolutely worries, she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or feel like she’s only focusing on what happened. unless you want to talk about it of course!

✧.* “you’re okay, right?” “mhm… just a little hiccup,” you’d murmur. “right. where were we?”

mel;

✧.* mel has seen people faint several times in her life and career, but i’d imagine you’re the first person she’s met with a fainting condition.

✧.* mel is a stellar listener, though. once you inform her of your condition, your symptoms, how it affects your daily life and how you navigate it, she’s taken everything to heart. mel may not fully understand, but she wants to try the best that she can.

✧.* asks a lot of questions. your girlfriend isn’t trying to interrogate you or pry any information from you, instead just trying to grasp your condition better. trying to prepare for the inevitable fainting spells you have and know exactly how to handle them. questions like ‘how do you know one is upon you?,’ or ‘what do you think helps best, when it’s said and done?’

✧.* so the first time that she’d witnessed an episode, mel knew exactly what to do. she saw the undeniable signs; the far-off look, the light sheen of sweat, the way you were ever so slightly off-balance. she sprung into action and guided you by your shoulders to lay down, legs above your chest and encouraged you to simply breathe through it.

✧.* “you’re sweating, love. and you look like you’re having trouble focusing,” she’d say- a statement, rather than a question. mel would take you by your shoulders and guide you to one of the lush couches in her home, ushering you to lay down. “come on, breathe. in, out… like that, yes.”

✧.* though she gets some close calls and is able to help sometimes, mel knows that she can’t always prevent a fainting spell. but she’s always there to break your fall, hold you across your lap, brush stray strands of hair from your face and run soft thumbs across your cheeks until you come back to.

✧.* so incredibly sweet and attentive once you come back to your senses. mel is peppering gentle kisses across your cheeks, forehead, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your lips. a light sheen from her lip gloss remains on your skin. she’ll take your hands in hers, whispering sweet nothings into your ear while your fingers intertwine with her own.

✧.* “you scared me there, darling,” she’d tease, soft lips brushing against your temple. “but that’s alright. you’re okay now, aren’t you?”

✧.* doesn’t dwell on it, though. mel doesn’t want this to be the focus of your day if you don’t want it to be, so she’ll give you your kisses and cuddles before letting go and continuing on with whatever you were doing, unless you ask her to keep giving you that affection. in which case she is more than happy to oblige!

✧.* she does have connections with doctors just in case she feels you may need one. it rarely gets to that point, but having those emergency contacts puts mel’s mind at ease. if you were to take a little too long to wake up, she didn’t react quickly enough and couldn’t break your fall, she’d know exactly who to go to.

✧.* mel has all of the essentials packed at all times. water, snacks, even a device to track your blood pressure when necessary. she’s stocked constantly, you’ll never want or need for anything with mel.

✧.* “that looked rough,” she’d say, crouching next to your form and holding out a bottle of spring water. “drink some of this, okay? even if you feel alright, it’ll make me feel better.”

sevika;

✧.* you swore that you’d meant to tell her, you were just waiting for an opportunity. a minute of peace in her chaotic days, maybe a tranquil moment after all the rough jobs and rushed fights.

✧.* but the ‘right time’ never came, sevika is a busy woman after all. by the time you have a moment to yourselves, sevika is washing up in preparation for bed, her eyelids already drooping. you know you need to tell her about your condition at some point, but you don't want to spring it on your girlfriend while she's this tired.

✧.* so when you're out at the casino, the woman playing a heated game of blackjack with you and a few of her old friends and you suddenly slump in your seat, sevika has no idea what's hit her. immediately she drops her cards, rushing to your side of the table to shake you, talk to you, desperately try to get you back to her.

✧.* "shit- dove, what happened?" she's saying. her voice is rushed and panicked, much unlike her usual gruff demeanor. "come on, please wake up..."

✧.* she stays by your side the entire time, simply waiting for you to wake up. her friends can wait, the game can wait, and she doesn't pay any mind to the lingering stares of other patrons. all that sevika can think about in this moment is you, and your well-being. she's never seen this from you before. she's panicked internally, but she's good at putting on a brave face for you.

✧.* the second your eyelids begin to flutter open, sevika is all over you. she was panicked, and most of all she was scared. as irrational as it may be, part of her was afraid that she was losing you- even though she was able to take note of the subtle rise and fall of your chest, and the fact your pulse was still steady.

✧.* once you're back to feeling yourself, fully, sevika would pull you out of the casino and onto the street for more 'privacy' (not much of that in zaun). she’s immediately going down a list of questions- if you’re okay, what happened, what caused it, if this is a recurring issue, and if you knew this would happen.

✧.* you explained to her, your gaze downcast and voice tinged with a hint of guilt. “i’m sorry, sev. i meant to tell you, just… the time wasn’t ever right.” she let out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head. though she’s a bit shaken up by what just happened, sevika can’t bring herself to be mad at you. she understands where you’re coming from.

✧.* "there is no 'right time,'" she said, hand on your shoulder. her thumb rubbing slow circles against the fabric of your shirt. "you can tell me these things, especially when they involve you fainting." her tone is firm, yet there's no anger or malice behind it.

✧.* from that point on, you've been more open and willing to express things without the fear of timing or anything similar. you discuss your symptoms with her, the way your condition affects your daily life, how you work around it, the like. she listens and makes mental notes of everything you say, even trying to read between the lines at some points. sevika is that devoted and that concerned for your well-being. she wants to make sure she's prepared for whatever comes and she's able to be a good girlfriend through it :(

✧.* her home is STACKED with cases of water bottles, any medications that might help, and your favorite snacks. she's already made a substantial effort to make her once uninviting place more comfortable for you, but now she goes the extra mile- and you didn't even ask her to.

✧.* after a while, sevika comes to expect fainting spells and knows when they're coming on. she'll stay close to you, trying to talk to you and ground you in the moment- having you sit down, try to look at her, try to focus. but she knows that eventually you'll likely faint, and that's alright. as long as you're in a safe environment and she's able to look out for you, your girlfriend's mind is at ease.

✧.* “dove, you’re about to-” she’ll move to hold your shoulders, gently guiding you to a place away from any hard surfaces. “sit here, alright? i’ll get you some water.”

caitlyn;

✧.* it was one of the first conversations you’d had with caitlyn when you begun dating. now that you’re spending more time with the woman, you know it’s best to inform her before she finds out by you actually fainting.

✧.* caitlyn doesn’t immediately understand your condition, she’s never met somebody with a condition like yours before. however, she absolutely does want to understand and as soon as you’re finished talking, she takes a trip to one of piltover’s libraries to do some reading.

✧.* she reads about your condition, its symptoms, and how fainting spells can be treated. the signs that one is approaching. caitlyn would also read a few medical papers for good measure, just to see what professionals recommend. this is of the upmost importance to her.

✧.* the first time caitlyn was witness, you were thankfully in the comfort of her own home. helping her cook dinner, reaching up to the cupboards for some spices before you felt lightheadedness set in. caitlyn is perceptive- she noticed almost immediately.

✧.* she wrapped an arm loosely around your waist, trying to support the inevitable fall as she pressed soft kisses to your cheeks. "hey, i'm with you," she whispered. she didn't want to necessarily coddle you, but she wanted to remind you that she's there, first and foremost.

✧.* caitlyn feels you slump against her. she's keeping that same stoic face she's so known and feared for, but underneath the surface, she's terrified. terrified that you're not really okay, even though you've assured her this happens regularly and you're alright every time. terrified that she's doing something wrong, or even making things worse.

✧.* it takes a few moments, some gentle brushes of her hand against your arm in a motion meant more to reassure caitlyn, but you come back to.

✧.* "there you are, love," she murmurs, her hold on you tightening the slightest bit. "that was... scary."

✧.* "i'm alright, cait," you whisper, a weak smile on your face in an effort to reassure her. "i'm sure it's scary for you, but i'm okay. i promise."

✧.* caitlyn takes your word for it, you know yourself best. but even so, she can't help the nagging fears in the back of her mind, no matter how hard she tries to get rid of them. she's got water- expensive water stocked up, snacks, over-the-counter medical equipment, the like, all in her home for you.

✧.* her worries subside with time, but they never completely go away. they likely never will. she's your girlfriend, after all :( but she grows accustomed to fainting spells and almost-fainting spells as part of life. she's observant and intuitive, and cait is able to spring into action the moment she notices something is wrong.

✧.* "alright, that's enough," she'd say, her voice gentle yet firm. guiding you from the table you're cleaning. she sees the way you're starting to become a bit wobbly on your feet, and how your gaze isn't as focused. "i'll take it from here. lie down, love, i'll get you something to eat. alright?"

✧.* caitlyn is observant, but she doesn't ask for you to give her more than you're willing. verbally, she won't pry, she won't check in too often (unless she sees you looking unwell), she won't ask too many questions.

#jinx x reader #vi x reader #mel medarda x reader #sevika x reader #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lesbian #sapphic #caitlyn kiramman x reader #reader insert

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aventurineswife · 3 days ago

Note

Hello! An idea I've been saving for a while ⊂⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)⁠⊃

It's about the reader's pet, it's a pretty fluffy and quite flirtatious kitten, the detail is that the kitten that likes to spy on the character (Aventurine, Sampo, Dr. Ratio and Childe), the character can be doing something and the cat will be staring at it, if you try to pet it it will stare at the character's hand. The character can tell this to the reader or not but the reader will tell him that he is just like that (the reader has already been through that, and more) but you can see the slight favoritism for the reader in the part of the cat, why it lets itself be petted (⁠~⁠‾⁠▿⁠‾⁠) ~

Take your time with this request! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

-💤🩵 anon

Trust is Earned, Not Given

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Childe x Reader, Humor, Playful Banter, Mischief.

Aventurine lounged in his office, reclining in his high-backed chair as he idly shuffled a deck of cards. His eyes glimmered with mischief, though they occasionally flicked toward the edge of his desk. A certain feline intruder sat perched there, staring at him with the intensity of someone analyzing his every move. The kitten's fluffy fur seemed to sparkle under the ambient glow of his desk lamp, and its eyes were fixed on him like a pair of miniature spotlights.

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly. "You know, little one, it’s quite rude to stare," he said in a mock-chiding tone. The kitten didn’t flinch, its unblinking gaze unwavering.

Aventurine chuckled, tossing the cards onto the desk in a neat spread. "What’s your game here, hmm? Are you trying to outwit me? I must warn you, I rarely lose."

The kitten’s tail flicked lazily, but it didn’t move a whisker. Intrigued by the tiny challenger, Aventurine reached out a gloved hand, intending to scratch under its chin. The kitten immediately leaned back, its eyes narrowing in a look that could only be described as disdainful. Aventurine froze mid-motion, his hand hovering in the air as he stared at the audacious feline.

"Well, well. Aren’t you a tough little nut to crack?" he mused, retracting his hand.

Moments later, you strolled into the room, carrying a stack of reports. Spotting the kitten, you grinned. "Ah, there you are. I see you’ve met my little spy."

Aventurine gestured toward the kitten, who was still glaring at him. "Is this...normal behavior for your furry friend? It’s been staring at me for a solid twenty minutes and refuses to let me pet it. I’m starting to feel personally slighted."

You laughed, placing the reports on the table. "Oh, that’s just how he is. He does this to everyone—except me, of course. He’s a little selective with his affections."

Aventurine leaned back, folding his arms. "Selective, you say? Well, that’s just another challenge to conquer."

You smirked, walking over to the kitten and scooping it into your arms effortlessly. It purred immediately, nuzzling into your touch. Aventurine raised an eyebrow, watching the scene with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"I see now," he said, his tone laced with mock jealousy. "He’s a sucker for charm, just like his owner."

You rolled your eyes. "Or maybe he just has good taste."

"Touché," Aventurine replied, his signature grin returning. As you turned to leave, kitten in hand, Aventurine couldn’t help but call after you. "Mark my words, darling. One day, that furball will warm up to me. I never lose a bet, after all."

The kitten’s tail flicked as if in defiance, and you shook your head, laughing all the way out the door.

Sampo whistled a tune as he organized his latest shipment of "goods" in the dimly lit back room of a shop. Everything was going smoothly—until he felt a peculiar sensation. Slowly, he turned, only to lock eyes with a small, fluffy kitten sitting atop a wooden crate.

It stared at him intently, its eyes eerily mirroring his own.

"Well, hey there, little buddy!" Sampo greeted, flashing his trademark grin. "You spying on me for someone, huh? Maybe the Silvermane Guards sent you?"

The kitten didn’t respond, of course, but its unbroken gaze made Sampo feel oddly self-conscious. He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees. "You’ve got a real poker face, I’ll give you that. What are you after? Secrets? Stolen spices?"

The kitten’s tail flicked, its fluffy body entirely unmoved by Sampo’s charm. He reached out to pet it, but the kitten immediately froze, glaring at his hand like it was a threat.

"Whoa, tough crowd," Sampo muttered, withdrawing his hand.

Just then, you appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the scene. "Let me guess—he’s been staring at you the whole time?"

Sampo straightened up and gestured toward the kitten. "Yeah, and he’s got some serious attitude! Won’t even let me pet him."

You chuckled, walking over to the kitten. "Don’t take it personally. He does this to everyone...except me, of course."

To prove your point, you scooped the kitten into your arms. It immediately began purring, nuzzling against your cheek. Sampo’s jaw dropped.

"Unbelievable," he said, shaking his head. "You’ve got the magic touch, huh? Maybe I should hire you as my cat whisperer."

You smirked. "Or maybe you just need to up your game."

Sampo grinned, leaning against the crate. "Oh, I’ll win him over eventually. Nobody can resist Sampo Koski for long—not even a sassy little furball."

The kitten meowed softly, as if to say, "We’ll see about that."

Ratio stood in his meticulously organized study, deeply engrossed in his latest lecture notes. The room, lined with bookshelves and glowing with a soft, scholarly ambiance, was his sanctuary. He adjusted the ornament at his collar, pacing thoughtfully as he muttered fragments of his argument under his breath.

Yet, there it was again.

A sensation.

He turned abruptly, his eyes locking onto a tiny figure perched atop a nearby stack of books. The kitten—a fluffy ball of fur with startling eyes—sat unmoving, staring at him with unnerving intensity.

"Curious," Ratio murmured, tilting his head slightly. "You’ve been observing me for precisely twenty-three minutes. Are you here to critique my thesis, or is this some form of covert mockery?"

The kitten blinked slowly, entirely unfazed by his direct address. Its tail swished lazily, as if amused by the accusation.

Ratio sighed, stepping closer and crouching down to meet its gaze. "It’s one thing to challenge my intellect, but to sit there silently? That’s... quite the audacity." He extended a hand toward the feline, his fingers brushing the air just shy of its fur.

The kitten’s eyes narrowed. It leaned back ever so slightly, staring at his hand as though he’d committed some grave offense. Ratio paused, withdrawing his hand with a soft hum of thought. "I see. A creature of calculated detachment, much like myself."

He straightened, crossing his arms as he continued to scrutinize the kitten. "Fascinating. You possess a level of discernment I might almost respect—if it weren’t so inconvenient."

The sound of your footsteps interrupted his musings. You entered the room with an apologetic smile, your gaze immediately landing on the kitten. "Ah, there you are! I see he’s chosen you as today’s subject of study."

Ratio raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the kitten. "Chosen, you say? This creature has spent nearly half an hour watching my every move, only to rebuff my attempts at interaction. Explain this behavior."

You chuckled, walking over to scoop the kitten into your arms. It let out a soft purr, nestling against you with a contentment that bordered on smug. Ratio’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Oh, that’s just his thing," you explained. "He loves staring people down. It’s his way of... analyzing them, I suppose. Don’t take it personally—he’s like that with everyone. Except me, of course."

"Clearly," Ratio replied dryly, observing the kitten’s obvious favoritism. "Your pet seems to have an exceptional bias. Curious, for such a supposedly impartial observer."

You grinned. "Maybe he just knows quality when he sees it."

Ratio smirked, his sharp wit returning. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he’s merely indulging in the luxury of predictability."

The kitten meowed softly, as if amused by the banter. Ratio watched as you exited the study, the feline cradled in your arms. Despite himself, he found the corner of his mouth twitching upward in the faintest hint of a smile.

"Unpredictable creatures," he muttered, turning back to his notes. "And yet, somehow... endearing."

[Header credits]

The sound of clashing blades echoed through the training grounds as Childe perfected a sequence of moves. His focused expression shifted slightly as he noticed a peculiar presence just beyond his peripheral vision.

There, sitting on a nearby wooden railing, was a small, fluffy kitten. Its eyes were locked on him, following every motion of his blades with uncanny precision.

Childe paused, lowering his weapons as he tilted his head toward the feline. "You’re not exactly the sparring partner I had in mind," he quipped, his voice light with amusement.

The kitten didn’t respond, of course, but its tail flicked as if acknowledging his words. Childe grinned, sheathing his blades as he walked over to the curious spectator. "What’s your deal, huh? Are you here to judge my form, or just enjoy the show?"

The kitten blinked, utterly unimpressed. Childe crouched down, extending a hand toward it. "C’mon, little guy. Let’s be friends."

The kitten, however, had other ideas. It stared at his hand with a mixture of disdain and disinterest, making no move to close the gap. Childe’s grin widened, equal parts amused and challenged. "Tough crowd. I like your spirit, though."

Before he could try again, you arrived, carrying a small basket. Spotting the kitten, you sighed. "So this is where you’ve been. I see you’ve found a new person to intimidate."

Childe glanced at you, his smile brightening. "Intimidate? Nah, he’s just playing hard to get. Pretty sure he likes me deep down."

You laughed, walking over to pick up the kitten. It immediately relaxed in your arms, purring softly as it nuzzled against you. Childe’s expression shifted to one of mock offense.

"Okay, now that’s just unfair," he said, pointing at the kitten. "He’s been glaring at me for twenty minutes and won’t let me get anywhere near him. What gives?"

You shrugged, scratching the kitten’s ears as it leaned into your touch. "Don’t take it personally. He does this with everyone—except me, of course."

Childe crossed his arms, feigning a pout. "So what, I’ve got to earn his trust through some epic battle or something? Because I’m game."

You smirked. "Maybe he’s just not a fan of flashy moves. Try being subtle for once."

Childe laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Subtlety, huh? I guess I could give it a shot. But mark my words, one day this little warrior’s going to let me pet him. And when he does, it’ll be because I earned it."

The kitten meowed softly, and you couldn’t help but grin. "Good luck with that."

As you walked away with the kitten, Childe watched, shaking his head with a chuckle. "A tough nut to crack," he muttered. "But I do love a good challenge."

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sreppub · 3 days ago

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Restaurant owners/chefs/waitstaff AU.

The Robins in their cute waiter uniforms, Bruce the manager/owner trying to herd them, the Batgirls as the chefs lol

Green Arrow as a Definitely Not A Knock Off version of the Batcave(?), but THEIR menu is all organic and vegan (it’s GREEN, get it??) versions of what Bruce’s restaurant offers

The Batcave(?) was a high end dining establishment that is more of a family restaurant these days? Or it’s super fancy still and the all Robins leave to open a less strict establishment aka: Dick is the one that owns Nite-Wing (the wing shop the silly character that Nite-Wing takes his name from lol), Tim opens a coffee shop, etc

The Iron Fam has the Chuck Cheese style entertainment&arcade “restaurant” that also has laser tag and their animatronics are just robots lol.

The Super’s have a farm->table BBQ stall at the farmer’s market

The Flash has a food truck? Or they are the deliver guys?

Green Lanterns are the food inspectors

The Wonders have a Themyscira Food place. It’s very classy but cozy place

Who has the local pizza place?

The villains have like, Chik-à-fila

The Teen Titans all quite their parent’s restaurants and run the local Mall food court for a summer

You sent this super quickly after I said I wanted new AUs and I am so impressed anon. Did you just have this ready?!! Thank you!!!

Anyways I love it! I love wings and I would go to Nite-Wing all the time lol. And maybe also to see the cute dog and hot wings guy. I think it’s a tiny place with stupid bright colours and like 2 bar seats. (I hate it. I would hate this place) I know, coloured floor grout is futile, AND the black through-colour ACT, who ARE we??? Well, the reno was bankrolled by Bruce, so that’s who we are. The drinks fridge wasn’t even secondhand, that’s who we are. Also, Dick had Damian paint a wall mural, not pictured because I didnt wanna draw it lol

I know what you’re thinking. There’s a second street entrance/back of house corridor behind the pink wall, and the front counter is ADA compliant. I’m not an animal.

Secondly, I would love if the Waynes used one of their properties, a townhouse in the city, and converted it into a restaurant inspired by Alfred’s cooking 🥹 Classy, but has gotten homier and cozier over time. The kids multiply, and their friends hang out there and suddenly adults and young people hang out here…. This kind of thing! Two floors for the restaurant and an event space/gallery, and then lofts up top. 3-4 storeys, in my mind. They probably own the block.

Wouldn’t be crazy for Green Arrow to buy a property across the street 🤣

Idk if I’d have Tim running a cafe day-to-day… He does do a pop-up for their gallery events. Maybe he’s on the business side. If you’ve ever seen Chef, I’m thinking of RDJ’s character giving Casper a loan and the food truck…

Not to say he’s too good for food service. The YJ98 crew definitely hop around their families restaurants at will, for fun and enrichment.

IRONFAM PIZZA-ARCADE IS AMAZING AND I WILL BE THINKING ABOUT THIS FURTHER. you really oughta take the credit for this, anon, before I go off the rails and people start thinking I’M smart or something 😂 A robot-garage-themed restaurant sounds rad as HECK. Dum-E serving food would be a show in itself.

Farmer’s market stalls, my beloved.

They’re all going to live in one big terrible amalgamated city/group of cities and Gotham/Metro/Star/etc are neighbourhoods/cities within it. Oh damn.

#srpbreplies #uhhhhh. name this AU later

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alieinthemorning · 2 days ago

Text

Acts of Service [Caleb]

Content: Self-Indulgent, Brown-Skinned Reader, Brown-Eyed Reader, Domestic Fluff, Confessions, Getting Together, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Soft Caleb, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: She/Her

Note: I see Caleb within the childhood friend trope. Anything outside of that makes me uncomfortable, so I won’t be engaging with it in any sort of way.

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries

Wanna support me? Here’s my Ko-Fi!

The second you are about to enter the shower, a presence makes itself known at your door. You sigh, heading to the door with an inkling of who it is.

“Hey, pip-squeak—woah!” Caleb’s cheerful greeting turns into a flustered one as he takes in your towel covered figure.

“Hurry up, you’re letting all the heat out.” You wave him in as you turn around. “You’re the one who interrupted me, so now you gotta wait.”

“I, uh…okay…” He shut the door behind him, lingering in the front hall.

And wait he did. You didn’t take too long, but you did take your time. Especially with moisturizing. You had to take extra precautions in this cold weather, after all. Least your brown skin end up ashy. You put on your coziest clothes, and a nice fragrance. Taking a swig of water to rehydrate, you take a moment to ponder. You need to wash your hair—that’s also on today’s to-do list, however, you really didn’t want to wash your hair now since the shower had tuckered you out immensely.

Oh, wait. There is someone who’s done it before in your house right now.

“Caleb!” You rush out your room, and burst into the living room. “Can you wash my hair?”

His face scrunches up for a moment before it relaxes into a grin. “You leave me here all by my lonesome for an hour, and now you wanna put me to work?” He chuckled as he stands. “Sure, I’ll do it.”

“Great! I’ll go get my stuff—can you rinse the sink out?”

“Already on it.”

Having Caleb wash your hair was nice. Not only because you don’t have to wash your hair yourself (hehe), but also because…it reminds you of the old days. He’s still as gentle as he was before, he still takes the time on your problem areas, and he makes sure the temperature is perfect before putting you back under the water.

You’re damn near asleep when he starts three-strand twisting your hair. The only thing keeping you awake is the chocolate that he had giving you—“as a friend”, he said.

“You know, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, but it doesn’t feel like we’ve missed a beat.” Caleb reminisces.

You smile. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing earlier.” You yawn. “Even though my routine change a bit, you didn’t screw up.”

“Screw up?” He flicks the back of your neck. “I’m hurt that you think that I’d mess you up.”

The two of you share a laugh, and it’s nice. How long has it been since you’d been able to laugh like this? To be this close? To share in each other’s warm presences?

You yawn again as your bonnet is carefully put on. “So what now Did you have anything planned?”

“Nah, just wanted to come and visit”

You lean back into him, gazing up at his flushed face. “How about this: you go out and buy some stuff to stay the night and ingredients for dinner while I take a nap?”

“You’re havin�� me do all the work while you laze around yet again.” He shook his head without an inch of malice.

“Like you’d have it any other way.”

His smile becomes softer as he replies. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He gently nudges you off him so he can stand. “So what do you want for dinner?”

“Surprise me.” You join him, stretching. “I’m putting all the work into planning this date, you can do a little something.”

You make your way to your bedroom, a skip in your step as you hear the tail end of his sentence that he murmurs under his breath.

“...she’s gonna be the end of me.”

Your nap came and went. You don’t know how much time passed, but it didn’t matter as you were woken up to the delicious smell of Caleb’s food. You were immediately able to pick out the fried chicken just from the smell.

“Oh, I’m bout to smack this back like a damn heart attack.” You say as you take your seat. You notice that the flowers that he had also brought are now being used as a centerpiece.

How romantic.

Caleb outright laughed, as he placed a few dumplings on your plate. “Where did that come from?”

“A friend.” You say through a mouthful of rice. “When she said that it really resonated with me.”

The meal is just like earlier when he was twisting your hair. It’s warm and inviting. It’s like meeting each other again without missing a beat. It’s familiar.

It’s…home.

He’s home.

You smile. “Welp, you’ve given me a wonderful Azure Echo’s Day—even though I was supposed to do all the work. So! I’ve got you on next time!” You wink at him.

His smile falters a bit. “Haha…you don’t gotta to…”

“I insist.” You push, “I mean, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

This time the smile falls entirely. “Can you…not…do that?”

Your elbows hit the table, fingers lace together as you lean on your head on them. “Do you think I’m joking, Caleb?”

He looks away quietly.

“I’m not being serious.” You sigh. “I’m not playing with your feelings. I know how you feel about me, and I know how you feel about you. And…” You pause, chewing your bottom lip for a moment before continuing. “...If we don’t cross the line now, we might not ever get the chance to again. We can’t keep being scared of destroying our peaceful friendship while being miserable because we never even tried to be more than that.”

He finally looks at you, and says your name ever so softly. His sugilite gaze is the same, and full of love. You wonder if your own brown one is reflecting the same.

“So?” A mischievous hint in your tone. “Are you gonna ask?”

“But you just said—”

“You should still ask me properly!”

His sighs through a smile before getting up and rounding the table. He pulls you up to join him, holding you close and asks:

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Although the two of you did it a little backwards, February 14th marks the day that the two of you shared your first kiss as a couple.

THIS WAS WRITTEN FOR MEEEEE

ON AZURE ECHO'S DAY

DURING BLACK HISTORY MONTH

FOR MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

#alie ficlets #alie ficlets: love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #brown skinned reader #brown eyed reader

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breadandlottery · 3 days ago

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I think I'm going to make people upset but let's go Do you think Gi Hun has grown in terms of character development? In my opinion, what bothers me most about round 6 is the lack of significant growth in gi hun because he doesn't seem to have lost several people in the first season he remains naive I expected an improvement or development from a person who has already won the games. I would like you to answer me, I love your analyses.

My dear anon, apologies in advance for what is sure to be a very lengthy response…

I would like to say first that this is a tough question for me to answer with confidence since we haven’t seen season 3 and because it feels a little like a season 2A and season 2B situation.

I’ve been working through scenes that I’m flagging in my mind for moments that should have raised red flags for Gihun but, from what we’re shown, didn’t. As I often tag ramble about, I do hold out some hope that he had legitimate suspicions of 001 and a loose backup plan. I have also noted that, interestingly, s2 does not have any of the flashback/realization scenes we were given several times in s1 and honestly, that feels very intentional? Like we’re supposed to notice it’s missing (I also have thoughts about ADHD Gihun, but that may just be me projecting because I’m real familiar with the exact kind of lightbulb moments he has, lol). My hunch/hope is that the show has been misdirecting us to make us believe everything you just said about the apparent lack of character development.

Now, I do think there has absolutely been character evolution. I can understand fans not seeing it as “development”, because I think we tend to think of character development as positive growth, but honestly, it doesn’t have to be… like a villain arc is still character development (just an example, I do not think this is a villain arc situation). I think instead of a lack of character development, I’d be more apt to call it a lack of “learning his lesson” or a lack of apotheosis (the point of realization/epiphany).

If we view squid game as monomyth/hero’s journey, he’s kind of not to the point yet where that would have happened (because the end of S2 would be the abyss?). Now, am I certain that the story being told is a hero’s journey? No, although I am somewhat confident.

So— I'm working under the assumption that we have a hero’s journey told in trilogy format. We have a LOT of comparison media out there… the Matrix, Star Wars, LOTR, among the most popular. What does the end of the middle installment of all of these have in common? They’re bleak af.

Matrix: Neo unconscious, Agent Smith breaking into the real world

Star wars: Luke battles Vader and loses his hand/almost dies, Han encased in carbonite

LOTR: Gollum’s betrayal, battle of Helm’s Deep (a win but with an ominous warning accompanying it)

The psuedo trilogy structure is where I do feel slightly perturbed at netflix for passing off a split season as 2 separate seasons. With a “real” trilogy, each component should be able to stand alone (like with 3 act structure-- set up-> conflict -> resolution) which is true of the examples above because the primary narrative conflict is actually resolved but super not true of squid game s2. Which means s2 and 3 combined could be the middle of the trilogy, with the mystery future season being the final part, but I don’t know that that’s in the cards.

As an aside, we could just be totally wrong about the direction this is going in. Narrative arcs that involve the protagonist “learning a lesson” isn’t a universal concept. I always think of James Bond movies (especially the older ones) as an example of a “flat arc” character, because like, if you sleep with her she’s probably gonna die James, didn’t you learn this last time? If you’re too reckless there will be consequences, didn’t you learn this last time James? Like. That guy never learns. Not every character learns from their mistakes. Do I think Gihun is ultimately gonna be a flat arc character? No. Is it possible? I guess, man, look at the world, anything’s possible!!

So, ugh, sorry that’s a ton of speculation and uncertainty that isn’t directly answering your ask, but I do think that any of these possibilities can explain what we’re calling a lack of character development because we’re just not at that point in the story yet.

NOW.

Personally, I do think that Gihun is very perceptive, and I hold out hope that he wasn’t as trusting and oblivious as we’re made to think. I also believe that even if that is the case, he’d still have further to go/more development needed before he could actually reach the end of his journey. The reason for this (and I think one of the reasons people sometimes think of him as not smart) is the narrowness of his worldview. Not narrowmindedness, just literally not having broad knowledge about the world. Like not knowing where Pakistan was. Or not really getting that neither he nor the Frontman have the power to end what's happening because it is a symptom of a much larger, systemic problem. And in complete fairness to this sweet man, lack of perspective and a narrow worldview is an incredibly common flaw in people.

So a few things that can be interpreted as Stagnation or Lack of Development:

Still a gambler: as seen in Russian Roulette and in going back into the game. Definitely risky, definitely reckless. He is like kinda suicidal though, so I don’t know that the underlying cause of this behavior is the same as it was in s1.

Still just out here trusting everyone: Yeah. That’s what he does, though. He came right out and said it, he doesn’t do it because he thinks people are trustworthy, he does it because what else is he gonna do? Is this a dumb-as-shit approach that should be “character-developed” out of him? Or is it a very important key defining feature of who he is as the hero of the story? I could go either way on that, tbh.

Naïve/easy to fool: I don’t think he ever was all that easy to fool, I think he consciously chose to let a lot of things slide and/or second-guessed his intuition because people called him stupid and slow all the time.

Things that I think are Character Development

Ability to Focus: Maybe I’m ADHD projecting again, but this guy was all over the place in the beginning of s1, now he’s running a whole ass operation (maybe the medicine Mr Kim brought over was secretly adderall lol).

Leadership: I’ve said all along he just naturally exudes leadership, but he wasn’t really aware of it or comfortable with it in s1. In s2 he’s really embracing decision-making (even if they’re bad decisions) and seems comfortable being the one planning and leading, which is impressive.

So. To sum up a very very long answer:

I do see character development, if not the “hero finally learned his lesson” kind

I do still think it’s possible that Gihun wasn’t quite as clueless as we’re shown, and I’ll cling to this delusion until at least June 27th lol

I think it’s possibly too early in the narrative for his full revelation, anyway, but-

Part of why that feels “off” is because s2 is missing the “last Act” of the story it was telling (like don’t split a sequel in 2 and try to shoehorn it into a trilogy if it’s not an actual trilogy please for the love of god it throws off the balance)

#nice human #anon #squid game #squid game meta #squid game analysis #characterization #character development #more capital T Thoughts about the narrative #i will say that everything i know about hwang dong hyuk makes me trust him to take the narrative and the characters exactly where they need #to go #is any of this at all accurate or am I just blinded by my unconditional love and devotion to the character #the world may never know #analysis

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cozymochi · 3 days ago

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Ngl, I kind of want to write an x reader fic with one of your ocs, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable, are you ok with having x reader fics written about your ocs? It's all in fun obv, but I want to have your permission. I'm not an artist unfortunately, but I really want to make a sort of fanart for you and your ocs because you're really amazing and I look forward to your posts, especially about your ocs when you do whether without pics or with🫶. (I ask even if there's not even a guarantee I can finish it lol) Sorry for the yap lmao

about that— a friend of mine jumpscared me with writing one herself.

Me being me, I would find it VERy ENTERTAINING to see that. You know you’ve made it when the homies get the canon character treatment of getting one of those (/lighthearted)

I just encounter two issues!

1. I’m not sure who you are 🫵 ur hiding!! (mild joke dw)

2. And this is just a broader thing but actually important. I do not feel like I’ve sufficiently portrayed the characters “narrative voices” exactly in a way that would be usable for writers outside of my usual bubble.

That’s just a personal worry I have. For all I know I did paint a clear usable picture.

I’m not too ornery about characterization so long as the vibes are right. I’m willing to provide more specific insight if needed, because admittedly I only really share in-universe information about them if it’s situationally relevant or prompted. (Besides, I never made any hub with every piece of info and still have no plans to)

Otherwise I kinda leave things open enough on purpose.

Anywho, THAT SAID If I saw another one I would go straight into orbit (positive) cuz IT’D SHAKE THINGS UP A WHOLE LOT and leave a really long tag comment

But I guess for u, I’ll give it a “IF YOU DO IT, SHOW ME” thumbs up because I’d really want to see it.

and so would probably other people but u didnt hear that from me

#cozy ask #Just for you though. Whoever you are. Everyone else is case by case.#Tho disclaimer: If I read those things I kind of…#treat it like hypotheticals rather than genuine insertion.#I find them in good fun.#I’ve seen some genuinely immaculately written stuff.#I kinda just accidentally run into them tho.

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steveseddie · 16 hours ago

Text

happily ever after

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know when it happens but at some point, he stops hating Dungeons & Dragons.

He still calls it anything but its actual name to the kids’ faces, and he still bitches and moans about having to drive them to and from their stupid meetings, but he can admit that he kind of likes it, at least to himself.

Definitely not enough to play it. He still believes there’s way too much math involved and he gets a headache just thinking about memorizing an entire character sheet, but he does enjoy it enough to sit and watch the kids and Eddie play.

Eddie is also probably a big part of why Steve started liking it. He has a way of making everything interesting. His voices, the way he insists on randomly jumping on his chair or shooting up to his feet, and the twists and turns he weaves into a story so expertly.

There’s also the fact that Steve is head over heels for him and sitting through one of their games is the perfect excuse to stare at him all he wants.

Realistically, he can’t be at every one of them. He has a job and a tiny shred of reputation to maintain. He can’t be seen dedicating all his free time to a game for nerds.

He can, however, dedicate his Friday night to it when Eddie invites him over for the big finale of their latest campaign.

“It’s going to be great, Stevie, I’m telling you!” Eddie says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You can’t miss it!”

“I won’t, Eds, I promise,” Steve tells him, trying not to show just how easy it is for Eddie to get him to agree to anything.

The big finale does end up being great. The kids spend the whole time sitting at the edge of their seats and Eddie delivers twist after twist until finally the legendary sword is found, the kingdom is saved and everyone lives happily ever after.

Or maybe not everyone.

There’s something that stays with Steve even after Eddie dramatically announces it’s the end, but he doesn’t get to ask him about it until two days later when they’re hanging out at the trailer.

Steve is sprawled on the bed, leafing through a sports magazine he swiped from Wayne’s stuff and Eddie is pretending to organize his desk. In reality, he’s spent the last twenty minutes playing with a rubber ball he found among his things.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve says just as Eddie throws the ball toward the ceiling. He turns his attention to Steve and forgets about the ball, which bounces against his face.

“Ow! Shit!” He swears, rubbing at his eye. Steve stifles his laughter behind the magazine. “What’s– what’s up, Stevie?”

“Can I ask you a question about Dorks & Dweebs?”

At that, Eddie snaps to attention. His eyes are wide and one of them is a little red from the ball hitting it. “Steve Harrington, did you just say you want to ask me about Dungeons & Dragons?”

“I said Dorks & Dweebs, but yes.”

“I don’t even care that you refuse to call it by the proper name,” Eddie chuckles disbelievingly, then he jumps to his feet and joins Steve on the bed, a big grin on his face. “Holy shit, yes! Of course, ask me anything you want!”

Steve can’t help but chuckle at Eddie’s excitement. The way he rests his chin on his hands and stares expectantly at Steve like this is the most amazing thing to happen to him. It’s very cute. “Okay, you weirdo,” he says, his voice dripping with fondness. “At the end of your last game–”

“Campaign.”

Steve waves him off. “At the end of that, what happened to the singer guy? The bard? Uh, Everard?”

Tilting his head, Eddie asks, “What?”

“You know, the– the guy that helped the kids– uh, the party find the legendary sword. The EMT or whatever.”

Eddie’s mouth twitches amusedly. “The NPC.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well,” he says, scratching his head. “He died.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he got mauled by carrion crawlers, Steve.”

“You got mauled by bats and you lived!” Steve argues. Eddie’s nose scrunches up, most likely at the mention of his near death. “Couldn’t one of the kids have used like, a healing spell or something?”

Eddie taps his lip with his finger, thinking it over. Steve can’t help but follow the movement with his eyes.

“I guess they could but– he’s not important, man, he’s just there to help them find the sword.”

Steve averts his eyes from Eddie’s lips and crosses his arms over his chest. “If he’s not important then it doesn’t matter if he lives, right?”

“Okay, sure,” he snorts. “He can live if you like him so much.”

“Good,” Steve says, nodding. Eddie rolls onto his back, probably assuming the conversation is over but there’s something else Steve has been wondering about. “Does he go back to the princess?”

Eddie’s whole body visibly tenses up. “W–what?”

“Everard is in love with Princess Soliana, right? Does he tell her?”

“No,” Eddie says, his voice sharp.

“Why not?”

Eddie groans, sitting up on the bed so he’s facing away from Steve. “Because that’s not relevant to the campaign!”

“It’s relevant to me,” Steve huffs stubbornly.

“Why?”

Because Steve is a romantic and from the first time Eddie mentioned this NPC or whatever, Steve felt drawn to him for some reason. It might sound stupid, he’s just a character after all, but Steve wants him to be happy. “Because Everard loves her.”

“So?” Eddie snaps, “there are things even love can’t fix.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “In real life, maybe, but in fantasy, man? Anything can happen.”

“That can’t,” he grumbles. He still won’t face Steve, his shoulders hunched over.

“But why?”

“Because!” Eddie snaps, finally turning around. His face is pinched, his lips pursed. “Bards don’t marry princesses, Steve!”

“Says who?”

“Me, and I’m the DM so I make the rules.”

“Which means you can change them, give them a happy ending!”

Eddie drags his hands down his face. “There’s no happy ending for Everard, Steve. He knows that. He’s not the hero who gets the princess, he’s the sorry son of a bitch who almost dies. Even if he lives, he won’t do it. He won’t risk the friend– the kingdom when he knows the princess doesn’t love him back.” He says all of that through gritted teeth, and his voice sounds sad like– like he knows what he’s talking about.

“She’s royalty, Steve. She’s beautiful, she’s brave,” Eddie goes on, his eyes boring into Steve with an intensity that makes him shiver. “And he’s– he’s no one and he’s broken and– and scarred, and–-”

“You,” Steve whispers as the realization hits. “He’s you.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut. He gulps, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. Now that Steve knows it’s so obvious. The similar name, Everard’s funny and flirty personality, the way he joins the party later in the campaign, and how he’s mauled by creatures trying to save them.

And if that’s Eddie then–

“The princess is me.”

Eddie lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Finally caught on, didn’t you, Stevie?”

“You– you based those characters off of us?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “But you killed Everard.”

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, well. I took some liberties, I didn’t want to make it too obvious, you know? And I did die for like a couple of minutes, so–”

“But the part about Everard being in love with the princess. Did you take liberties with that?” Steve asks quietly, holding his breath as he waits for Eddie’s answer.

“No,” he says, ducking his head, his hair falling over his face. “That part was accurate.”

The admission makes Steve’s heart try to beat out of his chest. “You– you love me?” He asks with a shaky voice.

“I do,” Eddie says, his big doe eyes finally meeting Steve’s gaze. “But I meant what I said. Everard wouldn’t risk anything, not when I know– when he knows you– the princess doesn’t want him.”

Eddie’s eyes are sad and pleading, like he’s begging Steve not to be mad at him. But Steve is mad. Just not for the reason that Eddie thinks.

“You don’t know that,” he says, frowning.

“I told you–”

“You told me what Everard thinks, now let me tell you what the princess thinks,” Steve says, shutting Eddie up. “She doesn’t think Everard is broken, she thinks he’s strong. He might be scarred, but so is she. And– and he’s beautiful too! Maybe she never thought she could fall in love with a guy– with someone like him but she loves him, Eddie.” He reaches for Eddie’s hand on the bed. It’s shaking. Steve squeezes it. “And I love you.”

Eddie’s jaw goes slack. “Steve–”

“That’s Princess Soliana for you,” Steve tells him, trying to lighten the mood.

It works. A joyful, high-pitched laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he agrees with a giddy chuckle. “I– did you– do you mean it?”

Another squeeze. “Of course, Eds.”

With his free hand, Eddie grabs a lock of his own hair and tugs it across his face to try and hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks and that just won’t do. Steve uses his hand to tuck the hair back behind Eddie’s ear. “So, now that Everard knows this, what’s he going to do?”

Eddie doesn’t even need to think about it. His eyes instantly dart down to Steve��s mouth. “He’s going to kiss the princess,” he says, his jaw set in determination.

Warmth shoots through Steve’s body, the corners of his mouth curl upwards. “Good,” he says, and then Eddie is pulling him in by his shirt, their lips crashing together in a kiss. Steve’s hand finds its way to the back of Eddie’s neck so he can keep him in place, kissing him back for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes.

“I guess– hmph, I guess Everard did get his happy ending after all,” Eddie mumbles against Steve’s lips after some time. “And so did I.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Nah, Eds, this might be the end for them,” he says, pushing at Eddie’s shoulders until his back hits the bed and he can climb on top of him. “For us, it’s only the beginning.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingokiss #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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