#just . i'm still so in love with you and it HURTS but i can't stop bc ur all i know

[pseudowho]

You and Kento bustled through the kitchen, and with your arms full of plates, you couldn't resist giving the top of Yuuji's head a nuzzle and a kiss as you passed.

Yuuji smiled at you both, full and warm for the first time in years. You and Kento felt his eyes on you as you weaved past each other, in a practiced after-dinner-clean-up Tango.

"Ah...hey, Nanamin, I-- I've got, uh...I've got a, uhm..."

Kento's interest was piqued. He stopped washing up and, with one raised fine eyebrow, turned to regard Yuuji while he dried the suds off his forearms.

"What is is, Yuuji?"

Yuuji looked awkward. Eventually, he stuttered out through a sheepish grin.

"I've uh...I've got a date tomorrow, so I won't be home for dinner."

A gasp. A smash!clinkclinkclink as you dropped a mug to the floor, and Kento closed his eyes in wounded resignation for the death of his favourite mug. You stepped across him, pressing your palms to the counter, wild-eyed at Yuuji.

"A date?"

"Uh...y-yea--"

"A date date?"

"...I...Nanamin, I'm scared--"

"--she can't hurt you, Yuuji--"

"A date!"

You could barely contain your excitement; Kento huffed, plucking pieces of porcelain from the floor, while you squished Yuuji's cheeks and cooed.

Yuuji barely escaped in one piece that evening before bed, grilled for any piece of information you could get your hands on. Eventually, he escaped, the lock clicking behind him as he shut his bedroom door.

Flopping onto your back into bed beside Kento, with enough force to make his reading glasses bounce on his nose, you sighed with one dramatic arm across your forehead.

"I'm just so happy for him, Kento."

A warm little smile; a folding of the book. "Yeah. Yeah, me too. Did he say who it was?"

"You know, of all the things I asked him, I didn't ask him that."

A chuckle, a hum...a silence. A rustle of pages. A gentle removal of reading glasses, and Kento looked over you with quiet scrutiny, as if your state of undress in a t-shirt and nothing more stirred memories for him.

You blinked up at him, "...what's wrong?"

Kento's nose flared, and he laid down beside you, switching the light off. You could hear him blushing in the dark.

"Do you think Yuuji's a virgin?"

You felt a thud of realisation, and answered, "I...should think he probably is. I...what should we..."

"Don't worry," Kento answered, clipped and looping an arm over your waist, "I can handle that."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Yuuji. If you have a moment, could you come and speak to me, please?"

You felt an alarm bell in your soul. The sun was setting, on the evening of Yuuji's date, but Kento was still fully dressed. He'd even buttoned his suit jacket up and redone his tie. His pocket rustled. You could have sworn you saw a droplet of sweat drip down his temple.

You paused your murder documentary...and watched, for this would surely be more horrifying. Yuuji leaned round the bathroom door, innocently curious, and padded over with his hands in his pockets. He pulled out his phone.

"Ah...y-yeah, I think they'll be here in a minu--"

"Sit down. Please. Yuuji."

You could have sworn Kento left dents in the top of the chair that he grasped. Yuuji sat slowly, wary, looking between you and Kento. From your place on the sofa, you shrugged. Kento spoke.

"You're...a young man now, Yuuji."

"Ah...yeah. I-I guess I am. Thank--"

"--and sometimes young men have...urges."

You wished for death, but would take the entertainment before you expired. Yuuji's blush started at his chin, and climbed slowly upwards, a sun-ripening peach.

"...Nanamin. Please, you-- you don't have to do--"

"--and it's important to understand the difference between lust, and love."

"Oh god, Nanamin, I'm begging you--"

"--and while it's only natural to follow your urges, it's important to do so responsibly--"

"--Mrs.Nanamin, I'm scared--"

"--he can't hurt you, Yuuji--"

Kento pulled the rustling packet from his pocket, and placed it before Yuuji on the table. The room was thick with silence. Yuuji spoke, his voice breaking and his soul sweating.

"...Nanamin, please say that's candy--"

"I've bought you these condoms--"

"--please just let me die, Nanamin--"

"--ribbed, dots, big, small, strawberry I think--"

"--please-- I have to go--"

"--and I only ask that you're sensible and treat your partner with the respect and dignity they deserve--"

"--please treat me with the respect and dignity I deserve and just kill me Nanamin--"

"...and be home by midnight."

Silence. You had held your breath through the whole thing, and held one hand over your mouth. You studiously avoided Yuuji's gaze. Yuuji's mouth puckered, staring up at Nanami, who looked as serious as a car crash.

Yuuji's phone rang. He snatched it up, and made for the door. Kento called after him, mild, "Your condoms, Yuuji--"

"--oh well shit yeah can't forget those, fuck--"

"--language, Yuuji--"

Yuuji stood at the door, considering answering back. He took a single deep breath. He swallowed hard, and stopped himself from scarpering immediately, and turned back to Kento.

"Hey, uh...was that, erm...was that difficult for you, Nanamin?"

"It was the worst thing I've ever done in my life."

"Yeah, it--it felt it, uhm..." Yuuji waggled the bag of condoms with a smirk, pocketing them, "Thanks, dad. Nobara and Megumi are waiting. We'll go for a date, and the other idiot's our chaperone apparently."

As the door clicked closed, Kento released one great heaving breath, and arched back with his hands over his face, releasing an enormous, animalistic groan of agony.

You bubbled over, snickering, and traced one toe up Kento's thigh from behind.

"...oh hey, Mr.Nanami, sir, can you teach me about the birds and the bees--"

"Quiet."

[digriv]

This is my favorite part of this 8 part comic btw.

— The fact that Xisuma calls Docm Doc

— The way that, as the stress amps up and Doc gets damaged, his voice gets fucked up too. It's all scratchy and distorted and I love how Shep shows that

— The fact that Doc loses his arm and just. Can't move for a bit. In fact, he's so filled with [android version of pain] and stress and a little confusion and fear, that he freezes up, his mind sorta having to catch up.

— The fact that Etho's a man on a mission (kill grian), so he's just trying to maim them so he can get out. He rips Doc's arm most of the way, then shoves him and it really keeps him down (for like, 15 seconds, though it also impairs him in the following fight. Very clever attack.)

— The fact that Xisuma's frozen, too. Xisuma can't move, you see how he freezes up in part 2, when Etho pulls out the back-of-the-neck port? How he stills, shock and fear and disbelief so, so present in the lines that sit above him.

— How Shep illustrates thirium!! I love it!! How Etho's left eye is just bleeding profusely and the fact that, when Doc gets damaged, thirium drips on his speech, and fills the air around him, and manages to distort his hearing, all very visual to us (and probably him, just not in a literal visual sense).

I reread this (soon to be) 8 part comic all the time, just to experience all the secondhand emotion again. Just to get to this part and the last— how Etho's determination turns into fear, and that turns into terror, and how his efforts are in vain and he's killed and Doc feels that.

Doc might've won the battle but he DEFINITELY did not lose the war, nor does he feel like he's won. Because, in a way, Doc fucking dies in that moment because he was in the cockpit as Etho died. He was both the aggressor and the victim as Etho died, and that's traumatizing. Not to mention his arm being ripped off and Xisuma nearly getting badly hurt.

Cause, in a way, Doc can stop worrying about his own damage and himself. As long as he doesn't implode from stress, X can repair him. But even a slight bonk on the head can leave X with irreparable brain damage, and Etho was slamming steel against X's helmet and it broke within a few swings. If Doc checks his fact database, steel + biological creatures (especially + blunt force trauma) does NOT turn out well.

Anyways that's why I love this comic so much. When the fic is posted, idc if it's 2AM ,, I'm readng it lol :]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [PART 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Finally! Part 3 is here!! yippee!!! As a refresher, this takes place at the beginning of season 9, when Doc and Xisuma try to boot Etho back up after he shuts down pre-Season 8 Finale, set to the vibes of Joywave’s Destruction from DBHC Etho’s playlist! Ouguguh I’ve been looking forward to posting this part so much; it has some of my favorite shots so far… something about the grey-fade of Doc going into shock, something about the last two pages with xisuma and doc’s expressions… idk!! i really loved working on these :] Hope you’re enjoying the horrific, horrific ride!! =w=

As a partially insignificant but Special-To-Me note: Xisuma has always referred to dbhc doc as “Docm”— this is actually the first time X ever calls him “Doc.”

[bookishdreamer28]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

✮⋆˙ Characters: 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍, 𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓, 𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆, 𝑺𝒚𝒍𝒖𝒔

✮⋆˙ Angst to fluff

✮⋆˙ Warnings: A bit of cursing, scenes where the reader gets hurt but that's all

Aaaand I'm back with LADS content!! I missed writing sm but I mostly missed you guys ♡ I hope you're all healthy and happy! Hope you'll enjoy this one ^3^

ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

"Seriously Rafayel I'm telling you how I feel about this and you look like you don't even care!" You yelled.

"But I do! I really do Y/N, but maybe your insecurities are still clouding your mind, even after all this time of being together and showing you how much I love you" He walked towards the door and you felt a lump in your throat.

"Rafayel, why you always walk away whenever there's an issue between us? Weren't you theone saying that no matter what we're getting through everything together?"

"Say whatever you want but I'm done with this fight" Rafayel said and walked out of your house. You and Rafayel had a fight about something silly but for you it was something you couldn't just ignore. You tried to do some chores just so you can keep yourself distracted by what happened earlier, but your tears couldn't stop falling. You hated it. You hated fighting with Rafayel cause you knew he would never hurt purposely or do something that would bother without taking into consideration your feelings, but it was still hurtful when stupid things like these occurred.

Since you couldn't do anything else inside your house so you can get your mind off of the fight, you decided to take a walk and maybe buy some groceries. When you finished shopping, it was dark and you realized how stupid it was to go out alone and without your car. You took a deep breath and started walking back home as fast as you could.

But as you continued the way to your home, you heard weird noises coming from a scary, dark alley ar your right. Your pace increased, wanting to go back to your house and hoping that you'd find Rafayel there too. But something appeared behind you and without taking any step further, you fell down on the concrete because of the hard push it gave you. And when you realized it was a wanderer, you tried to stand up and run but the power it was using on you made you very weak.

"YOU DAMN FREAK! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" You couldn't really process anything but one thing you recognized was Rafayels voice. You closed your eyes wanting to relax a little and ease the pain somehow, but strong arms carried your body softly and hugged you in their embrace.

"Rafayel..."

"It's okay sweet girl I got you. I got you baby" He said breathlessly, feeling like he was going to break any moment now. He can't believe he just left from your home and then found you in this condition. Once you arrived at your house, Rafayel did everything to take good care of you. He made sure to clean your injuries, eat and then shower you with love, like he has been doing since you two started dating.

"Oh my baby. My girl" He muttered against your temple, placing a loving kiss there. After everything, you were both lying on your bed, as you enjoyed each other's company.

"I'm so sorry sweet girl I-" Rafayel felt his eyes watering. "Can't believe I almost you from my stupidity" His hug tightened and you found yourself snuggling in his warmth.

"I'm ok my love, I promise" Your hand was playing with his beautiful purple hair softly and you kissed his lips.

"Please say it again" He whispered as he stared at you longingly.

"My love"

"Oh how I love it when you call me that" He leaned his forehead on yours and stayed like this for a bit. "I love you" he kissed your lips "so so fucking much. I'm sorry for being a jerk earlier. You are my baby and you are perfect." this time the kiss was more passionate. A kiss that held love and strong affection. A kiss that meant more than any word that could ever be said at the moment.

𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

You were laying on the couch, reading a book so you can can escape from any negative thoughts but it was so hard to focus. You and Xavier fought again. It was a very exhausting week for both of you and all the tension made you feel suffocated, filled with many negative emotions, that you eventually took it all out on each other. You both understood the danger of your job and how hard things could be, but there were times you did not have the patience to deal with them calmly.

You turned your head around and looked at the now closed bedroom door. Xavier was in your room and you wanted nothing more than just give up with torturing silent treatment and hug each other. But even though you knew he was a bit too selfish to make the first move, you didn't want to back down either.

You angrily stood up from your position on the couch and went inside the kitchen so you can cook something. The fight and the way things have been lately, made you lost your appetite easily and you can't remember when was the last time you had a proper meal full of nourishment. So, as you stood on your tippy toes to grab a ball from the higher shelf, you felt a bit lightheaded and suddenly found your body hitting the hard, cold floor of the kitchen.

Rushing movements could be heard from inside your room and when rhe door bursted open, Xavier appeared in your vision.

"Y/N!" He yelled out your name and he was by your side in a second. He picked you up in his arms and carried you to your bed. He laid down with you and held you close.

"Baby wha- what the fuck happened?" He tried to remain calm but seeing laying on the floor almost unconscious was an image that haunted him. He felt like he was going to lose it.

"Xavier I- I just haven't been eating well lately and-"

"Why? Why did you do this baby?" He whispered and a few tears started dropping from his eyes. You shakily wiped them away.

"I'm okay now but I still need to eat and take a few vitamins to fully recover. That's all" Xavier let out a shaking breath and held you closer.

"You have no idea how scared I got. Losing you is my biggest fear baby. Damn it, that's why I've been like this lately. This fear is eating me alive, especially with what has been happening lately baby. And I'm sorry, I truly am my baby" He leaned his head to kiss your forehead.

"I'm sorry too Xavier." You smiled softly at him but then you giggled at something you thought. Xavier only smiled brightly cause seeing you happy can cure every dark or sad thought of his. You can make his day brighter than it was before.

"I just thought about how silly our fight was." You rested your head in his shoulder and closed your eyes for a brief moment, just to enjoy the warm his body radiated.

"Hm very silly indeed, just like you are sometimes" a playful smirk was displaying on his face as he watched your offended expression.

"Hey you're ruining our moment-"

"I mean what you were thinking when you decided to stop eating lovely girl?" He tapped softly on your nose and then kissed it. He slowly placed next him, grabbing your favorite soft blanket and laid it on top of your legs to keep you warm.

"Now stay here, I'll go cook you your fave. I'm not letting my lady starving any longer."

ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

"Y/N I'm really busy right now. I don't know if I have the time to go for dinner tonight." Zayne was busy checking some papers in his office, as he hurriedly tried to get ready for the next operation.

"Trust me, I understand but this is the 5th time in a row. I'm not asking to give up everything in the middle of your work, but all I want, is for you to make some time for me too." You said sternly and at the same be as calm as you possibly could at the moment, not wanting to lose it and start yelling just for the whole hospital to hear you.

Zayne sighed and stood up from his seat and walked to the door ready to leave his office but you stopped him.

"Are even listening to me?" You asked angrily.

"I think it's better if you leave." He opened the door as he waited for you to go. All you did was stare at him in shock. Did he seriously thought of kicking you out instead of talking to you?

"Zayne what the fuck? You don't even get to talk to me for 15 minutes now!" Your hand reached over for the knob of the door to close it shut.

"If you keep pushing my buttons then no, I don't want you here" His cold voice sent shivers down your spine.

"Listen I-"

"Just go. Now. I already have a packed schedule and many problems in my mind, and I don't to add one more." You were sure you heard your heart breaking.

"So you think...I'm a problem now" you breathed out, feeling already defeated by the way he talked to you. This argument was pointless, you knew it but all the exhaustion, the pain and the bad emotional state you were currently in, made you feel like you didn't exist to him anymore.

Zayne looked like he wanted to take these horrible words back, hug you like his whole life dependent on it but he wasn't sure how to react.

Without spare even one glance at him, you left his office with rushing steps, and as he heard your faint sobs in the empty hallway, his heart broke even more.

---

A knock on Zayne's office door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in." He said with a stern voice.

"Dr. Zayne you are needed in the room 8." A nurse appeared in his office. Zayne frowned .

"What happened?" He asked in a slightly worried tone.

"There's a patient right here in the room, with really bad injuries after she experienced a dangerous accident. She's fully conscious of her surroundings but her physical condition has to be under observation for now. I amde sure that of course she was taken care of first before you could come to check on her too...but she was desperately asking for you doctor." The nurse said as she opened the door to the room where the said patient was.

What Zayne though made his breath caught in his throat and he felt like lefs was about give up. He shut the door without letting anyone in and turned his attention back on you. With shaking legs he walked towards you.

"My...my love what...are you ok?!" He cradled your face softly his hands. His breath quickened and his heart beated faster, scared at the thought of almost losing you. When you didn't said anything it made him worry more, but once you let your head rest on his shoulders and your arms qrapped around his neck, he sighed in relief. His arms wrapped around your small form, hugging tight enough, without hurting anywhere.

"Zayne...I don't know what to say. When this happened my first thought was you and how we departed without saying an I love you or share a sweet kiss like we always do and- I got so scared that I wouldn't see you again." Your trembling voice made Zayne's eyes glassy, tears threatening to fall. He shook his head and your face in his hands again, wanting to make eye contact.

"I will never let anything happen to you my love. Never. I'm so sorry for the way I spoke to you and the days I spent away from you. You're my home sweetheart, and I want to able to spend every second with you, just the two of us away from everything and everyone. I promise I will not let work stop me from giving you my unconditional love. I truly, love you so much."

𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

"I'm sking you for the last time Sylus, what the fuck aee you hiding?" Your voice was hoarse from the yelling. Sylus clenched his jaw and tried to clam his own nerves.

"For the last time, I'm not hiding anything. You shouldn't worry about my job because everything's under control."

"That's what you said last time and remember what happened? Let me remind you, we got threatening messages out of nowhere. So please, tell me what you have gotten into?" You sat on the chair opposite of him as you waited nervously for what he had to say.

"Im not discussing business things with you, kitten." His voice darkened and he sounded more serious than usual. His teasing tone was gone and you knew his patience was running thin.

"I'm sick of this." You murmured.

"Sick of what exactly?" His stare was hard on you.

"Sick of always leaving me out of everything, when we both promised that we would always be there for each other and get through every hardship together." Your voice was laced with emotion and Sylus's cold facade almost broke and he was about to reach your side when Luke and Kieran came into his office.

"Boss we have to go. It's the emergency we talked about." Luke hurriedly told Sylus. Sylus prepared and was about to leave his office when your voice stopped him.

"Sylus what is this emergency their talking about?" You stood up frkm your chair and walked to him. Luke and Kieran looked at each other awkwardly and decided to leave the office to give you space.

"Kitten don't start this now-"

"Do you even let me finish?! I knew your were being secretive" You scoffed.

Sylus only stared at you intensely. You waited. Waited him to say something. But you only watched as he truned his back on you, leaving you all alone again.

---

You were currently laying on your bed, ready to fall asleep since you got too tired of waiting for Sylus's return. But you your eyes started closing you heard something breaking your room's window and immediately stood back up. Two dark figures was the only thing you could make out in the darkness and before you could grab your phone and run out of the room, one of them slapped you hard and you fell on the floor.

"Well if it isn't Sylus's new toy. This is going to be fun. For us." He laughed and his fist found your face.

---

Your body was cold, in pain and your were sure you couldn't feel your legs or hands moving. You groaned as you tried to turn on your side but a stabbing pain made you let out gasp and laid on your back again.

Your heard heavy footsteps downstairs and you almost started sobbing, fearing that they may have come back. The footsteps stopped suddenly, but then you could hear them running towards your room. When Sylus came into your sight, you sobbed and called for him.

"FUCK!" Sylus said loudly and laid next to you in an instant.

"Baby? Can you hear me? I'm here, see? I'm here" He frantically tried to lift you in his arms and held you close to him. "I'm here. I'm here. You're ok." He said like he tried to reassure his himself that he wouldn't lose you.

Luke and Kieran heard the fuss and came to see what happened, and when they saw in what state you were in, they both got shocked.

"Wha-what happened boss?!" Kieran said worriedly. Sylus didn't say anything. His focus only on you, as he laid you on the bed carefully.

"Sy..." His hand grasped yours and kissed it.

"I'm here. I'm here." He placed a kiss on your head and turned to look at his assistants.

"Go bring the medkit. NOW!" He didn't mean to scream but his mind was a mess. Seeing you on the floor, bloody beated and almost unconscious made him want to go out there burn everything down.

And that's what he was going to do. When Kieran ans Luke returned with the medkit, Sylus took care pf your injuries, as his assistants made sure to bring some painkillers, water and everything that was necessary for you to not being in pain.

"Sylus where-" you tried to reach for his hand but Sylus grabbed and kissed it softly as let it rest on your chest.

"I'll be back. I promise you baby. Just please, take some rest and I'll be laying right here. Next to you." He whispered and kissed your lips before he left.

---

Your eyes moved and you slowly opened them, taking in your surroundings. You remembered everything. Your mind felt foggy, but your body wasn't in so much pain anymore and an arm was wrapped around your waist. You looked down and there was an arm around you. You looked behind and you found Sylus sleeping but having you caged in his big arms securely, fearing that he would you even in his sleep.

"Sy" you whispered and Sylus's eyes started opening slowly. When he noticed you were awake, his slumber left his body instantly and instead he sat up a little to take a better look at you.

"Sweetheart..." he wanted to say so many things. So many. But what truly mattered to him was that you were here by his side, safe.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck in a second. "Oh my sweet girl" Sylus kissed your cheek and held you. Held you like he had just found the most precious treasure in the world and he didn't want anyone or anything to take it wawy from him.

A sob left his lips.

No. He couldn't resist anymore. All the feelings he felt when he found you laying on the floor came ro the surface. You cupped his face and rested your forehead on his.

"I'm ok. We're ok."

Sylus looked at you with watery eyes, not being afraid anymore to let himself feel, cry, laugh and love. With everything felt natural.

"I love you. And if anyone ever dares do something like this too you, even though I'll make sure it'll never happens, I'll still hex them into oblivion."

You didn't care about the fights you had, the words that were spoken on heated moments when your minds are clouded with pressure and fear. Cause at the end of the day and despite what can occure on your daily and dark life, you'd still find safety and love in each other's embraces and that's all that matters.

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[mattsnight]

Summary: in which Chris can’t hide his feelings for Y/N any longer.

Warnings: cursing !!

WC: 5k+++

Chris hated how he felt for you. The extreme feelings were overwhelming and it was hard keeping them together. He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t live knowing you were his best friend and that nothing would ever happen with the two of you.

You were always the clingy kind of type. You couldn’t be alone for more than 24 hours and always had to be with someone who you loved. Most of the times it was Chris, which he didn’t mind at first, but when his feelings for you started, it all became a lot.

You came over to the triplets’ house today, since Chris hasn’t been answering your calls. You were really worried about him. When you walked into the house you were met with an angry Chris. He didn’t want you here at all. He didn’t want to talk. It hurt him to do this shit to you, but he needed these feelings gone. And there it was, he was bottling up all his feelings and is now taking it out on you.

“Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you?” You say to Chris as he just ignored you when you tried giving him a simple hug. He never did this, he would always hug you even when he was annoyed. He lets out a huff, rubbing his eyes as he glances in your direction.

"Me? Nothing is wrong with me, I'm absolutely fine. It's you, you're just always around being clingy, I can't even breathe without you being all over me. Seriously, do you have to be so clingy? Give me a break every once in a while," Chris bites back with a roll of his eyes. A small gasp leaves your mouth at his sudden anger. “What the hell happened to you, chris? At first you’re all nice and sweet to me and now you’re acting like a huge dick.”

Chris grits his teeth, turning to look you in the eyes a lot sharper than usual. "So now it's wrong that I've decided to give myself a break from your clinginess? Is that a crime now?" He quips, raising a brow at you unimpressed. "God, you're always so needy, you can't even go half a day without wanting my attention. Have you ever considered that maybe I'd want alone time?”

“I was giving you one hug, chris. I wasn’t sat on your lap touching your chest while waiting for you to fuck me!” You yell back, anger now running through your body. Chris is visibly taken aback by your words, the harsh bite of them makes his chest ache, but he can't focus on that right now. He lets out an annoyed huff, running his fingers through his hair and sighing. "You always hug me!" He points out, throwing his arms out. "Like, it's never just one hug, you're always all over me, no matter if we're alone or in public. It's like you can't stand the thought of not being attached to me or something!"

“Im not always hugging you! I was so excited to see you, is one hug that bad?” You say, running your hands through your hair. "And there it is again, the excuses!" Chris exclaims in annoyance. "You're always all over me, you've gotta touch me. You know I'm not the biggest fan of physical touch, so why are you always so clingy with me, huh, can you answer that?" He asks, raising a brow at you with an expectant expression on his face.

“Because we’re friends? Cus i enjoy being with you? Because maybe im trying to get our friendship back!” Yeah, that one hurt. It had been a while since you and Chris had hung out. At first you thought it was because he got a girlfriend, but he didn’t, Nick told you that.

"And you need to cling to me to do that? You need to be attached to me at all times to do that, is that it?" Chris asks, clearly still frustrated and a little on edge. "It's annoying. I'm allowed to want my own goddamn space every once in a while, why's that so hard for you to understand? I just want a little space to breathe, alone, without having you sticking yourself to me like glue."

Fuck, why did it have to go like this? You hated this and you knew he did too. There was hurt smashed on both of your faces, but the both of you didn’t stop. “Then tell me to shut up, leave and never come back!” You say, a voice crack slipping through. Chris's eyes widen slightly, his mouth going slightly agape at your words, his heart beating loud in his chest. He did not see that coming. "What?" He asks, a hint of surprise sneaking into his voice. “Tell me to leave, end our friendship and do whatever the fuck you want without me.” You repeat with a voice crack.

Chris's jaw clenches, his chest feels tight and his stomach sinks at your words. Every fibre of his being wanted to scream at you to shut up, to stay with him forever. He did not want you gone, but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to tell you. "I don't want-" he tries to protest, swallowing hard and averting his gaze. "I don't want that."

“Then what do you want, Chris?!”

"You!" His eyes widen the moment the word escapes his mouth, he didn't mean to say that, he meant to say anything other than that. He clamps his mouth shut, staring at you with a mix of shock and frustration. “What?” You say quietly, not believing that you heard him right.

"I- nothing, I... nothing, forget I said that," he runs his fingers through his hair, cursing himself inwardly. This did not get better. "I just... I think, maybe, we should just have some time apart for a while. Take some space, I'll be fine without you glued to my side, you'll be fine without me around all the time." His voice stays the same, not even a slight change.

“You said me.. chris.. what does that mean?”

"I said nothing, alright?" Chris snaps, trying to cover up his slip of the tongue, but it was too late. He couldn't lie his way out of this now. He lets out a huff, scrubbing his face with his hand, looking at you with a frustrated expression on his face. "Damnit... you weren't supposed to hear that."

You take a small step back at his snap. It wasn’t because you were scared, you wanted to give him space. His expression softens just the slightest as he sees you take a step back, his heart panging in his chest as he registers the hurt in your eyes. He shakes his head in defeat. "No, I... Damnit, I can't... Look, I can't do this right now." He runs a hand through his hair again, turning his back to you and walking a few moments. Clearly he was frustrated and upset about the whole situation. “Chris—“ you try, but he doesn’t want to talk.

"Just don’t." He bites, his voice low as he keeps his back turned to you. He clearly wasn't in the mood to keep the conversation going. He was upset, and in pain, and he knew he was hurting you as well. He didn't want to hurt you, but he knew he was, and that was so much worse in his mind. “Please just talk to me, Chris. I want to understand what is going on.”

"What is there to talk about, huh?" Chris turns to look at you again, eyes sharp and his muscles coiled tight with tension. "What are we supposed to talk about? I said something I wasn't supposed to, I can't take it back, so what do you want me to say? I don't want to talk about it, not like this, not right now."

He is still staring at you, his expression pained and frustrated. It was like he was trying to hold back so many things, trying desperately to keep them all at bay and yet they were so obvious on his face. "And what was that little stunt anyway, huh? Trying to get a reaction out of me, is that it? Well great, you got one. You did what you set out to do, I screwed up. I said something I shouldn't have said. Happy?"

Your eyes start filling up with pain. It wasn’t your intention to do this. You didn’t mean any of it, you just wanted a reason why you’re losing your best friend. Chris's heart clenches within his chest at the sight of your hurt expression. The sharp pang of guilt and regret hits him hard, but it doesn't stop him from continuing. "You wanted a reaction, and you got it. I'm human. Do you think you can just prod and poke at me all the time and I won't snap back?" He bites, narrowing his eyes at you despite the panging in his heart. “Im sorry, okay?…” you say.

"You're sorry, is that it? You're sorry?” Chris snaps, taking a step closer as he towers over you. His face is a mixture of anger and pain, despite the growing guilt at the expression on your face. “You're sorry? Great, that just fixes everything, doesn't it? You didn't mean to make me snap, didn't mean to prod and poke at me until I exploded, but that's fine because you're sorry now, right?" All his anger is aimed at you when you just tried to fix something broken. You don’t dare to speak, scared you’ll ruin it even more.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I thought," he continues, his voice still sharp and bitter. "You can apologise all you want but it's not gonna change the fact that you got exactly what you wanted out of me. You pushed me to the limit, and you got a reaction. So don't bother apologising, it's too late for that." He says, letting out a frustrated huff while scrubbing his face with his hand as anger and guilt clash together in his mind. He wants to yell at you, wants to scream at you and let it all out, but at the same time the sight of your hurt expression is killing him. "Goddamnit.." he mutters under his breath, running his fingers roughly through his hair.

“I should go home.. this isn’t gonna work.” You finally say, breaking the silence. "Yeah... maybe you should," Chris responds, but the moment the words escape his mouth he wishes he could take them back. His heart is panging against his chest, his stomach clenches with guilt at the idea of you leaving. He didn't want you to go anywhere, he wanted to talk to you, he wanted you to not look so hurt and upset, but he'd gone and made it all worse in his anger.

You grab your bag quickly after his respond, ready to leave. Chris can’t take this anymore, he needs to make this right. He needs to talk to you. His heart drops to his stomach as you reach for your bag, the reality of the situation hitting him hard as he watches you get ready to leave. "Just... just wait," he says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can even think about it. "Please don't go. I... shit.”

He falters, his breath catching as he tries to find the right words. "I... look, just... just sit down, alright?" He asks, his voice suddenly much softer and more vulnerable than before. He wanted you to stay. He couldn't stand the thought of you leaving right now, he needed you to stay. He swallows hard, forcing out the next words as his heart pounds in his chest. "Please just... just sit down. We need to talk, not like this. Just... just sit down and listen to me. Please."

“Why does this all have to be so difficult?” You ask, sitting down on the couch to listen to him. "I don't know!" Chris exclaims, frustration and annoyance rising in his voice again. Why does it have to be so difficult? He should've just kept his mouth shut in the first place, he'd made a huge mess and he knew it. "I don't know why it has to be so... so difficult." He repeats, softer this time. "I don't... I just don't know." He scrubs his face with his hand, gritting his teeth and taking a deep, calming breath.

“What happened between us?” You ask, wanting answers. Chris's heart pang's in his chest again at your question. A million answers could've come to his mind, but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. Instead, he clenches his jaw, sighing deeply and shaking his head. "I don't know," he repeats again, his frustration growing. "I... I don't know, things just... changed."

He runs his fingers through his hair, raking his brain for the right words to say, the right way to explain things without saying too much. "I can't explain it. Things just... look, it's just so complicated." He glances at you, his expression a mixture of pain and confusion. He looks away again quickly, sighing heavily and shaking his head. "Things just aren't how they used to be. Something changed... and it's all wrong now."

“Does it have anything to do with you saying that you want.. me?”

Chris visibly tenses, his breathing catching in his chest as the memory of his earlier words comes back to him. He swallows hard and nods, his heart thudding against his ribcage. "Yeah," he mutters, his voice strained. "It has... everything to do with that." He says before looking up at you again, his expression pained and his eyes full of anguish. "You weren't supposed to hear that," he explains, his voice cracking slightly. "I didn't... I didn't mean for you to hear that. I didn't want you to know."

“But you said it, what does it mean?”

Chris takes a deep breath, his heart thudding so hard in his chest it's all he can hear. He knew he was in too deep now, there was no backing out. "It means exactly what you think it means," he mutters, his voice low and heavy. "I... I want you. I want you." He couldn't believe the words were coming out of his mouth, but now they were out there in the open and he couldn't take them back. His eyes search your face, looking for a reaction, a response, any sign of how you felt at his words, but he couldn't find it. "I... I want you," he repeats, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion. "I've wanted you for a long time, and it's been killing me. I... I've messed it up, I know I've messed it up and I can't take it back, but it's the truth. I want you. I need you."

“Jesus christ, Chris.. we could’ve talked about this sooner without that arguing.” You groan as waves of mixed feelings wash over you. Chris lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he runs his hands through his hair again. "You think I wanted to argue with you? This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I didn't want to deal with this, I didn't want to admit this." He sighs deeply, his heart panging in his chest as he meets your gaze. "I'm an idiot," he mutters, his voice quiet. "I just ruined everything, didn't I?"

“No chris— god.. i am in love with you too.”

Chris's heart stops in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as your words wash over him, a rush of emotions surging through him at your confession. His eyes widen, his heart thudding so hard against his ribcage he's sure you can hear it. He just stares at you for a moment, like his brain isn't quite comprehending what he's just heard. "You... what?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you, chris..” you say. Those three words hit Chris like a ton of bricks, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending his heart into overdrive. He didn't think he'd ever hear those words from anyone, especially not from you. His expression softens, a mix of surprise and wonder and disbelief on his face as he takes a cautious step towards you, like he's afraid he might shatter whatever fragile dream he's suddenly found himself in. "You... you mean that?" He asks, his voice hoarse and low.

“Yes! I have for a long time, but i didn’t know how to feel when you just.. stopped talking to me.”

A wave of emotions washes over Chris at your words. Relief, joy, disbelief, excitement. He swallows hard, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes another step closer to you. "You... you love me?" He repeats, his voice a little shaky as he tries to process everything. "You love me?" He takes one more step towards you, his expression full of hope and awe. You look up at him, noticing he was already staring at you. His blue eyes are searching your face for any sign of dishonesty or deception. Instead, all he sees is love, and a whole lot of it. His heart is beating so hard in his chest it physically hurt, but he didn't care. All he could see was you, and the fact that you just confessed to loving him. He reaches out hesitantly, slowly putting a hand on your waist, like he's afraid you'll vanish if he moves too quickly.

And there it was, the kiss you’ve both longed for. It feels like a switch is flipped inside the two of you. Like you’re finally free. Your hands move to his cheeks, pulling him impossibly closer. His hands move to your ass, letting them rest there. Everything is how it’s supposed to be.

When the kiss finally breaks, Chris's expression is a mixture of wonder and shock, like he can't believe that just actually happened. His heart is pounding in his chest, his brain struggling to process what's just happened. He couldn't believe that you actually wanted him, that you loved him. He lets out a breathless laugh, his face still so close to yours that he can feel your breath on his face. “Shit that was so good.” He says, trying to get some air. Oh and it was good.

It was the best kiss you’ve ever had.

The end<3

Oh my god why is this sooo long :,) i hope yall liked it!

[reidgenius]

Low Pain Tolerance | S.R. x Reader

image by reidgif <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Word Count: 1.4k Category: angst, hurt/comfort? Warnings: commitment issues, wildly insecure!reader (it's really just me) A/N: I haven't written for Spencer before, so please excuse any OOC inaccuracies and be nice okay! I am a long-time lurker/admirer of the lovely @pathologicalreid and am writing this for her cutesy margovember event :) Song Inspo: Low Pain Tolerance by Abby Holliday

You never enjoyed running.

Still, that didn't stop you from doing it often. Whether it be on the job or in a relationship, you ran.

To catch a bad guy. To catch yourself before you fall. To stop something terrible before it happens... You ran.

In this instance, you found yourself running from Spencer Reid.

"Would you look at me? Please?" he pleaded.

You knew if you were to turn around that you'd see his glassy doe eyes and be drawn right back in. You knew your weaknesses, and he was certainly one of them. The biggest one. That's why you stayed put, staring at his bedroom wall.

"I can't, Spence." You meant to say it with finality, but it came out more as a whimper.

"You can't look at me, or you can't-"

"Neither. Both."

As the holidays approached, Spencer had mentioned the idea of the two of you making a trip out to Vegas. "Just for a day or two," he'd promised. Though there wasn't much he treasured about home, you knew that his mother was there, and that was more than reason enough.

This evening, he'd brought it up again after letting you avoid the topic for weeks.

"It's only a matter of time before you figure it out," you admit.

"Figure what out?"

"God, Spence, that I'm only bringing you down!" you nearly shouted, though you hadn't meant to. The anxiety took over. "I'm like... gahhh! I don't know how to do any of this, I-"

To your dismay, he let out a laugh as you finally turned to face him. A real, genuine laugh.

"Bringing me down?" He looked at you with an earnest amusement. "Honey, I don't think you realize what you-"

"I'm scared. Okay? Is that what you wanted me to admit? That I'm scared of meeting her?" A single tear gushed down your cheek.

His brows knit in concern as he quickly thought of ways to disprove the common fears surrounding schizophrenia and it's manifestations.

"Baby, schizophrenia doesn't ma-"

"Dammit Spencer, it's not about that! It's- I..."

You found yourself stumbling over your words.

"I don't care about her diagnoses!" you laughed. (Of course, you did care, but that wasn't what was scaring you.) "I'm scared of this!" you said, waving your hands between the two of you. "I don't want to rush it. I don't want to get her hopes up..."

You let your legs give way to sit on the floor against the wall, your head in your hands, mumbling to the cold hardwood.

"I don't want to get my hopes up."

There was it. That was the truth.

You weren't used to it. You weren't used to someone asking you how your day was and really caring. You weren't used to the notion that a man would want to wrap himself around you at night and keep you close. You'd never been one to draw much attention from men. Or women. Or anyone, really.

Naturally, you figured that there must be something deeply and inherently flawed in you. Something Spencer had yet to discover.

So, being with him was... terrifying. You were constantly waiting and wondering when he'd conclude that you weren't as pretty as he initially thought, or as witty, or as intelligent, or kind, or...

And it would only be cruel to drag Diana into this. To have her think that perhaps her son had found his person. To have her thinking that she might be meeting her future daughter-in-law. It felt cruel to yourself, in some twisted way, to pretend that this was all going to last.

Spencer was typically a fast thinker, but your admission had the cogs in his brain working overtime. You were afraid of him? Of your relationship?

He padded over to join you on the floor, keeping a little distance so as not to scare you.

"Get your hopes up? You don't-" he gulped, "I mean... you don't think we're gonna- that this is gonna work out?"

Still speaking to the floor, you sigh, "I don't know, Spence."

You were exhausted. Incessantly feeling like you're on the brink of being "found out" can do that to a person. It's not that Spencer hadn't done all the right things. No, he was the perfect partner. But therein lied the issue. He was perfect. And, in your opinion, you were far, far from it.

You took a deep breath through your tears.

"I don't think I can keep doing this."

Confusion. Utter shock. Things had been going so well with you the past 8 months. Spencer immediately began to wrack his brain combing through all the possible mistakes he could've made. Did he raise his voice with you? Had he forgotten some big milestone? Was he not giving you enough?

"Honey I-" he gathered himself, placing a hand on your thigh, "I'm so sorry. Can I ask... what makes you say all this?"

Though you were reluctant, you figured that now was as good a time as any.

"Spencer. I am not good for you! Good enough for you!" With each point, you illustrated by raising a finger, "I am impulsive and I complain and I get weird sometimes when you touch me and I can be a massive bitch and I never know how to-"

"Woah, woah, woah-" He snuck up closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and placing his head atop yours, all while you kept rambling. "Why in the world do you say that? Not good enough for me? If anything it's me who isn't deserving of you..."

"No, you-"

He stopped you in your tracks just by saying your name in that beautiful way he does. Like its covered in honey and dripping with admiration.

"You are everything. You may think those things about yourself but I certainly don't." His thumb caressed your bare skin so carefully as he continued, speaking slowly so as to allow the words to really sink in. "You are the most generous person I've ever encountered. You care so deeply about people you love. You are courageous and willing to try all the weird foods I suggest even though you really don't want to." He smirked a bit at that one. "You have taken everything that life has thrown at you and navigated it with grace. You really are just... you're it. You're her. You're the girl - the woman - I've always hoped would come my way but never dreamed actually would. Honey, I've figured out everything I need to know when it comes to how I feel about you."

You sat there, warm under his embrace, pondering his words as he spoke. It's nothing he hasn't said before, granted, in much less grand and emotionally charged ways. But it was like you were really hearing it for the first time. You wanted so badly to believe him.

"I love you," he continued. "I love you so much that sometimes I am afraid of myself. Of what I'd do for you. You, god, you make me so much better."

"I love you, too. Too much," you squeaked out.

"No. Not too much." He leaned back to encourage you to look up at him. "You know I really mean all that right? Just the way you are. Quirks included?"

"I guess. And now I'm just self-conscious that I am so self-conscious..."

"You say that as if I'm not the exact same way!" he chuckles, trying to make light of what is clearly a shared wound. You'll deal with that later. Together, preferably. "Please, trust me. Do you trust me?"

And you did. You trusted Spencer with every cell in your body and hair on your head. There was nobody else you'd ever been so confident in. So, you nod against his chest as your tears begin to subside.

"Good. Now why don't we move this party up into the bed?"

"No offense, Spencer, but the last thing I want right now is to f-"

"No no no nooope! Not that, babe," he laughed. "Just wanna lay with you 'til this feeling passes. Is that okay?"

"Please."

And so, the rest of the evening consisted of cuddles under your massive comforter. Sweet admissions whispered in your ear. The tiniest kisses to your hairline and your shoulder and your nose and your wrists.

By the time you dozed into a worry-free slumber, you believed him a little more.

Perhaps you could let Spencer love you, forever.

[prettybiching]

Okay. Okay.

*deep breaths*

Girl (gn), the gasp I just let out terrified the ghosts in my room.

First and foremost, I love love loveeeee her scenes with the Cargyll brothers always. The way we always see her as *herself*, beyond her ailment, beyond her concerns of putting up an act, both as a Hightower daughter and/or a Targaryen wife. She's just herself, without being worried that she's disappointing Otto or Daemon.

And the way she's so playful with Erryk 😭😭 it made me sob because it was probably the first time in a long time that she was able to be that happy and cheerful, pulling pranks on a friend that sees her for who she is! (I don't even want to think about the fact that the last time she experienced something like this was probably in old town w gwayne when they were children)

I love the way you portray Otto's relationship with the reader because he's not black and white with his motives, only using his daughter to raise his House's standing. Rather, he's a complex character with layers, he's still a father - albeit a shitty one at that.

He loves his daughter, in his own twisted way. How he ensures that she's not having a fit before dropping the baby bomb on her. He worries for her, knows her ticks. But it's the way he uses his love and knowledge regarding her to get his own way and to get the reaction he wants out of her that's the most twisted.

Also, I love how we're seeing mc slowly but surely starting to stand up for herself. WE LOVE GROWTH IM SO PROUD OF HER, I COULD CRY.

Day 173822 of begging daemon to just be normal for once in his life.

Honestly speaking, I was one of the few that voted for reader to prioritise herself and not go after either gwayne or daemon but ohh!!! I loved loved loved this scene.

Her realising that she's going to have to get used to not having gwayne at every turn and stopping herself. Ugh, my heart hurts.

ALSO DAEMON YOU LITTLE RAT, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT BEING MAD AT MY GIRL FOR NOT BEING THERE WHEN YOU DEGRADED HER THE LAST TIME AND NOT IN THE SEXY WAY!!!!

Her telling him to speak what he wants and not twist his words is soooo real. YES GIRLL SET IT STRAIGHT WE DONT WANT EXTRA HEADACHES IN OUR LIVES!!

I just remembered that she still thinks that night was a dream and I'm heartbroken again </3

Pls daemon why do you have to choose aggression and rage every fucking time. Just be cute for once ugghhh.

"Please," you beg, though you knew it would not serve you well, "stay."

prettybiching.exe has stopped responding. Please try again later.

Nahhh I can't do this fam, good bye. I'm going to touch some grass.

Good night. Au revoir. Author, I love you. Thank you for blessing me with your brain and words. Please never stop <3

(ps I'd love to be added to the taglist, please and thanks!)

Tormented Spirit | 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (cunnilingus, piv, choking, degradation, slight sadism), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: again the high valyrian is internet translated so lol. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. might make another poll for next chapter stay tuned. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

Taking you to the hidden stream was simultaneously the best and worst decision Erryk's ever made in his life. The look of you was holy. His intense focus on your form was to ensure your safety, but, by the gods, it felt sinful to behold your dark hair and light fabric ebbing in the water.

He had hoped a swim would lift your spirits, just as flower picking did, but he did not know it would draw such a tempest out of you. It was as though you were reborn. You plunged into the water and shed all your inhibitions. Your voice became brighter, as did your eyes. You were flooded with more than a dozen memories of you and your twin swimming in the river near your home in Oldtown, and you recounted all of them so excitedly to Erryk.

"Oh!' you exclaim, flipping in the water to get to your feet. You point to something behind your ward, making him turn around. In that split second, you hold in your laughter and grab something from the mossy rocks. Innocently, you say, "that reminds me of something."

Erryk turns back to you, brows knit in confusion. When you you make your way towards him, he clenches his jaw and averts his gaze. The shift you were swimming in was stuck flush on your body, leaving little to his imagination. He was glad to have the foresight to bring you a change of clothes and a towel, and, my, was the pattern on the said towel so very interesting.

"What is a frogs favorite game?" you ask so suddenly.

Erryk turns to you, brows furrowing, "pardon?"

"Tell me the frogs' favorite game, ser," you repeat as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Frogs favored game?" he repeats slowly, realizing now that your expression was mockingly innocent. He hums, "I cannot say I-"

"HOPSCOTCH!"

A frog comes leaping into Erryk's face, nearly causing him to topple as he dodges it. He's so flabbergasted by the turn of events, he calls out your name in offence. He is doubly offended by your laughter. His eyes go wide as you hunch forward, leaning on your knees.

"Villain," your ward mutters, scoffing far too many times.

You can barely catch your breath. You fan your face, "frog-ive me."

Erryk's face only contorts further.

"I could not-" you gasp for air, "could not help it."

In truth, if it was any other who did such a childish thing, he'd have shoved them in the water. Alas, you appeared only more beauteous as you made him a fool.

"Forgive me," you repeat in more serious manner, "Gwayne used to scare me this way often. I wished only to know how it felt, and now..." you giggle, "I can't say I blame my brother for constantly pulling tricks on me."

He huffs and shakes his head, "well. I'm glad to have pleased you, my ever-so-kind princess."

You offer him a guilty smile, "apologies."

Erryk shakes his head, "no. Truly. I am glad to see you in such a state."

You fidget with your fingers as a shiver runs down your spine.

He is quick to unravel your towel. He places it on your shoulders, "perhaps we should go back. The sunset is nigh."

You nod, taking your change of clothes from him next.

He turns around offering you your privacy. It takes a while, but you manage to dress yourself. Once you had your shoes on, you dry your hair with your towel and take his arm, "would you please lace up my dress?"

He nods, avoiding your gaze as he feels his face burn. He quickly laces you up then you return to the Keep.

You both had been laughing, up until you made it past the castle gates, promptly being silenced by the loud shout, "PRINCESS!"

Arryk runs over, charging for his brother. Their steel plates collide as Arryk yanks his twin, "where in gods name did you take her?"

Erryk furrows his brows, "we visited a stream-"

"The Keep is in disarray!" Arryk grits his teeth, hissing under his breath, "everyone's looking for her. Everyone."

You watch the twins huddle close and bicker. As it escalates, you try try to come between them, "Arryk. I was the one who asked him to take me outside the keep."

Arryk does not hear you at first, dead set on arguing with his twin. When you repeat your words the second time however, he turns to you, face softening a fraction. He knits his brows turning back to this brother, whispering something that makes Erryk turn to you with wide eyes, "fuck."

"Why?" you look at them in concern, "what it is?"

Arryk opens his mouth, but Erryk grabs his arm and says, "wait."

"There's no other way to say it," Arryk snaps, ripping his arm out his grip.

"Say what?" you knit your brows.

Arryk turns back to you, then lowers his gaze, "the queen... the queen has passed."

Your jaw drops. Your eyes widen. Your hand immediately covers your mouth. The three of you do not speak for a prolonged moment.

You feel your stomach roll, "w-what happened?"

"She could not deliver the babe herself. The maesters... had to intervene."

Intervene? You could not possibly understand what that could mean, and you find that you do not want to. You shake your head, "and her babe? Is- is her babe well at least?"

Arryk clenches his jaw, "she sired a prince named Baelon... he apparently grows weaker by the hour."

You feel bile rise up your throat.

"Your father and your siblings have been looking for you since news broke."

You shake your head, and gather your skirts.

"As has the prince."

Your face twitches at the thought. You do not delay and make your way inside the Keep.

As you tread the halls, you think about what the queen told you just mere hours ago. There is a sharp twinge in your belly as simultaneously remember how Aemma told you to go cheer for Daemon at the tourney and realize you will never hear a word from her ever again. The thought washes over you like water on the beach, sobering but thankfully not overwhelming.

You hadn't realized you had your head bowed until you hear your name called. You still as you look up, the twins halt behind you.

Otto marches over, brows and jaw tight as ever, "where in gods name have you been?"

You straighten your back as he stops before you, "I-"

"Your wards are double," he turns to the kingsguards, "and doubly useless, it seems."

"Father," you step into his line of sight, "do relieve your rage on them."

Your father turns back to you, expression softening a fraction at your referral. You had not called him father since your argument in the maester's office. He looks at you— takes a good look at you and your sad eyes, your knit brows, your frowning lips. Your hair was darker than it was normally, and as he reaches out for it, he found it was, in fact, damp, "where have you been?"

"I..." you gulp and take a deep breath, "went swimming."

He releases your hair, tilting his head, "with whom? Gwayne has gone."

You pull your head back, "G-Gwayne's gone?"

"The tourney is over. The road is long. He has no reason to stay," Otto says.

Your brows tighten as you shake your head, "he... he didn't... wait for me?"

Otto watches your lips quiver. He watches your nose twitch. When your chest begins to visibly rise and fall, he shakes his head, "what did I tell you?"

You stare blankly at him.

He takes your hands, "what is it I always tell you?"

You clench your jaw and huff through your nostrils, "do not waste your tears on things you cannot change."

Otto rubs your knuckles as he shakes his head again. He gives the Cargyll brothers a look before walking off with you. They make sure to keep their distance before following after.

You turn to your father as he links your arm into his. You are certain, with how he cannot look at you, that he means to tell you something grave. You look front and mimic his demeanor— distant, cold. You are his daughter, face and temperance.

"You enjoyed your swim at least?" he starts, "you are calm?"

You gulp, mentally preparing yourself for what will surely come next. Your voice still falters though, "ye-s."

Otto nods, still not turning to you, "many has occurred since your marriage to Daemon. You admitted you did not consummate your marriage on your wedding night and I was deeply concerned you would fail your duties in producing heirs, especially if your husband was not interested in you."

Your jaw clenches.

"But with the apparent... change of heart your husband has shown, you should know I've had the maesters closely monitor your state."

You knit your brows at that, "you mean my affliction?"

He speaks your name slowly before continuing, "as of yesterday, they have confirmed to me that you are with child."

You whip your head to him and pull away.

Otto does not look at you with the same sense of urgency.

"W-what?"

He sees the fear on your features. He offers a solemn expression and takes your cheeks when your eyes water, "this is good. You should delight, not tremble."

You try to speak but nothing coherent comes out.

"The Queen is dead. Go to your husband and comfort him with this news."

Your mouth goes dry and your father wipes the tears that fall from your eyes. He your name softly. Your sad face looks the exact same it did when his wife died. My baby is having a baby. He frowns and pulls away.

You try to take his hand, but he slips away.

"See her off," the Hand instructs your wards.

Erryk is quick to go to your side, whereas Arryk stares at the back of Otto's head, his lips curling as he did.

"Princess," Erryk says, cautiously reaching your arm.

You turn to him with wide eyes before scratching your tears away, "I-"

"Perhaps you should sit down first."

You pull away from him before he can touch you. The action makes Erryk pull back, an unsavory sensation spreading in his mouth and belly.

"I want to- I—" you take a breath, "I need to find-" you shake your head and begin speeding down the hall.

You were nearly about to break into a sprint, and your wards had to jog up to your side to keep up with you. You don't really know where you're going, but you're getting there, fast.

"Princess, please, slow down," one says.

You can feel your breath and your pulse in your ears.

"Princess."

You find yourself in the halls near one of the gate of the keep. The only reason why you stop is because you hear the voice of your twin. Your breath catches as you lurch towards the window. Gwayne was laughing with one of the guards, already on his horse. Your brows furrow, he couldn't possibly be well enough to be riding on horseback.

You realize quickly this is your last opportunity to go be with your brother, to pull him into an embrace, to worry on him, to tell him your worries, to kiss him goodbye. You know you have to act now and swiftly, but you cannot seem to move.

Your mind is heavy as you think about how your brother is set to leave regardless of your desire to keep close; he said it himself, his place can never be at your side. Though he is the only person who've ever relied on, you know now— you rub your belly, that can no longer be the case. There is only one person you can rely on now... yourself.

It is painful to pull away from the window, but you do, clenching your hands into fists before walking away.

You don't really walk away however, because then, you're frozen in place at the sight of your husband standing a few paces away from you, "Daemon."

He stares at you wordlessly.

You walk towards him, careful as you drag your feet.

He tilts his head and clenches his jaw, "he's leaving any moment now."

You nod, "I know."

"Go to him," he says softly.

"I-"

"Go to him!" he snaps.

You stiffen at his expression. You were adept with anger but he did not look angry. You stop in your tracks, trying to make sense of his restless figure.

Daemon watches you fidget with your fingers.

"If it is your command, I shall obey."

He chuckles dryly, pacing around his spot. He wipes his mouth then charges over, stopping just in front of you. He scoffs when you do not flinch, in disbelief of your constitution. His nostrils flare, "you know my feelings towards your twin."

You slowly shrug, "then you'll be glad to know I came looking for you."

Daemon does not move.

"You know how I feel about my brother..." you mutter, "but..." you lower your gaze, "I'm coming to terms with the fact I can no longer rely on him... it will be better this way."

It takes a moment, but Daemon chuckles. When you look up and his smirk fades. Your beady eyes make it hard to find satisfaction. "So, you will not go to him?" he asks.

You stare.

"You do not want to go to him?"

Your lips part.

He raises his brows.

"I... I do."

Anger rises up his belly, but as if on cue, the sound of horses and carriages moving is heard. You clench your jaw and lower you gaze to prevent yourself from looking back at the window. The prince cannot seem to win, for he should be pleased you did not see your brother off, and yet your sadness leaves sour jealousy in his mouth— he was your husband.

The Cargyll twins look upon you both, appalled by the cruelty of the prince to keep you here as Gwayne leaves for good. Erryk in particular feels restless, unable to stop shifting and fidgeting with his scabbard.

"Shall... shall we go?" you mutter, slowly looking up.

Daemon watches you place a hand on his bicep. He responds only by following you after giving your wards a dismissive look.

The brothers turn to each other, each as unwilling as the other to leave you, but they do anyway.

Daemon is acutely aware of the warmth of your cheek against his arm as you tread down the halls. When, you arrive at your marriage chambers, Daemon opens the door and you notice the bandage wrapped around his hand. He struggles because of this. Once you're inside, you take his arm, eyes trained on his injury, "what happened to your hand?"

Daemon's eyes are fixed on the line between your brows.

"Did you break it?" you turn to him with furrowed eyes.

He pulls away slowly. He wants to know what you'd do next.

"Did you wrap it yourself? It's badly done."

He faintly snorts, "it's on my right hand."

"I'll do it for you," you say, walking towards the vanity.

Daemon follows, watching you procure scissors and vials and other things. You turn to him, motioning to the chair. He sits down, gaze fixed upon you as you take his arm again.

Your eyes are focused on undoing his wrap, "tell me if it hurts,"

His are fixed on your focused expression, "you should sit down."

"I'm fine."

"I want you to sit down," he uses his other hand to grab your wrist.

You stop and turn to him. You turn to the chair across the room but Daemon prevents you from doing so and simply spreads legs, pulling you between his thighs. Quickly, you are sat on his lap and tense look at him. He offers you his injured hand again as his other goes around you, clinging to your hip. He pulls you in, leaning his head against yours to say, "it's a cut, by the way."

You furrow your brows at his admission. You allow yourself a moment to relax before continuing your task. You find it is, in fact, a cut, deep and ugly, "did your lance splinter very badly?"

"No."

You furrow your brows deeper as you turn to him,

"This is glass."

"Glass?" you brow raise, "how did you hurt your hand with glass?"

Daemon licks his lips as he looks at yours. He shrugs, "I broke a bottle."

You pull your head back, "on accident?"

"On purpose," he tilts his head.

You huff and start cleaning his wound, "was the violence in the tourney insufficient?"

He chuckles through his nostrils, "I did not fucking win."

You smear balm on his wound. You do not reply.

It makes him clench his jaw, "and you..."

"..."

"You were not there."

You do not tear your gaze from his injury.

He grumbles, "did you even hear me?"

You lift your gaze then raise brow at him, "you did not want me there. Do you not recall how you cursed at me?"

Your gall makes anger rise up his throat.

You continue wrapping up his hand.

"Well, you were being a bitch," he snaps.

"Why?"

His brows furrow.

"Why was I being a bitch?"

"..."

You spare him a quick glace.

He pulls his head back, "... what?"

"Did I not do my duty?" you turn to him, face blank, "I followed you, congratulated you, inquired of your injuries. I submitted to your desires. Where did I err?" You ask in earnest, "what do you want from me?"

His face contorts. Now that he was faced with such an opportunity, he finds himself unable to speak. What did he want from you?

You wait for him to reply. You prepare yourself for preposterous requirements but you are met only his silence. In that moment, you remember he was just a man. Many a man enjoyed making women suffer. You gulp, thinking about your father.

Perhaps your father was lying. Perhaps he wants you to believe you are with child to get even. After all, Daemon never... finished in you. How then could you be with child?

You secure the binding on his hand, "it is finished."

Daemon does not bother looking at his hand.

"How do you feel?"

He feels a strong urge to shake you... to pull you close.

"My deepest sympathies for the death of your cousin."

He freezes. Right. The queen was dead. He lowers his gaze.

You frown and reach for his cheek. You second guess however and bring your palm to his shoulder instead, "I am here for you, my prince."

His eyes meet yours.

"I am here to care and comfort you."

He leans back, taken by the thought.

You drink in his demeanor, the softness in his eyes, the tension that falls of his shoulders. You release a breath, "if that is what you desire, speak plainly, and do not repel me. Do not ask me to leave if, in fact, you want me to stay."

His throat tightens. He feels like he is ensnared in a bear trap. He rips at his collar, "I... I have other injuries." He pushes you off and paces around as he undoes his top. It is a struggle for him, but he cannot stop or stay still, "cuts and bruises."

You watch as he fidgets and slowly walk over.

"I don't-"

"Daemon."

He stills.

You come in front of him and undo his top yourself. You drop it mindlessly, and once he is bare, he feels conscious under your scrutiny for some reason. You brush your fingers on his ribs, making goosebumps form on his skin. He can't say that that has ever happened to him before. You notice and rub his arms, eyes locked on his torso.

He feels himself getting hard.

"Did you tend to these yourself as well?" you brush over a cut on his hip.

Oh. You were still examining him. He only hums in response.

You frown, "did no maester come to your tent?"

"I..." he starts.

You circle around him, inspecting for other injuries.

"...wanted you to come to my tent."

You come to his side. He finds the frown on your face. You take a moment before saying, "you tended to your wounds well at least."

"I want you."

You nod, "I will tend to you—"

Daemon takes your nape, lowering his head to kiss your lips. It takes a moment for you to relax, and his belly burns at the sound you make when you do. Your hands come to his sides and your nails graze faintly into his flesh.

He pushes you back until your laid on the bed beneath him. His kisses trail down your skin as he works to get you naked. He kisses your shoulder, then your sternum. He makes sure to lick your breast and leave a mark on your rib before peppering kisses down your belly.

Your breath grows heavy when he lingers by your womb, sucking kisses on your skin. Your throat tightens think of your father's words again. It makes you tense, and Daemon feels it. Of course, he doesn't know about your conversation with Otto, and thinks your tension comes from your self-consciousness.

You lift your head, pulling a pillow beneath it, and look down at your husband. You reach for him, tangling your fingers in his silver hair, "Daemon."

He hums, nipping your flesh in response.

You try to sit up, "D-Daemon, I-"

He shushes you, pushing down on your hip bone. He looks up at you, muttering something in High Valyrian.

"Please, Daemon, wait-"

"Be still," he says, violet eyes hooded, "do I not take care of you?"

Your breath hitches as he sinks down.

"Do you not enjoy my mouth?"

"I- that's not-"

"Do you or do you not?"

"I... I do—"

You are not able to speak after he buries his face between your thighs. You are reduced to breathy cries and a twisting spine. Daemon, though he continues to hold you down, relishes every second of it and feasts more ardently. He sighs, securing your thighs on his shoulders, nudging his face deeper into you, his nose brushing against your pearl.

He relishes how quickly your wetness builds, and soon, he feels your arousal dribbling down his chin. He moans, nails biting crescent moons into your skin. Your belly rises and falls in sync with the crescendo of your mewls. At this point, both your hands are tangled into his hair, and your pulling and scratching only further inspires his tongue.

You call out his name, screwing your eyes shut as you throw your head back and arch your body. Quickly, your belly tightens and you sequentially dig your heels into his shoulder blades. He squeezes your thighs enough to make them bruise, and yet the pain is what pushes you into orgasm, garnering a lewd and loud sound from your mouth.

Daemon hums, lifting his face just enough to see yours as he brings you to peak. He moans at your expression, grinding his hips into the cushion, desperate for friction.

Your body trembles, unable to settle as his burning mouth persists on your molten mound. You begin to squeak and he catches the moment you open your eyes to look at him all teary. It drives him mad. With a deep inhale, he pulls away, wiping his chin before he undoes his breeches.

You relax and catch your breath, hands dropping to your sides.

Daemon watches you, your trembling legs glistening with the pleasure he's drawn out. He can feel himself throbbing in his pants. You watch as he hastily frees himself. Though your head was hazy and your body was tried, your belly burned at sight of the sticky liquid dripping down your husband's neck.

"Fuck, Daemon," you reach for his belly. You trace his defined muscles with your finger tips. He snatches your hands when he finally pushes his pants down.

You squeak when he pushes you to your side, one hand on your shoulder, another hiking your leg up by the knee. You whine as he folds you into the sheets just before sliding his hardened cock in your wet cunt.

He hisses, leaning down to your neck. His words are hot against your skin, but you understand nothing.

Whatever tenderness he had before was gone, now he was just fucking you like a rabid animal. Daemon could not help himself, he loved how supple and pliable you were, and twists you into a form that keeps you prone. When the bed begins to creak because of his thrusts, he holds you down where your neck and collarbone meet. He puts enough pressure to restrict your breathing, but not enough to choke out your pretty noises.

At some point, he decides your leg is getting in the way and pushes you flat on your chest. He then gathers you by the hip, hiking you up enough to fuck you nicely from behind.

His thrusts are more intense now. You scream into the cushion as you find your elbows. Before you can prop yourself up though, he's pinning you down by the shoulder, saying something in High Valyrian again.

"D-Daemon," you whine, left cheek smushed against your pillow. You could feel your next climax building quickly.

He responds by rubbing your clit, drawing tears and another scream out of you because of your sensitivity.

You feel yourself helplessly clenching and unclenching around him, absolutely boneless under his vigorous intrusion. You could feel your knees slipping but Daemon's grip on you would not see you move from your position. Your toes curl. Saliva drips out your open mouth.

"Māzigon va, riña," he snorts, "sepār mirrī angotan tolī." Come on, girl. Just a little bit more."

You do not understand, so you only whine out, "Daemon."

Daemon growls and rubs one side of your ass, "you're doing so good for me."

He spanks you, but that's not what makes your eyes open.

"Milk my cock with your tight cunny, come slut."

You begin to grit your teeth.

"I want to see my seed dripping down your thighs," he groans, mind unable to focus on anything but the hot, wet slapping of your skin.

It's unsurprising that you come first, as Daemon always assures you do to underscore his control and dominance over you. He yelps out a sharp fuck, nearly coming in your cunt because of how your body seizes up around him. Your orgasm overwhelming, yet your eyes water for more than this reason. His words make you aware your husband sees you nothing more as a vessel for pleasure, and your pleasure is regretfully cut short because of how sharply he pulls out, his load spraying on your already dripping labia and pubic hair.

He strokes himself a few times, feeling his cock twitch in his hand as he watches your mixed come trickle down your legs. He sighs, "fuck," then scoops the cream in two fingers, plunging it in and out your still spasming cunt.

You squeal when he finger fucks you, body unable to remain upright. You are grateful he loses interest rather quickly and crumble into the bed as he stands.

You watch him walk over to the drawer, where he then pours himself some wine. You gulp, remembering your dream from last night. It sobers you out your high. You clench your jaw and roll over to clean yourself up. You head to your vanity and wipe yourself down, grabbing your robe was you do.

Daemon, whose thirst was now quenched, turns back to you with a towel. He is confused to see you standing. He watches you flip your hair behind you, pulling it out of your robe, which you then secure around yourself. He knits his brows as he walks over, "what are you doing?"

You turn to him, sitting on the vanity chair, "getting ready for bed."

Daemon stares, and you take his prolonged silence as an indication to proceed with your nightly routine.

The prince squeezes the damp towel in his hand as he watches you brush your hair. You catch his stillness from the mirror and turn back to him, "oh."

You drop your brush and take the towel from him, "I'll help you clean up."

Normally, he enjoyed this, but right now, he can't. He is offended when you begin to pick up his clothes, so much that he scoffs, "the fuck are you doing?"

You halt midway picking up his trousers. You stand and turn to the closet, "ah. Did you want new clothes?"

He pulls his head back, no longer offended, but hurt, "you want me to leave?"

You are caught off guard by his question. You stare at him for a moment, unsure if he was serious. You could not identify his expression, so you did not know if you tell him the truth. You would not survive being berated after confessing you wanted to sleep with him. You dodge the answer altogether, "weren't you leaving anyway?"

Daemon's cheeks tense. He huffs, stepping forward, yanking his clothes out of your hands, "no."

You are bewildered by his actions, for to you, his actions are sudden. You are petrified in fear, which is why you instinctively begin to apologize, "f-forgive me, I-I-"

His nostrils flare and his jaw sets.

"I-" you motion with a hand, "- you always leave."

His clenches his jaw, "do you want me to leave?"

"I—" your throat tightens and soon you can no longer look at him. You want to beg him to stay, but you recall how you did that with your father, and your mother, and your brother— begging does not make people stay. You whisper, "I... I'm terrified."

When you lift your gaze, Daemon shirks and decided to dress. He gulps as he pulls his trousers up, turning back to you. He clenches his fist before reaching out for you.

Your heart races as he takes your hand.

"You've served me well. If you are terrified... I'll leave you."

You whimper when he pulls away, holding him tighter than he did before your hands part. Your lips quiver. He knits his brows. You shake your head, "I- I... I do not want you to go."

He is taken off guard by how you suddenly embrace him.

"Please," you beg, though you knew it would not serve you well, "stay."

He turned to stone. He cannot seem to move at all but your arms are determined to stay around him. You begin to weep against his skin and he can feel your breath grow ragged. Only then does he manage to return your affection.

He brushes your dark hair away from your face and cradles you against him.

"Daemon."

He leans into you, enough to be able to brush his cheek against yours, "kesan umbagon." I will stay.

You sniffle then sigh. After a while, you ask, "what does that mean?"

"I will stay."

You sigh again, pulling away to look at him. You offer him a sad smile, "thank you."

He frowns, wiping your tears.

When you go back to bed, you offer him space in case you've made him uncomfortable. He stares at you, awaiting your embrace. You are mere inches apart but it feels like yards and yards.

"Good night, husband," you say before turning over.

He chuckles dryly, staring at your dark hair. He turns to the ceiling, "good night."

[tinyfantasminha]

I don't want to keep clogging my blog with vent posts but uh... I guess this is a more general concern/observation

But it's getting real hard to stay motivated in fandom spaces when there's little compensation, and annoying occurrences are more frequent than good ones.

Mainly there's been less engagement/people showing interest in creators and their art (such as sending asks, making comments and reblogging with tags) and MORE parasocial interactions. This goes for both artists and writers.

Over this year I've noticed a vast disinterest within my public in general. Asks about ocs, my art, or just nice simple comments of ''I love your art'' has been getting more and more scarce. My follower number is bigger than 2-3 years ago sure and I get more likes on my posts but they are feeling more like just numbers and statistics than actual people who supposedly like my stuff.

And while people being parasocial with creators has always been a thing, I feel like it's gotten way worse... in general? People sending personal pictures out of the blue in hopes of being validated, unwanted psychological advice or assumptions about the creator without any established connection first ( <- these happened to me in the same week.) ventdump, just insensitive/lacking of common sense comments in general, unreasonable demands (mostly with writers)... I wondered at first if it was just me, but a handful of mutuals/acquaintances who are artists and writers seems to be going through it as well.

It's annoying. It's tough. It's getting exhausting. Creators pour so much of themselves into their work—countless hours, effort, and passion, all to share something meaningful or entertaining with others (and for FREE) The LEAST anyone can do is show respect, even if opinions differ. When a writer posts a fanfic, don't just say ''omg post next chapter!'', when an artist posts a drawing of their favorite character, don't just say ''omg draw (character) next!'' as if they're faceless content machines that are expected to churn out more '''content''' for you without acknowledgment, encouragement, or appreciation.

''I want to support creators but I don't know what to say and I feel intimidated by their talent so I just lurk silently :((('' I swear to you, no creator (at least not the majority) is making up an intimidating persona to discourage you from interacting with them. They WANT your comments. A single ''I love your art/writing/videos'' or even something as silly as ''I want to eat your art'' is enough to keep a creator sighing dreamily for WEEKS. It doesn't have to be deep! It's heartfelt and that's what it matters!! (Just remember to keep it relevant and thoughtful... It takes just a bit of common sense NOT to comment things like ''this looks like (another character)'' or ''this but with (another unrelated ship/character/show)''. No one wants to hear comparisons or unrelated ideas when they’ve poured their soul into something.)

In fact, the ''I like your art but I think you're intimidating'' feels more hurtful than flattering. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong, acting wrong. 💀

If you love that fanfic that changed your brain psyche forever and want to gush about it, go tell the writer. If you loved so much a piece of art that you saved it a million times in your phone and can't stop thinking about it, go tell the artist. Push away the ''they probably won't care about my comment/it won't make a difference'' thoughts. DO IT NOW. You won't know when they might go inactive forever or deactivate. You can't know if that is the last piece they will ever post. Make sure you show appreciation to creators NOW, while they are still here. While they're still not being replaced by AI.

[tsukimara]

Oh wow.. r-request are open.. t-Tsuki-Chan… w-well don’t mind if I do.. c-can you w-write f-Floyd, Riddle, and Epel with a jellyfish s/o w-who can’t control their stings.. hehe.. *blushes cutely.*

—🎀

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌Boys with jellyfish S/O who can't control their stings!࿐ . ۫

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Characters: Floyd, Riddle and Epel <3

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Hcs, Fluff, Romantic (but it can also be read as platonic), Gn!reader

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Warnings: None!

-ˏˋ⋆➔ A/N: AAAA HELLO 🎀ANON!! T-thank you for y-your request... *Looks away blushing* (We are not crazy I promise)

FLOYD:

• A sea creature? And a jellyfish at that?! You 100% got his attention!

• LIKE OMGGG YOU'RE SO CUTE!! Let him squeeze your cheeks!!!!!

• This boy is so in loveeee.

• He just needs to hug you- !! Oh this sting was unexpected. You can't control it? Well that's fine, that doesn't stop him from hugging you!

• He wouldn't take it too seriously, he'd just laugh it off and ignore your stings.

• In short, he will test how many times he will get sting if he hugs you for a long time. He won't lie your cuddles are interesting now!

• Sometimes he touches your cnidocytes specifically to see how they feel. He doesn't do it often because he doesn't want to get stings all over his hands.

• But if he's in a bad mood he can get a little irritated but don't worry! It will pass quickly when he remembers that you can't control it and he will go back to teasing you.

• Floyd is an electric eel (correct me if I'm wrong), right? If so, I doubt he would feel your sting very much. They would actually tickle him a little.

• He'd love to help you control your stings but doesn't really know how. Even though they don't bother him, he knows you don't want to sting EVERYONE who touches you.

• Like hey don't be sad! Hug him instead of others! He doesn't mind.

• He actually thinks it's a good 'weapon' to scare others away if they bother you.

• Still, he will help you, he will ask others and look for information.

• "Sorry I sting you again..." "Sting? It was more like a little pinch than a sting zappy!"

• Ah yes, his nicknames.

• He likes to tease you for not being able to control your stings so he gave you the nickname 'zappy'.

RIDDLE:

• Ummm, that's interesting..

• I think he would be slightly interested in your cnidocytes, but that doesn't mean he wants to touch them.

• He's not much of an affectionate person so he's not too worried about being stinged by you.

• However, if he was standing too close to you and you accidentally touched him with your cnidocytes, expect a yelp from him.

• He'll think you did it on purpose so he'll scold you.

• "Hey! That hurt! You can't do that. What if you hurt someone else? Your behavior is incorrect." "I'm so sorry Riddle!!! I don't know how to control them!" Oh-

• Since you told him that, he'll pay a little more attention when he comes near you. Not in a bad way but he doesn't want to get sting again.

• Now he'll know he can't scold you so much for something you can't control.

• Of course he will also tell you to be careful because he doesn't want anyone to get hurt (Actually he doesn't want you to feel guilty but he won't admit it).

• For that he will try to help you with them somehow. No matter what, he will look for a solution to your problem so you don't have to worry about it anymore.

• He knows that every time you tried to hug someone it always ended badly so you stopped trying to hug others.

• Riddle isn't really used to things like affection, but he'll try to dress up so you can't sting him and he'll let you hug him a bit.

• Just don't tell anyone!

• He will dress like this most of the time until you guys find a solution to control your sting.

EPEL:

• Epel doesn't really know how to react.

• Yes, you have something cool to defend yourself but he won't lie, he doesn't really like being stinged.

• But when he finds out that you don't do it on purpose, he will look at it differently.

• "Ouch! What was that for?- Ah right, that was unintentional." He'll try not to sound mad at you because he's not, he just never expects to get stinged.

• Over time he will get used to them and will say that you can knock down whoever you want!

• When he gets sting, he claims it didn't hurt him at all, showing that he is tough.

• It actually hurt him, but he didn't want you to think he was weak or you to blame yourself!!

• " !!- N-no, What are you talking about? Uhh... It doesn't hurt that much! See? I'm not as weak as others."

• He says it would be fun to prank someone with your stings.

• Epel is not a very affectionate person but he doesn't mind physical contact, sometimes it just makes him blush.

• That's why he will dress in such a way that you can hug him or hold his hand without worrying about hurting him.

• Even if the clothes don't fit and Vil might pick on him, he'll still dress like that. He wants to show you that he cares about you!

• He will help you control your stings, no matter if he will have to read thousands of books or ask everyone in the world if it means it will help you.

• He will even try to get something that can help you control them!

• If that means you'll be happy then he will be too!

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Masterlist

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Rules request

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

happy happy birthday i hope you're having a great day 🍾🥳💐

If it's ok i would like to ask for "How can you still trust me after everything I've done?" with 🔥 and a female reader please? Maybe just a little nsfw-ish?

Thank you so much, Anon, for the lovely birthday wishes! I'm sorry this took a while, I hope you still enjoy it! Even though it's much more angsty than actualy NSFW... hope you don't mind that! Thank you!

Source for Pic and Pic

Fighter

Word Count: 4176

Tags: Fem!Reader; Dark!Ace; Angst; Hurt; Sorrow; Ambiguous/Open-ending; Mention of sex; Physical and emotional torture;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Ace was overtaken by some sort of Darkness and he's very intent on breaking you. You are a fighter, but how long can you last in such an unfair fight?

Notes: This fic was heavily inspired by the song The Fighter by In This Moment. I love this song so much! Please give it a listen, it fits right in.

|Masterlist|

Has it been weeks? Days? Surely not. It can't have been more than one day. A few hours, perhaps? Time seems to stand still. There's no window, no sun, no breeze, and definitely no air! It's suffocating, oppressing, and so full of despair.

The only light comes from a few torches scattered here and there, barely enough to discern if the wet patches on the damp earth below your feet are water or your own blood. 

No, that's not right. 

There's another source of light. A dark flame, so black one would think it came straight from the pits of hell. Where once burned a bright orange, almost golden-like flame, filled with love and laughter, now stands a void of hopelessness and desperation. 

Ace. 

Your Ace. 

No, that's not right again. This is not your Ace. In front of you stands a twisted, cruel version of the man you love. 

“Ready to break, love? Are you well rested?” His voice has the same timbre, but he never wielded it with so much cruelty. The way he uses your nickname rings familiar, but it is nowhere near the same. 

And he's terrifying. 

This Darkness that once was your lover approaches your broken form again, and you wince in preparation. Your arms are numb, and there's blood dripping from where the chains cut into your skin, from your dangled wrists. The bruises on your body paint a yellowish and purple complexion on your soft skin. There are welts and blisters forming as well from the burns he's inflicting on you. 

But what's truly devastating isn't the physical pain this thing is bringing upon you. It's an emotional one. Because the same calloused hands that held you tight with love are now holding you tight with pain, branding you with dark flames, consuming you in all the wrong ways. 

You want to beg for him to stop. 

But you can't stop fighting. 

I will always fall and rise again Your venomous heroine 'Cause I am a survivor Yeah, I am a fighter

“Ace.” You plead again, your words more broken than last time but filled with the same hope. “I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Come back to me, love. Come back.”

For the briefest of moments, his dark eyes seem to flicker with some sort of light. Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches in your lungs. 

Then it's gone. 

The Darkness laughs. An inhuman laugh devoid of all the warmth that Ace possesses, devoid of all his light, all his love. It hurts more than a million burns. His hands clutch your neck, squeezing tight until little black dots start to fill your vision, his digits marking new bruises on your battered skin as his lips dangle close to your own, twisted into an animalistic snarl that resembles nothing of your lover. 

“Ace can't hear you, love. He's far gone. I'm all that's left, and I will break you.”

He releases you a moment before you're about to pass out, and your chest heaves, inhaling gulps of damp, stagnant air as your head feels light and empty. 

Then, pain strikes again. 

His dark flames create new burns, his fists bruising and battering. You’re not even sure of what's broken anymore. But nothing too important. No, he doesn't want to kill you.

Not yet, at least. 

I will fall and rise above And in your hate I find love 'Cause I'm a survivor Yeah, I am a fighter

You pass out. Who knows for how long? Your only hope is that Ace is still somewhere inside, and that he's still listening to you. 

He needs to come back. 

Ache settles into your bones and your sore muscles. Your lips are dry and cracked, and thirst holds your tonsils ransom, trapped against your throat. You’re at least glad that you have nothing inside your belly, because the stench of your burning flesh is enough to revolt the strongest stomachs. 

“Oh, here you are again, love. I thought I might have gone a bit too far this time.” His manic chuckle is a far cry from Ace’s giddy laughter. “Oops!” Your lover was never taunting, never cruel, never hurtful. You barely know how to cope with this reality.

One minute he was Ace, and the next he wasn’t. How did it happen? You can’t even remember if it was an enemy Devil Fruit or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it took your Ace away and replaced him with something ugly and dark. 

“Come back, Ace, please.” You keep pleading. Ever since this thing brought you to this damp cave and started torturing you. But Ace doesn’t hear you. Is he still there?

He has to be. It’s far too painful to think he’s gone. 

“You keep pleading for the wrong thing, love. Plead for your life. That’s all.” There’s a gleam in his eyes, but it’s the wrong spark. Where there used to be a boyish amusement, there’s nothing but twisted delight. He’s relishing the fact that he’s slowly breaking you.

And you won’t give him - it - this satisfaction. 

“Remember us, Ace… please.” Maybe if you appeal to his heart, to the shared memories of happy days, he can come back to you. He was always a fighter, never a quitter. It doesn’t have to be different now.

You ignore the twisted and spent part of yourself that assures you that if he could come back, he would’ve already. The Ace you love would never have laid a single finger on you to hurt you. 

This dark Ace takes a step back, his eyes widen, and he stutters. “Remember us?” Maybe it’s working. 

You pull on the chains a bit more, but all that does is make you wince and writhe in pain. They’re too tight, and they’ve been biting at your skin, leaving it tender and bruised since he captured you.

“Yes. I remember us.” His lips pull back into a distorted smile that resembles nothing of the man you love, nor does the freakish sound that follows, an eerie, dark laugh. “I remember this.”

The Darkness steps closer, his hand caressing your cheek while his thumb presses against your lower lip. The other hand traces gentle patterns over your neck and collarbone, a familiarity in the gesture that brings tears to your eyes. It’s a lover's caress, but instead of warmth, all you feel is revulsion. 

This will break you much faster than any other kind of torture. 

I will not hide my face I will not fall from grace I'll walk into the fire, baby

“Do you know what Ace’s first memory of you is?” The Darkness’s tongue peeks out from his mouth as he licks his lips, his dark gaze never leaving yours while tears pool at the corners of your eyes. “Your smile. The way his heart raced when you smiled at him. Such a silly boy with silly dreams. So vulnerable, so in love.”

“Stop. Please stop…” The words are mere whispers as tears finally run freely over your scarred cheeks. These are precious memories, and he’s desecrating them all, turning them into weapons meant to hurt. “Ace… come back.”

“Keep pleading, love. It won’t do you any good, but it will feel so much better when you finally break.” His hand hovers over your breasts and dips lower, settling against your hip as he brushes his thumb against your hip bone. The gesture is intimate, akin to Ace’s touch, but so wrong, so perverse. 

“Do you remember the first time he kissed you?” A cruel laugh echoes in your ears, his deep voice a corrupt mimicry of Ace’s soft tone. “Mighty Portgas D. Ace, a fearsome commander of the Whitebeard Pirates… nervous. A trembling mess of a man, too afraid to get it wrong, scared shitless you would leave him because he didn’t deserve you. He agonised over it for days. Foolish sap.”

You close your eyes as a painful sob claws its way through your chest and up your throat. You try to block the beautiful memory from reaching the surface, but the damage is done. You remember it as clearly as day.

Ace’s flushed, freckled cheeks. A nervous laugh escaping his trembling lips. The way he kept swaying on the tips of his toes, his hand either reaching for you or retreating to his pockets. 

His deep breath before cupping your cheeks with shuddering, too-hot hands, just before his lips collided with yours. The kiss was too tense at first, too clumsy. 

Until you relaxed in his hold and melted into his touch. When you sighed into his lips, he easily took your tongue with his and thoroughly scrambled your brain.

“Stop. Please stop.”

“Why should I? When it produces these sweet, sweet tears.” Clutching your face, he leans in, tongue reaching out and licking a long stripe from your jaw to your temple, collecting all your tears with a cruel sound of delight. 

His hands bruise your neck again, holding tightly, revelling in the way your pulse races against his calloused fingers. 

“Does it hurt, love? To know he once kissed you with such devotion, such tenderness, and now… now all you have is me.” His lips ghost yours and you bite your cheeks hard to keep from sobbing uncontrollably. 

Unsatisfied with your lack of response, he releases your neck, and you gasp for air, but he’s relentless in this cruel game. His hands drop to your waist, pulling you closer. The chains holding you groan and rattle in protest, and you let out a pained whimper. 

“I know exactly how he touched you.” The pressure is the same, his hand feels the same, he smells and looks the same. Your heart aches and weeps, and you grieve because, even though he looks the same, he couldn’t be farther from the man you’re devoted to. 

His fingers trace upwards, brushing your bruised ribs, and you hate how your body reacts to his familiar touch. You can’t control the longing you feel for him any more than you can control the tears streaming down your face. 

“I remember how he vowed to protect you from all harm. How he would much rather die than see you hurt.” The way he drags Ace’s laugh into a twisted, cruel version of it carves a deep abyss of pain within your chest. You know he’s speaking the truth. Ace was always your protector. It would kill him to know what he’s done to you now.

Still…

You’d much rather have him with you, feeling terrible for hurting you, than not having him at all. 

All my life I was afraid to die And now I come alive inside these flames

“Shut up. Stop. Please.” You barely have the strength to plead anymore. This is so much worse than when he was only hurting your body. You can endure physical pain, but not this merciless torture.

“I know exactly how he loved you.” The grip on your waist tightens until it bruises again. “How he watched you sleep in his arms, memorising each freckle, each dimple, each dip and crease of your skin. How he committed your scent to memory to keep himself grounded when he was away from you. How his fingers knew the curves of your body by heart, and how you sounded when you unravelled for him.”

An anguished wail leaves your parted lips as each word he delivers taunts you, breaks you, tears another piece of your heart apart, and tosses it aside, broken and used up. You’ve fought so hard until now, you can’t give up. Not even when all of his words are meant to shatter your resolve, to destroy your soul. 

You need to stay strong and fight for Ace.

“Ace…”

“He loved you so much.” The chains creak and groan as he keeps pulling you, bruising your skin with brutal touches. “And me? Well, I can use that love to completely destroy you.” He collects a tear with an extended finger, his eyes gleaming with malice as you crumble further. “I will change and twist your memories so much that you’ll wish you’d never loved him. Or plead for me to kill you.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Whichever comes first.”

Each word, each gesture is a reminder of him, of what he used to be. Of what he is, hidden beneath all those layers of malevolence. 

“Remember how he used to touch you like this…” His words trail and linger near your ear as he runs his fingers down your spine in an all-too-familiar gesture. Your body betrays you once more, his touch so akin to home that you arch towards him, a broken whimper leaving your lips as another tear trails down your scorched cheek. 

The Darkness revels in your reaction, drinking every sob, every sound, every twitch like it’s fuel keeping him alive.

“Oh… yes, he loved that sound. All the little noises you made for him, it always drove him half-mad, knowing he was the one responsible for provoking them, for making you come undone beneath his fingers.” 

Another sob claws its way up your throat as a new wave of beautiful memories fills your mind.

“More, Ace, more.”

“Yes, love. You have all of me.” His languid thrusts drove you crazy. Each stroke of his hips hit places that made you see white. He drew pleasure from you as naturally as he drew flames from within himself. 

Moans and whimpers, prayers and pleas. They left your parted lips in an unintelligible litany of muffled, half-drowned words. 

“That’s it, love. Those noises right there, keep ’em coming for me. All for me.”

And then he would kiss you breathless, swallowing everything you had to give him. Taking it all in so he could breathe life back into you again. 

And you loved every second of it.

Now, all those precious memories are tainted. Tainted by his cruel words, tainted by his brutal touch, tainted by his wicked ways. 

And you’re so drained that you don’t know how much more of this you can actually take. 

“And you… do you remember what you whispered to him?” His lips brush against the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and you swallow a gasp, the chains biting harder into your skin, but you’re already numb to that pain. “How you’d tell him you were his, how you would never want to let go of him, you promised him forever.”

Your lower lip trembles helplessly as the Darkness’s voice drags, malice dripping like venom and sticking to your skin, sticky and disgusting. 

“And when he made love to you…” No… no… no… “When he touched you in all the right places…” His hands grasp your sides and climb up slowly, thumbs brushing your nipples as you fight a torrent of tears. “You’d scream his name, crying out for him like he was your whole world.”

This time, the broken sob leaving your lips is soul-crushing, and you feel the weight of it deep in your chest. 

“That’s it, love. Let it all out.” He brushes his lips against yours in a mockery of intimacy. Another familiar gesture, but a malicious travesty of the reality you were used to. “Mourn for him, for the man who is no more. For the one who promised to keep you safe. Grieve for the loss of his soul. Let me hear you break apart.”

It’s too much. It’s all so devastating.

“Stop… please.” Strength is leaving you. The Darkness hurt you before, bleeding you dry, breaking your bones and scarring your flesh. But this violation of your most sacred memories is what finally breaks you. 

You feel yourself slowly slipping away. You will not last much longer. 

Closing your eyes, you let your face fall forward, a silent sign of defeat. “Do you want him back?” He asks, his cold hands cradling your face so you can look him in the eyes. The viciousness that gazes back at you is unfamiliar, cold, and disheartening. 

It’s not your Ace.

“Beg for him, love. Call his name like you used to. It won’t do any good, but it will make victory taste so much better.” His thumbs brush away another batch of tears, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Ace…”

He doesn’t falter. There’s not even a hint of recognition in his dark eyes. He’s gone. 

“He’s gone, love. But he remembers you. How your laugh was able to pull him away from the darkness within himself. How lucky he felt when you kissed him and how worthy you made him feel. Like he was much more than a name, more than the son of a cursed pirate, more than a legacy of a man he hated.”

He presses his forehead against yours, and the intimacy of it is so vivid that, for a moment, you think your Ace is back. 

“Do you know how many sleepless nights he spent with you in his arms? Just listening to your breathing, completely terrified of losing you one day? How he wished he could protect you from everything that would seek to cause you harm? How his fingers traced every inch of you, afraid he’d forget.”

The dread in your chest expands, taking away your breath. The hurt travels down your legs and up your numb arms. Your head feels lighter, and your throat constricts with agony. You need to let go.

“Please… please… stop. Just stop…”

But the Darkness doesn’t relent. “You made him dream of a future he never thought he’d want… of children he vowed never to have. You were his anchor, grounding him in this life, making him feel like he was deserving of happiness.”

His lips hover over yours, hands clutching your face, the pressure building, yet you feel no pain anymore. You can barely think.

“Do you know what the cruellest part is, love?” He pulls back long enough to look into your eyes, a ghost of Ace’s smile painting his lips. “He never got to say goodbye.”

“Make it stop… I’m done…” The whisper that leaves your lips carries more than defeat. It carries a desperate tragedy. How can something so beautiful as the love you shared with Ace be torn into pieces? How can it be dissected with such malice?

“Finally!” He chants in victory as his hands clasp your cheeks again and he presses his lips hard against yours. 

The kiss is bruising, cruel, a mimicry of Ace’s, but yet, still too familiar. It brings with it another litany of relentless sobs that you just can’t keep at bay. His hands slither over your body in a mockery of a caress and they tuck your neck, pressing gently at first, his lips still glued to yours, claiming both your soul and your body to darkness. 

Then his thumbs press hard against the dip of your throat and all the air is cut off from you. You’re suffocating, thrashing silently against both his hold and the icy grip of the chains and you know your time has come.

It’s as tragic as it is poetic that the man who brought love into your life should also bring death; that the one who so easily breathed life into you, can also take your last breath away. 

Whimpers and gasps leave your constricted throat as your feet kick and thrash, but he doesn’t relent. You feel wetness against your cheeks and taste salt in your dried tongue, though the source of those tears is unknown to you. Are they yours, or the Darkness?

Just as you’re slipping away, the hold on your throat falters and the lips pressed against you lose their harshness, they become soft and pliant, warmer for a moment. Then, with a harsh gasp and a step back, Ace cries in agony, his hands clutching his dark locks as his eyes shut firmly.

Air fills your lungs again and you cough, tasting blood with each convulsion. He might not have killed you yet, but he came pretty close. 

“Ace… Ace…” You try, each gasp more breathless than the last, but each new gulp filled with newfound hope. He’s fighting.

Your Ace is fighting.

With another agonised scream, Ace pants, breathlessly. Globs of saliva spew from his gritted teeth as he struggles to open his eyes. Then his gaze lands on you, your name spilling from his lips in raw pain as he assesses your wounds, the wounds he inflicted upon you himself.

“Love… Oh, God, no. What have I done?” With a wobbly step, Ace draws near your body, hands stretched and trembling as he cups your cheeks lovingly. A lone sob breaks through your pursed lips. 

It’s your Ace. It’s his touch. It's unmistakable. 

“Please, please, love. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Each word comes drenched in grief, saturated with misery. Each touch filled with caution and care.

“It’s you… it’s really you.” Your words are mere murmurs and each of them is a fresh new wound on Ace’s heart. Pressing his forehead against yours, he mumbles another supplication.

His arms wrap themselves around your wounded body and you shiver against his familiar touch. The warmth of his breath against your hair and neck comforts you as he holds you close, as if trying to shield you from a damage that’s already been done, from something he caused and can’t take back. “Please, please…”

But you shouldn’t have rejoiced too soon. Ace’s body convulses twice against your own, his touch harsher, his strength doubling and you feel a fresh wave of nausea hitting your senses, disorienting you.

“Ace?”

“No!” Ace growls, burying his face against the curve of your neck. “No!” He cries out again while his scream is muffled against your skin. A sharp, stabbing pain travels up your arm as his teeth sink with a sickening crunch of flesh being broken. 

Ace’s hands, which cradled you lovingly mere moments before, are now harsh and brutal against your frail body. His touch feels too unkind, too hot.

“You can’t have her!” The Darkness roars, pulling Ace’s head back violently, though his grip never falters. “You think she’ll forgive you after all you’ve done?”

You can’t speak, you can’t think, you can’t breathe. Ace’s flames dance in front of you, surrounding him like a sickening halo. They turn from orange to black and to an in between that disorients you. His touch aches, burns and scars. 

“Ace… fight!” You try to plead but your voice is too weak, too feeble and powerless to reach him in a battlefield you're not privy to. This is his fight to win, and you are a mere spectator. 

“You can’t…” He begins, a growl and a roar leave his lips as his arms erupt into a blazing inferno, searing your skin and making you cry out in pain and agony. “You can’t take her from me!” With a final clamor, Ace breaks free from the Darkness and his release is so literal that you can actually hear a loud clatter, like glass being broken while invisible shards fly everywhere. A final flame licks your body with ruthlessness and your broken lament dies with it.

“Love?” Ace’s broken voice barely reaches your ears. He, somehow, removes the harsh chains and the cruel bite is no more, though you can scarcely feel it as he cradles you against his body. “Love, come on, you can’t do this to me…” The tears that fall from his eyes almost hiss as they kiss your scorching skin. “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry… How…?” A broken sob shakes his shoulders as buries his face in your hair. “How can you still trust me after everything I’ve done?”

Ace’s world crumbles as you flutter away from him. Ragged, uneven breaths leaving your lips while your eyelids tremble in a defeated effort to open.

He’s losing you. 

And it’s all his fault. 

“Please don’t leave me. Fight… please. I’ll never let anything hurt you again…” The sorrow in his words weighs heavily in your heart, yet your body doesn’t respond to your will and you can’t seem to reassure him; you can’t tell him you don’t resent him, that it wasn’t his fault, that he doesn’t need to blame himself.

Because if there’s someone who doesn’t need to carry more guilt, it’s Ace. 

And yet, there’s no strength left to let him know that. Your chest heaves one last time and, suddenly, the fight is lost, and there is no clear winner.

Because if there’s someone who deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s Ace. 

“Please, come back. I love you…”

But all the love in the world couldn’t save you. 

All the love in the world couldn’t save him.

A frail wail leaves Ace’s lips as he shuts his eyes in agony, and he almost misses the flicker of hope that makes your chest tremble again while a soft sigh escapes your lips.

I don’t need you to save me ‘Cause I’m a survivor, yeah I am a fighter

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training

[hyog-blog]

Fangs of Fortune (ep. 06 - ep. 07)

Uh, not Li Lun, out of all people, making everyone finally question why Zhu Yan actually killed Yichen's brother and all those people years ago. We know he lost control over his malicious energy, but why didn't anyone ask him why it happened? Come on, people, you seem to be so smart))

Well, Wen Xiao seems to be accepting enough to not care about what our gorgeous Demon Lord has done in the past, which is quite refreshing. Ambiguous, morally grey characters need more unconditional love (especially when they're, uh, 34,000 years old? XD). But he doesn't even seem to be so 'grey' at this point - he's doing too many good things right now.

The whole thing with being a 'vessel for malicious energy' is quite intriguing. Was he born like that? Can he actually stop 'the cycle of rebirth'? Why did he 'lose control' after so many years of cultivation? I'm also trying to figure out the timeline - the killings must have happened after he dropped Wen Xiao off at what seemed to be the gates to the demon-hunting bureau. But she wasn't staying there when that stuff happened? Did his demonic self come back there just to wreak havoc or for some other reason? Was Li Lun involved? Mmmm, the plot is deliciously mysterious, I will have to wait to get those answers.

Also, I can't even be angry with Li Lun at this point, although he's playing the bad guy now - the poor baby was so visibly hurt when Zhu Yan called him a scumbag. And that painful look he had when our Demon Lord thought something along the lines 'screw you, I know how to wake this boy up from his nightmare' and pierced himself with Yichen's sword (which, uh, seems to be quite a recurring motif and the symbolism of it isn't escaping me, nope XD). In the world of jianghu, the next best thing you can do to show you CARE apart from cutting sleeves is to stab (or get stabbed by) the person you care about. Or get stabbed FOR the person you care about.

I also love how effortlessly Yichen is third-wheeling without creating a feeling that he's actually third-wheeling XD Wen Xiao is obviously biased towards Zhu Yan, now even more so that she knows he IS that Great Demon who accompanied her and the Bai Ze Goddess all those years ago. I would totally trust him, too, if I were her. I also love the messed-up dynamic of a former caretaker/child who's grown up because now Zhu Yan definitely doesn't give us those parental vibes, he's oozing sensuality wherever he goes (and him pretending to be all hurt so she stays with him, ahah, that whole sequence was cute and hilarious). And Zhu Yan saying something along the lines that they now get to 'meet all over again' - was it to build a new relationship with her from scratch? M-hmm, yummy, utterly delicious :D

And you can see how Yichen kinda sorta admits defeat in the way Wen Xiao no longer needs his protection against the 'big bad demon' (the man is using his big bad demonic energy to push her swing, for Christ's sake XD), but still can't let the other man go so easily because of REASONS and that 'you'll have to pay for your sins either way' thing still going on between them. Zhu Yan does know what buttons to push when it comes to Yichen, but the feeling seems to be quite mutual (they're cute together and their interactions are so yummy 😍). That scene at the temple is EVERYTHING. And then at Zhu Yan's mansion with the swing. Is he swinging both ways? Ahah XD For a 34,000-year-old being I don't see how that could be an issue)))

Okay, cutting and piercing still seem to be the show's love language and I APPROVE (never had a kink like that, but there's a first thing for everything, I guess XD). The undertones just make it all so yum))

The introduction of the new character, Yinglei, was hilarious))) We also find out that the Wilderness is crumbling down, which makes the whole Bai Ze token thing even more important.

/and I've finally reached the picture limit in one tumblr post, ahah XD/

[milla-frenchy]

So happy to read them again 😍😍

You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

This is so beautiful and vivid 😍😍

There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

I loved all of this. Reading her emotions, feeling them. Poor baby 😥

"What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

omg this is beautiful. I love how careful she is

"Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

I didn't plan to have my heart broken on a wednesday afternoon after work oh nooooo 😥😥😥

"S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

And this?! This hurts so much, and, it's so true...

When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly,  the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

❤️❤️❤️ I love this so much

And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind. "Stay. Please stay." But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally.

Why didn't youuuuuuuu 😭😭😭

"I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"    "You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."  

omg what? 😍😍😍 Odiiiiii you have me on an emotional roller coaster what are you doing to meeeeeeee

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,” he mutters to himself.

uuuuuh you're really trying to kill me here

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

I ALWAYS love when Joel tells someone they're stubborn. I always cackle, cause LOOK WHO'S TALKING, SIR 😂😂😂

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

Damn. Speechless. Odi if I catch you!!! (I'm gonna send you a lot of gifs to take revenge 😌😏)

Howdy Honey II. Beautiful Mess

Series Masterlist * Masterlist * Wordcount 6.6K

Summary: Joel grapples with his frustration and fear after you push him away

Warnings: the fluff before the smut! Some angst and mentions of loss

Notes: Thank you for the long wait for this chapter. Getting back into it with these two has been so much fun! I am very excited for the next chapter heheh. I can foresee three more chapters, which I will hopefully have out at a decent pace. Ty @evolnoomym for reading this over ♏️🌙

You

The first rays of morning light filter through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. The ranch outside is waking up, the sounds of hooves and rustling hay mingling with the birds' early songs, but inside, there is a stillness. The air is cool, soft, and peaceful before the day fully begins. You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

The potted plant in the corner catches your eye as its leaves flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. The subtle movement is a welcome distraction, drawing your focus away from the twinges of pain in your side, from the dull ache that’s become your constant companion. It's not the worst pain you’ve felt in your life, but right now, in the stillness of the room, it feels like the only thing that matters. You wish you were in your own bed, in the comfort of your familiar space. You can almost picture it—your room upstairs, the soft quilts, the shelves filled with books you've collected over the years. But the reality of your situation makes that impossible. The mere thought of climbing the stairs sends another sharp wave of pain through your body, reminding you that independence is a luxury right now, not a reality. You’ve always been fiercely independent—too proud, maybe, to admit when you need help. The idea of relying on Joel, especially now, when every moment around him seems to stir something inside you, feels almost too much to bear. When you were healthy, those stairs were nothing. You could run up them without thinking twice, bounding up two steps at a time. Now, the idea of even attempting it is enough to make your chest tighten, a reminder that things have changed. You can’t ignore it.

Joel has offered more than once to carry you up to your room, insisting that you’d be more comfortable in your own bed. But each time, you've turned him down. It’s not because you don’t trust him. You know he’s kind, that he genuinely wants to help, but the thought of him lifting you, of feeling his strong arms around you... it stirs something in you—something complicated. It's not just physical pain you need to recover from. There’s a tangle of emotions you can't unravel yet, especially not with Joel so close. Instead, you remain on the couch in the living room, finding comfort in its familiar layout. The space is small, but it feels like everything you need is within reach. The kitchen is just a few steps away, and the thought of being able to grab something to eat or drink without too much effort is a small but significant source of relief. You don't have to ask anyone for help every time you need something. The books and movies you've scattered around the room are close enough that you can slip into another world with little more than a turn of your hand. There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

But perhaps the most comforting part of this setup is Joel—always nearby. You know he’s there, moving around the ranch just out of sight, yet still within earshot. You can hear the faint sounds of him tending to the animals, the creak of the barn doors, the rustle of hay and boots on the dirt. It's not quite company, but it's enough. If something were to go wrong—if the pain in your side flared up again or you needed assistance in a way you couldn’t manage—Joel would be there in an instant. The thought of him close by, ready to step in, is both a comfort and a quiet reminder of how much you rely on him these days. You tell yourself that you don’t need him, but there's an undeniable warmth that settles in your chest knowing he’s just a room away. Still, the idea of needing help from him, especially in such a vulnerable state, stirs something deeper in you. Something that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly, a feeling that you can’t quite define. It’s easier this way—on the couch, within your little bubble of semi-independence, where your emotions can stay tucked away, just like the soft blanket Joel brought you.

You glance over at the cover of one of his daughter’s western novels, the title catching your eye. There's something about it that piques your curiosity, stirring questions you hadn’t meant to ask. Who is she, this daughter of his? Was she older? And then, the question that sits uncomfortably in your mind: Is Joel married—or was he? You’ve never seen a wedding band on his finger, never heard him speak about a wife. The mystery about him lingers, unresolved. You know you should be resting, but your mind refuses to settle. You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket as you try to distract yourself. Your eyes drift back to the book on the table—a well-worn copy of Lonesome Dove, its spine cracked and pages dog-eared. Something about the worn edges calls to you. It's a link to the world you grew up in, a reminder of the ranch life, of the toughness and independence that runs through your veins. You never could quite leave the ranch, even when you tried. You reach for the book, your fingers brushing against the paper's texture, the act of holding it feeling almost like coming home. You open the cover to the first page, the familiar scent of ink and aged paper filling your senses. As you dive into the world of Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call, the stories of cowboys and cattle drives pull you in. You’re captivated by Gus and Woodrow—two men bound by their pasts but so different in their approach to life.

As you read, you find yourself identifying with Lorena Wood, Gus's girlfriend. Her fight for her place in the world, her refusal to let others define her, resonates with you deeply. The scene where she insists on joining the cattle drive despite the objections of the men speaks to something inside you. The words, “I ain’t afraid of a little hard work,” echo in your mind, a mantra of defiance that you wish you could adopt fully. You can’t be weak. You won’t be.

"Dreamin’ is free, Lorena," Gus says to her, his voice a mix of wisdom and weariness. "It don’t cost nothin' extra to dream good dreams."

The words settle over you, and for a moment, you close your eyes. You think of Joel—his gruffness, his strength, the way he moves through the ranch with a quiet intensity. He’s always there, a steady presence in your life. You can’t help but wonder what kind of man he was before, what dreams he once had, what kind of life he led. Your thoughts drift, pulled back into the story before you can get too lost in them. The sun climbs higher in the sky, its light streaming through the windows, warm now, settling into the room. You glance at the book beside you and set it aside with a small sense of pride. You've made it through several chapters without letting your mind wander too much.

Your side aches more now from sitting too long, and you know it’s time to try standing. It’s been too long since you felt any sense of control over your own body. You push the blanket back, and slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the couch. The room tilts slightly as you plant your feet on the floor, and you take a steadying breath, trying to ignore the sharp twinge in your side. You hate this. Hate feeling weak. Hate needing help. But you can’t let that stop you. You refuse to let it define you. You're determined to regain some independence, to show Joel that you're not just some fragile thing that needs constant watching over.

You push yourself up, wincing as another wave of pain stabs through your ribs. The movement is slow, deliberate. Each step feels like an accomplishment, even as the pain pulses beneath the surface. You make it to the kitchen, though you're panting by the time you reach the counter. You grip it for support, feeling the cool edge beneath your fingertips. The simple act of pouring yourself a glass of water feels like a triumph.

Then you hear the creak of the front door. You don’t have to look to know it’s Joel. The sound of his boots on the floor, the low murmur of his voice as he moves about the ranch—it's all so familiar now. You hear him pause, then step into the kitchen. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, gripping the counter like it’s your lifeline.

"Well, look at you," he says, a note of surprise and admiration in his voice. "You're up and about."

You offer him a small, self-conscious smile, glad he’s not rushing to fuss over you. "I thought it was time," you say softly, setting the glass of water down with careful movements. "I can't just lie on the couch all day."

Joel chuckles, his gaze sweeping over you with that same intensity that sends a warm flutter through your chest. He steps closer, cautious. "Reckon not," he agrees, voice low. His eyes linger on you, and you can't tell if it's concern or something else. "But don’t go pushin’ yourself too hard now."

"I’m fine," you insist, a little too quickly. "But you look like you’ve been at it all morning. Would you like something to drink?" You try to sound casual, but the offer feels like an excuse to keep him there, a way to ease the tension building between you.

"S’alright, I can get it," he says, but his voice is strained, tired. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, a visible sign of the work he's been doing.

Before he can protest, you start toward the fridge. "Shut up," you say with a teasing smile. "I got it. Iced tea, right?"

He chuckles softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That’d be perfect, darlin’."

The fridge door opens with a soft creak, and you pour the tea, the cool liquid filling the glass with a satisfying sound. The simple act requires more focus than it should, but you take your time, savoring the moment of normalcy. You hand him the glass, your fingers brushing his ever so briefly. The touch is light, fleeting, but it sends an unexpected jolt through you, a spark that neither of you can ignore. For a moment, you both stand there, neither of you speaking, as if waiting for something to break the silence. His gaze flickers to the floor, then back to you, and he clears his throat, taking a small step back.

"Thanks," he says, his voice steady but low, and his eyes meet yours briefly before he raises the glass in a small salute. He drinks deeply, closing his eyes as the cool tea washes over him.

"You're welcome," you reply, your voice quieter than usual. You busy yourself with straightening up the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly as you try to ground yourself in the mundane. But even in the simple act of tidying, you can feel his gaze on you, the weight of it making you feel exposed in a way you can't quite understand.

"You’ve found some use for the blanket and books, I see," Joel says, his voice soft, but you catch the hint of something more in it, something like pride.

"They've been a good distraction," you answer, a little more casually than you feel. "I'm curious about your daughter’s books. She’s got good taste."

At the mention of his daughter, Joel’s face softens, a wistful look crossing his features. "She always did love a good story," he says, his voice quiet, distant. "Used to read to her every night when she was little. We'd get lost in all sorts of adventures together.”

The conversation takes a quiet but significant turn, pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. You sense it the moment Joel’s expression softens at your question, his guarded demeanor cracking just enough to let a sliver of vulnerability through. It feels fragile, like holding a bird in your hands, its rapid heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingers. You tread carefully, hoping not to press too hard but unwilling to let the moment pass unacknowledged. "What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

He hesitates for just a breath before answering, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Sarah," he says, his voice tinged with warmth and something deeper—something bittersweet. "Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

The weight of that single word, was, hangs in the air between you like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of meaning outward. It cuts through the small warmth his smile brought, replacing it with a heaviness that settles deep in your chest. Your heart clenches, the realization landing like a blow. You try to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists. "Was?" you venture cautiously, the single syllable feeling heavier than it should.

Joel’s expression shifts immediately—his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if bracing for an impact. You see the pain flash through him, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control. For a moment, you think he won’t answer, that he’ll shut you out completely. But then he takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet and steady, though it trembles at the edges. "Sarah passed away a few years back." The words are spoken simply, but their weight is unmistakable, each syllable heavy with grief he’s learned to carry in silence.

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thinner. You struggle to find something to say, some way to acknowledge the enormity of what he’s shared without reducing it to a hollow platitude. "Joel, I’m so sorry," you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. The sincerity in your words is palpable, your own troubles momentarily forgotten in the face of his loss.

Joel nods, his gaze distant, focused on something you can’t see. He doesn’t brush off your condolences or wave them away as you might have expected. Instead, he accepts them with a quiet grace that’s heartbreaking in its simplicity. "S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

His words linger in the air, stark and unvarnished, and you feel the ache in them like a bruise pressed too hard. There’s no bitterness in his tone, no anger—just a quiet resignation, a weariness that feels like it’s etched into his very being. You wonder how often he’s spoken these words, if at all, or if he’s kept them locked away until now. Your gaze drifts to his hands—strong, calloused, and steady even now, despite the weight he carries. You reach out before you can think better of it, your fingers brushing against his forearm in a gesture that feels both small and monumental. "I can’t imagine," you say softly, your words feeling inadequate but heartfelt. "I’m sorry you had to go through that."

Joel looks down at your hand, his gaze lingering there for a moment before he lifts his eyes to meet yours. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath catch—a flicker of gratitude, of recognition, and something else you can’t quite name. "Thank you," he says simply, his voice rough but sincere. He shifts slightly, covering your hand with his own. The warmth of his touch is startling, grounding, and you’re acutely aware of how solid he feels, how present. "For listening," he continues, his voice softening. "I don’t... I don’t talk about Sarah much. It’s hard, you know?" His eyes hold yours, and you see the weight of the years he’s carried this pain, the quiet strength it’s taken to keep moving forward.

You nod, unable to look away. "I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. "Just... holding onto her memory like that. Letting her still be a part of you."

His brow furrows slightly, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words. "Don’t feel strong most days," he admits after a pause, his voice so low you almost miss it. "Just feel tired."

The honesty in his words makes your chest tighten, and you press your hand against his arm just a little more firmly, as if to anchor him. "Maybe that’s what strength is," you offer, your voice soft but unwavering. "Getting up every day, even when it feels impossible. Carrying her with you, even when it hurts."

Joel doesn’t respond immediately, but you see something shift in his expression—something almost imperceptible but deeply significant. He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. "Maybe," he murmurs, the word more of a concession than a conviction.For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. You let it linger, sensing that Joel needs this space, this moment of quiet connection. When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly,  the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

—-------

As you prepare to settle onto the couch for the night, the creak of the wooden floor under Joel’s boots pulls your attention. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s beside you, scooping you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his hands against you and the solid strength of his hold leave you momentarily breathless.

"What are you doing?" you protest weakly, though your body betrays you by instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders for balance.

He doesn’t stop moving, his tone gruff but resolute. "Takin’ you to your room. You’ll be more comfortable there, and it’s about time you used it again." You start to protest again, murmuring something about being too heavy, but he only huffs. "You think this is the first time I’ve carried someone? You’re fine. Quit fussin’."

Before you know it, he’s carrying you up the stairs, each step steady and sure despite the burden you’re sure you must be. The faint scent of leather and woodsmoke clings to him, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. When he reaches the top, the hallway stretches ahead, dimly lit and quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

Your bedroom door creaks as he nudges it open with his foot. The room feels foreign, almost untouched since your injuries—a time capsule of your life before everything fell apart. Joel sets you down on the bed with a gentleness that belies his rough exterior, his hands lingering briefly to ensure you’re steady before he pulls away.

"There," he says, adjusting the covers around you with meticulous care that makes your chest ache. "Now you get some rest. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."

You watch him turn, the broad slope of his shoulders framed by the faint hallway light. A sudden unease wells up in your chest, irrational and overwhelming. The thought of being alone in this room, in this moment, feels unbearable. The words leave your lips before you can stop them.

"Joel, wait."

He stops in the doorway, his silhouette pausing against the light. "What is it, darlin’?" His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

Your fingers grip the edge of the blanket as you force yourself to speak. "Could you... stay? Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep."

For a moment, he’s quiet, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the shadows. He looks at you like he’s weighing something heavy, something he’s not sure he can carry. But then he nods, his voice softer when he speaks. "Yeah. I can do that."

He grabs a chair from the corner of the room, pulling it close to the bed and settling into it with a quiet sigh. The room feels smaller now, his presence filling the space in a way that should be comforting, and yet... you feel the weight of it pressing against you.

Joel sits silently, his hands resting on his knees, the flickering light from the bedside lamp casting deep shadows across his face. His gaze flicks toward you occasionally, careful and guarded, as if afraid to linger too long. You watch him through half-closed eyes, noting the subtle lines etched into his features—lines of exhaustion, loss, and something else you can’t quite place. There’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restraint that makes your chest tighten.

"Joel," you say softly, the quiet sound of his name pulling his gaze to yours. He raises an eyebrow, waiting, but the words you wanted to say catch in your throat. What could you even say? Thank him for his kindness? For caring when you’d tried so hard to convince yourself you didn’t need it. Instead, you settle on something you instantly regret. "You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be fine."

His expression shifts, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, but when he does, his voice is quieter, almost unreadable. "If that’s what you want."

You open your mouth to correct yourself, to say something that might soften the blow, but the words don’t come. Joel stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to change your mind. You don’t.

"Goodnight, then," he says, his tone even, though there’s a weight behind the words that you can’t ignore. Joel stands, the chair groaning slightly as he pushes it back. He doesn’t move hurriedly, but there’s a deliberateness in his movements that makes your chest tighten. The air between you feels heavier, laced with something unspoken, something you’re not ready to name. And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind.

"Stay. Please stay."

But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally. The warmth of his presence lingers faintly, like the scent of his leather and woodsmoke, but it isn’t enough to fill the void. The ache in your ribs pales in comparison to the one in your chest. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, what was this feeling that had taken root inside you? It wasn’t just gratitude anymore—it was something else, something harder to define. You’d always prided yourself on not needing anyone, but Joel had a way of making that wall crumble, brick by brick. It was confusing. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Or maybe... maybe you were just afraid to hope again. But the way he’d left, the quiet disappointment in his eyes—it made you feel small, stupid even. What were you so afraid of? You hated yourself for pushing him away when all he’d ever done was try to be there for you. But it was too late now. The door was closed, and so, it seemed, was he.

The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight spilling in through the curtains. You hadn’t noticed Joel still standing there, silent as a shadow. He lingers by the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. He’s watching you, his brow furrowed, torn between staying and leaving.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You turn your head slightly, startled. You thought he'd left. His gaze meets yours for a moment, but the weight of it is too much to hold. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice tight and unconvincing.

Joel lets out a low scoff, shaking his head. “Fine,” he repeats bitterly. “That your favorite word or somethin’?” His boots barely make a sound as he crosses the room, sitting back down on the chair beside your bed. His presence is overwhelming, filling the small space like a storm cloud about to break. You feel the heat of him, as you try to keep your breathing steady. “I know what you're doin',” he says quietly, his tone softer now. “Pushin' me away. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put. His words are gentle, but they cut deep, peeling back the layers you worked so hard to hide behind. You struggle for words, your breath uneven. "I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"  

 "You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."  

His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, like he's fighting against his own limits, his patience fraying. You want to reach for him, to let yourself lean into him, but the weight of your own walls is too heavy. You want to let go, but something inside you holds you back, paralyzes you with fear. Fear of what letting him in might mean. Your throat tightens as you try to form the words, but nothing comes. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t push you—he waits. The tension hangs thick in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. But the longer he waits, the more it seems like he’s losing the battle inside himself.

You finally meet his eyes again, but it’s like something’s shifted. There’s still care there, but it’s mixed with frustration, something raw and real. He stands, his movements slow but resolute. "You can’t keep doing this," he says, his voice low but intense. "I can’t keep doing this. You want me to stay, and then... then you push me away.”

His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he moves it back, the sound harsh in the heavy silence. His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it. 

He moves toward the door, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and you want to scream—to tell him to stay, to tell him you’re not fine, but the words are lodged in your throat, like you’re choking on your own fear.

You sit up in bed, your breath shallow, but you don’t call out. You don’t stop him.

Joel pauses at the doorway, his back to you. For a long moment, it seems like he might turn around, like he might say something else, something to bridge the gap between you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his shoulders stiff, his head slightly bowed as though he’s already made his peace with walking away.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence. "You need anything, you holler. I’ll hear ya."

And then the door clicks softly shut behind him.

You sit there, staring at the empty space where he was, the weight of his words still pressing down on you. Your fingers curl around the blanket, but it offers no comfort. Your mind races, a mess of emotions, regret, and frustration. You want to call him back, but it feels like it’s too late.

The room is silent once more, and the emptiness is suffocating. You close your eyes, your chest aching, and for the first time in a long while, you realize how alone you truly are..

Joel

The soft glow of the kitchen light spills across the empty room as Joel leans against the counter, nursing a cup of coffee he doesn’t really want or need at this hour. He stares into the dark liquid, his thoughts elsewhere, running over the events of the evening like a song stuck on repeat.

He shouldn’t feel disappointed. You’d made it clear you didn’t want him there, and he respected that. Hell, he’d been in your shoes before—pushing people away because it felt safer. He couldn’t blame you for it. But that didn’t make the sting of it any easier to shake.

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d seen the hesitation in your eyes, the conflict. He’d wanted to tell you it was okay, that he’d wait as long as you needed. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how long he could wait. Every moment he spent with you, every quiet exchange and fleeting touch—it all felt like it was building toward something he wasn’t sure either of you were ready for. "Should’ve known better," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the hum of the fridge. But even as he says it, he knows he’d do it all over again—because for you, he would wait.

The coffee in Joel’s mug has gone cold by the time he finally pushes himself off the counter and trudges to the living room. He sits heavily on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the darkened television screen. Sleep isn’t coming—not after the way the evening ended.

He rubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the frustration welling in his chest. It wasn’t your fault, not really. Joel knows that better than anyone. But the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d pulled back, it felt like a door slamming shut in his face. Like he was stupid for even hoping.

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,” he mutters to himself. He knows better than to get too close, to expect anything. It’s not fair to you, not when you’ve got enough to deal with. And yet, here he is, hoping like a damn fool.

The faint creak of the floor above reminds him you’re still there, probably lying awake just like he is. Joel shakes his head, dragging a heavy quilt over himself as he stretches out on the couch. Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll keep his distance. Let you come to him if you want.

But the hollow ache in his chest says that might never happen.

—

The next morning the shutting of the door pulls Joel from a restless sleep. He stretches, his back protesting the hours spent on the couch, and grumbles as he sits up. The smell of coffee drifts through the house, but it’s faint—like someone turned the pot off before it finished brewing. Joel frowns. He knows you’re still stiff from your injuries, and the thought of you moving around too much sets him on edge. He stands, rubbing a hand over his face, and heads toward the kitchen.

The sight of the empty space only deepens his unease. The coffee pot is half-full, a mug sitting beside it untouched. He glances out the window, his gut twisting when he spots you trudging toward the barn, determination in every step.

“What the hell are you doin’ now?” he mutters, already grabbing his jacket as he steps outside.

The morning air bites at his skin, but Joel barely notices as he closes the distance to the barn. By the time he reaches the open doors, you’re already climbing onto the tractor, one hand on the seat and the other gripping the wheel.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice echoes sharply in the quiet.

You freeze, your head whipping around to face him. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though there’s a flicker of guilt in your eyes.

Joel’s chest tightens, but he doesn’t let it show. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Your brow furrows, and you straighten your shoulders, your stubbornness flaring to life. “I’m trying to help. You’ve been doing everything, and I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” His tone is sharper than he intends, but the sight of you on the tractor—the very image of Sarah in her last moments—sends a cold wave of fear crashing over him.

You bristle at his words, swinging your legs over the side of the tractor to face him fully. “Excuse me? I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle this.”

“No, you can’t,” he snaps, his voice louder now. “You don’t even know how to work that damn thing, and you’re in no shape to be tryin’!”

Your eyes narrow, hurt flashing across your face before you mask it with anger. “I’m just trying to pull my weight, Joel. I’m not some burden you have to carry! And yes I can fucking drive the tractor.”

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. Joel’s breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep the memories at bay. Sarah’s laughter, the hum of the tractor’s engine, the sickening sound of it tipping over—it’s all there, clawing at the edges of his mind.

But he doesn’t tell you. He can’t.

Instead, he swallows hard and steps back, his jaw tightening. “Just… don’t do this,” he says, his voice quieter but no less firm.

You stare at him, confusion and hurt written all over your face. “Why are you acting like this?” you ask, your tone softer now, but Joel shakes his head.

Joel’s chest tightens, and the fight in his voice only deepens. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, but you’re not about to let him brush this off.

“Why the hell not?” You step off the tractor, your foot hitting the ground with a thud, your breath a sharp inhale from the pain and ragged in the cold air. “You’re acting like I’m a damn liability—like I can’t handle myself. You think I want to sit around doing nothing while you work yourself to the bone?”

Joel shakes his head, his eyes dark with frustration. “That ain’t it, and you know it. You think I want to be overprotective? You think I don’t see you fightin’ through every goddamn thing just to prove you’re not weak? I get it, alright? But this—this isn’t the way to do it.”

“You don’t get it,” you snap back, your voice growing more desperate. “I don’t need your pity, Joel. I don’t need you to hold my hand or protect me like I’m some fragile thing you have to save. I’m fine. I can do this.”

“You’re not fine!” Joel’s voice cracks, his patience running thin, and the raw emotion behind it makes you pause, your anger faltering for just a second. He steps closer to you, his face inches away. “You’re not fine, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you hurt yourself just because you’re too damn proud to accept help.”

Your ribs ache as you take a step back, your hands trembling at your sides. His words, his proximity—they feel like they’re suffocating you, pulling you into a place you don’t want to go. But you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t need help,” you mutter, though the words come out unconvincing, jagged.

Joel’s gaze softens, and for a brief moment, it’s like you’re both standing in some kind of fragile truce. But it doesn’t last. The distance between you, emotional and physical, feels too heavy to bear, and Joel moves in again. His voice is quieter now, but there’s a deep, aching sincerity in it. “I don’t want you to need help. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening with something you don’t know how to name. It’s the space between your stubbornness and his care, the tension of wanting to push him away but knowing deep down that you can’t. You want to break, to let go, but you won’t—can’t—show him how much you’re falling apart.

You both stand there in the cold, the world around you feeling distant, like it’s no longer real. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say something that takes both of you by surprise. “Why do you care so damn much?” Your voice cracks as you finally let the wall down, the question raw and vulnerable.

Joel’s eyes darken, his breath catching at the depth of the question. He looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s a long silence that stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken. Then, his lips curl slightly, the ghost of a sad smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment, your anger falters, replaced with something deeper, something you can’t hide anymore.

Before you realize what’s happening, you’re the one reaching for him, your good hand finding his shirt, pulling him toward you. He hesitates for a second—his body tense, unsure—but then he moves, just like you knew he would. The kiss is sudden, urgent, and the world tilts with it. Your ribs protest, but you don’t care. His hands cradle your face, his lips pressing against yours, rough but soft, like he’s trying to steady himself just as much as you are.

Your heart races in your chest, the ache in your ribs fading as the heat of him seeps into your skin. For a brief, fleeting moment, everything else stops. The fight, the stubbornness, the fear—it all disappears in the space between your mouths. It’s like he’s holding you together, like you’re finally letting him do the one thing he’s been begging you for - to let him in.

When you break away, it’s slow, your breath ragged, but neither of you moves far. You’re still close—too close—and yet, somehow, it feels right. Joel’s forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your skin. He doesn’t speak at first, just keeps you there, close enough to feel the weight of his every breath. Finally, he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You’re not alone, you know that?”

You nod, the words too hard to say, but the truth of them sits heavy between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe it.

Taglist @akah565 @anoverwhelmingdin @brittmb115 @hannah9921 @maried01

@mermaidgirl30 @red-red-rogue @wintersquirrel

[some-stars]

logan/wade rough sex with wade crying!!!

okay, so obviously you know the context for this but for everyone else: this is a canon-divergence AU sequel to a fic of mine that I haven't finished yet. all you need to know is that Logan and Wade hooked up during Origins, fell for each other and ran off together, and also they are both fucked up but wade is very fucked up.

content notes: consensual sex but it's fucked up, face slapping, painful sex, possessiveness, masochism, praise, spit, kind of sweet despite all that. i'm high so i might have forgotten something, read at your own risk. i don't think i did tho!

--

The only thing that stops Logan from slamming Wade up against the wall the second the last body drops is the urgent need for them to get clear of the scene before the cops show up. As it is, they make it about half a mile before he snaps and drags Wade down an alley, the simmering anger in his skull boiling over at the way Wade laughs when he does it. It's clear Wade's still riding the high from the fight, and when his back hits the bricks he grins like crazy.

"All that killing got you so hot and bothered, huh, cupcake?" He bats his eyelashes like a goddamn cartoon. "You just can't wait till we get home to take it out on me? I'm not complaining, I love a nice nasty back alley fuck. Something about getting reamed five feet from a dumpster really tickles the old pickle."

Logan would love to be able to say that his hand moves without him meaning to move it, that he slaps Wade across the face on a blind, furious impulse. But that would be a lie. He chooses to do it.

He kisses Wade right after, because the flash of hurt and fear that crosses his face is too much to look at. Too much to think about, how right it feels to put it there. Wade melts into the kiss just like he always does, permanently desperate for affection no matter how much of it Logan gives him. Logan holds his face with one hand--the side he hit, hot and flushed with blood--and kisses Wade like he's claiming him, deep and demanding. When Logan takes his lower lip between his teeth Wade tenses and whimpers, anticipating pain, but Logan doesn't break the skin. He's already smelled enough of Wade's blood tonight, enough for a fucking lifetime.

He pulls back just enough to look Wade in the eye. "What the fuck were you thinking back there?"

The slap shook him but he’s already recovering, raising his eyebrows and starting to smirk. "Well, you know how it is when that battle haze comes over you. It’s all just flow state and instinct. And a dash of horny, once things really get going--"

Logan gives him a shake, maybe harder than he means to. It shuts him up, though, so maybe just hard enough. "You still don’t give a shit if you get killed," he says, low and dangerous. "Is that why you wanted to get into this mercenary gig? You got bored of not nearly fucking dying all the time?"

"I didn’t--" 

"You got shot!"

"Grazed," Wade snaps, starting to struggle against Logan’s bruising grip. "I got lightly grazed, all those guys had terrible aim, it doesn’t even hurt anymore--"

This time when Logan kisses him he can't make himself hold back. The taste of blood sizzles on his tongue like lightning, sweet and hot, and the high hurt noise his teeth tear from Wade makes it hard to find any regret.

"You don't get to do that shit anymore," Logan growls. "You don't get to throw away what's mine."

It slides home as smooth as a skeleton key, unlocking Wade like he knew it would. His hips jerk forward and his head falls back against the bricks, already babbling an apology as he offers up his throat. Logan rewards him with a hand fisted tight in his hair to pull his head back even farther, and sharp teeth clamped down hard around the thick cord of muscle that runs from neck to shoulder. Not tearing him open, now, because he doesn't want that. He doesn't even want the blood, really, not when he's in his right mind. It's just that Wade still wants so badly to give it to him.

Logan hurts him like that until the apologies turn into begging, until his cock is as hard as Wade's where they're grinding together. "Please," Wade repeats, choked and thick.

"Yeah? You want something?" Logan kisses him again before he can answer, just long enough to feel Wade open up for him. It's not enough, though. Three fingers in his mouth feels closer to what he wants, and Wade sucks on them gratefully, moaning. Like any way Logan wants to be inside him is the best thing he's ever felt. He doesn't close his eyes, either, even though Logan knows he wants to, how hard it is for Wade to let Logan watch him like this. But Logan asked him for it, once. Before he knew just how careful he had to be about asking Wade to give him things.

"You want me to show you how you're mine?" Logan asks, and Wade nods and mumbles around the fingers in his mouth, incoherent and desperately affirmative. Logan pulls his fingers out and wipes them on Wade's cheek, leaving a thick smear of wet that glitters in the faint, distant glow of the streetlights. Wade shivers, finally squeezing his eyes shut, but offers no other protest.

(Not that he would. Logan's seen him come from being spat on, which was so nightmarishly arousing to watch that he hasn't tried it again since.)

When Wade had finally realized Logan was serious about refusing to fuck him dry, he'd become obsessive about stashing lube everywhere, including the pockets of his work clothes. Logan fishes the packet out now, and when Wade realizes what he's reaching for he almost trips over his own feet turning around so fast. With his cheek pressed to the wall, eyes closed, back arched to present himself, he looks ripped from the kind of magazine that gets sold in brown paper wrapping. The kind you have to ask for, at very specific stores. He looks obscene, and Logan hasn't even gotten his pants down yet.

It's the work of a moment to shove them down around his knees and get his own belt and fly open just enough so he can use the scant handful of lube on himself. Wade shudders at the wet sound, his back curving into an even deeper arch. A cat in heat, desperate to be put down. No matter how sweet Logan is to him it's always this waiting underneath, this shape that other hands bent Wade into long before Logan ever met him.

He loves Wade like this, because there isn't any way he doesn't love Wade; no possible shape of him that Logan wouldn't want exactly this much.

Logan pulls him open and forces his way in too fast, offering not even a breath for Wade's body to welcome him the way it always does, surely would if Logan gave him the chance, but he doesn't and Wade can't entirely swallow the little scream that slips out. His whole back tenses as his body struggles on instinct to get away from what's hurting it, but there's nowhere to go with the wall at his face and Logan boxing him in everywhere else.

Logan leans in close as he settles into a quick hard pace. Already Wade's breathing fast and scared, his hands balled into useless fists, all fear and misery, forgetting why he wanted this so fucking bad. 

"You need someone to hurt you," he rasps into Wade's ear, "you don't pull that kind of dumb shit. You come to me."

Another harsh snap of his hips makes Wade's breath hitch. For a moment he goes even more tense and tight beneath Logan, and a trembling little moan slides past his lips. Logan thinks about stopping; doesn't.

"Come on, Wade," he murmurs. He licks the hollow behind Wade's ear. The slick of sweat that dissolves into his tongue tastes like honey. "Be good for me."

More magic words. Wade sobs and the panicky all-over clench of him eases a little, and a few moments later a little more. Logan's next thrust feels more like fucking, less like cruelty. Enough less, at least.

He smells Wade's tears before he sees them. "Good boy," Logan tells him, which makes him cry harder, but he thanks Logan anyway. Can't seem to stop thanking him, even as he sobs, and it's almost a shocked kind of sound, the way he cries, like a kid with their first broken arm.

God, it feels so fucking good. He's never going to be able to make Wade stop giving him everything because he likes it so much, he fucking loves it, every single time.

Wade comes almost as soon as Logan gets his hand around him, and Logan fills his ear with stupid praise as he works him through it, how he's so good, so tight, so sweet, so good for Logan, so fucking good to him, better than anybody should be. 

Logan doesn't last long either after that, way too worked up do anything but give into it. Wade shakes as Logan fills him, his sobs slowing to sniffles and hitching damp breaths. Logan wraps his arms around him and nuzzles down into his neck, breathing him in deep, and for a minute they stay like that.

Logan waits for his cock to go soft and lets himself slip out as gently as he can. As soon as he's free Wade spins in his arms and grabs his face and kisses him, demanding. It's nothing Logan doesn't want to give him, so he does, all of it, everything Wade wants. Even when Wade breaks off and looks away, swallowing roughly, and says, "Tell me again."

"That you're mine?" Logan watches his eyes close. "You know you are."

"Yeah," Wade sighs. When he opens his eyes again he looks tender, exhausted. Soft. "So take me home already, daddy. It's past my bedtime."

"I fucking hate that daddy shit," Logan mutters. Wade falls into step beside him as he starts back down the street, so close they could be sharing an umbrella, stays soft and close and quiet the whole way home.

[wannabanauthor]

What should happen to BuckTommy in Season 8b

Eddie's thinking about moving to Texas, right?

Well, he has to pack, and he calls his two favorite buff men to help him pack and load all his stuff.

Tommy did not know Buck was going to be there, and vice versa.

They stare awkwardly at each other before noticing that most of Eddie's stuff is already packed.

Cheeky bastard.

He locks them both in his house with the parting, "Figure it the fuck out, then I'll unlock the doors."

Buck and Tommy are more than able to break down the door if necessary, but that wouldn't be a nice thing to do to their best friend's house.

They try to out-wait Eddie, but several hours pass with no communication from him.

Buck is doing his best to not look or talk to Tommy, but all the doors are locked, including the bedrooms, so he's stuck in the living room.

The kitchen doesn't have any baking/cooking ingredients, just prepared food in the fridge.

Buck is without his coping mechanism, and at some point he breaks down crying in the kitchen.

Tommy wants to comfort him, but he knows he's the reason Buck is like this, so he feels stuck and doesn't know what to do.

He hands Buck a tissue and some water, but Buck turns around and ignores him, trying to hide his sobs.

Tommy goes back to the living room and sits on the floor.

"Why?" he hears Buck say.

He gets back up and goes into the kitchen.

"Why what?" Tommy asks.

"Why did you give me a second chance just to break my heart six months later? Why didn't you tell me that you only saw us as a temporary thing? Why did you even give me hope that we could be something more?" Evan asks, in between sobs.

"Evan, I'm so-"

"It's Buck. You don't get to call me Evan anymore."

"I'm sorry."

Buck stops crying and looks at Tommy. There's anger and heartbreak written all over his face.

"Fuck you, you don't get to be sorry," Buck says.

"But I am. I didn't plan any of it. It just happened. You asked me to move in, and I panicked. I've been hurt before, and I knew I couldn't survive it if I moved in and then lost you."

Buck scoffed, but out of irony, not amusement.

Tommy stepped closer to him, and Buck remained where he was, almost as if he was sizing Tommy up.

"You kept putting me on this pedestal, and I knew one day you'd see me for who I am and leave," Tommy says.

"Is that what you think of me? Out of the two of us, you're the one who has left me, twice," Buck points out, and Tommy winces at that.

"You're very impulsive, and we hadn't even broached that topic before. I thought I was okay with you setting the pace, but I guess I wasn't. I thought it was in our best interest to end things now then later when it would hurt more."

Tommy pauses for a moment and looks at Buck. Really looks at him. His own heart breaks when he picks up on the little details of how Buck had been handling the breakup, The flour under his fingernails, his stubble, his longer curls, the bags under his eyes, the fidgeting with what's ever in reach, currently tissues being torn into little bits.

Tommy knows in his heart that he practically broke the man he loves, and it makes him feel even worse. There is still a part of him that wants to run, but he can't run again. Not after seeing Evan like this.

"I'm scared, Evan," Tommy confesses.

Buck's head snaps up in surprise, and he squints his eyes as if he doesn't trust Tommy.

Tommy feels the panic rise within him, but continues his train of thought. "Evan, I love you. But i'm terrified that one day you'll get tired of me and find someone else. It's happened before, and-"

"I'm not him. I'm me. From the first moment we met, I knew that I wanted to be with you. I didn't understand it at first because it felt so different from my past. I mean, you're not the first guy I've had a crush on. At all," Evan says.

Tommy clears his throat uncomfortably. He'd rather not think about Evan's past crushes.

"We spent nearly every free moment we've had together," Evan says. "I thought we were ready to move to the next step."

"I wasn't ready, and I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I should have stayed and talked it out, but it felt like the room was closing in on me, and I needed to leave."

"And you left, then ignored me for weeks," Evan says. "I felt like I was going insane and imagined our whole relationship."

Tommy steps into Evan's space and uses two fingers to lift Evan's chin. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Evan. I love you so much, and I'm terrified because it's never felt like this before."

Evan gives an amused chuckle. "I guess it was my turn to see you at your worst."

Tommy cups Evan's cheeks. "I am so sorry, for everything. I feel like I don't deserve a second chance, but I'm still ask-"

Evan cuts him off with a kiss.

Tommy relaxes and kisses him back. It feels like coming home after a long day of work to the arms of his partner. He never wants that feeling to leave.

"I love you too, asshole," Evan whispers against Tommy's lips.

They both chuckle at that.

"Where do we go from here?" Evan asks.

"Couple's counseling. I want us to work. I want us to be forever," Tommy says and gives Evan the tenderest kiss.

"That works," Evan replies between kisses.

They don't stop kissing or holding each other until they're nearly out of breath.

"Finally!" they hear from outside and jump.

Eddie's standing outside with his phone in hand, and on the screen is a live camera feed showing.

"Now, let's get something to eat," Tommy says and kisses Evan again. He was going to kill and thank Eddie, but for now, he's happy just to be with Evan again.

He looks into Evan's eyes and knows that this is it for him. Evan's the one.

[bambi-kinos]

Hey!

I was listening to double fantasy today - specifically ‘I’m Losing You’ (heartbreaking song)

In my eyes, very Paul McCartney break up based. But I thought their relationship had been on good terms in 1980, so in your opinion why did John write this song?

Thanks :)

I'm Losing You has always struck me as John's good-bye song to Yoko, nothing to do with Paul. He really did care about her, or what he thought she represented. Letting go of her was a long process. The lines about the stranger's room and the phone always makes my ears perk up because Fred Seaman said that Yoko was constantly on her landline, all day and all night. She barricaded herself inside her office and often slept there so that she didn't have to deal with Sean and John. Yoko had Fred move John's stuff in and out of his room when he left to sail to Bermuda. If he hadn't come up with Double Fantasy, she was planning to divorce him and take him for everything. John knew that or suspected when he came back, I don't see why Fred wouldn't have warned him. I think the song maps to this pretty reliably:

Here in some stranger's room Late in the afternoon What am I doing here at all? Ain't no doubt about it I'm losing you

Yoko moved everything back into John's bedroom as soon as she heard about plans for Double Fantasy but I fully expect John to have known or been warned about what she had done. He knew the room was no longer his.

Somehow the wires have crossed Communication's lost Can't even get you on the telephone Just got to shout about it I'm losing you

One of the reliable ways of contacting Yoko was through her phone which John could use. However she also barricaded herself away from him, sent him to Korean brothels and massage parlors to deny him sex and intimacy, John had a screaming argument with Yoko that was about John not understanding the Japanese staff at their apartment, etc. Even if he called her she wouldn't have picked up. Straight to answering machine!

Well, here in the valley of indecision I don't know what to do I feel you slipping away

John spent a lot of time babbling his head off to Fred about second chances and working at love and relationships etc. To me it's always read as the scared chatter of a man who knew a train was hurtling towards him. Major fear of the unknown and understandably paralyzed by the end of his marriage. I fully believe John wanted to leave Yoko but he was struggling against inertia.

Well now you say you're not getting enough But I remind you of all that bad, bad, bad stuff So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just put a band-aid on it? And stop the bleeding now Stop the bleeding now Well...

Well, well, well I know I hurt you then But hell, that was way back when Well, do you still have to carry that cross? (Drop it!) Don't wanna hear about it I'm losing you

Yoko had many ways of communicating her moods to John and regardless of whether it was good, he was very attuned to her and her desires. I see this phrasing as John finally finding his backbone. He blew up his life for this woman and she never thanked him for it. He was getting sober and getting inspired and was finally telling her to fuck off.

But he's obviously going to have complex feelings towards her despite everything so I'm Losing You is John working through that.

[icarusredwings]

It gets to the point where they start argueing about this and Wade is so angry and so upset that through grit teeth and hot tears

"Well, no one came to rescue ME!.... and I'll be damned if they ever feel abandoned like that."

And it's a big therapy moment. A massive "oh.... ouch... yeah that makes sense.." moment.

"But baby you dont even give me time to try. I-... I dont know.. how to do this I.. im learning."

And so, still full of anger and paternal rage he bites he starts biting his tounge. Coming and just.. standing there. Sometimes he's glaring simply because this type of crying just dosn't sit well with his Ptsd and immediately wants to put a stop to it and give the child justice. But he waits. He waits and watches as Logan fixes it.

Once the crying stops it kind of deactivates that little soilder inside of him that so desperately wants to keep his kids safe.

"I'm their father-"

"And that didn't fucking stop mine! Now, did it?"

"But Wade, I'm not him. I'll never be him."

"My mother stood there and watched it all without a word Logan. I won't-..." He's choking on his tears. "I- REFUSE.. to be like that."

"I get that, but you have to understand that you are not her. And I am not him. I would never hit them"

"Yeah because if you did I'd fucking kill you! Like actually find a way to kill you. I would put you under, drag your ass to the middle of the fucking ocean, and watch you drown! And when they ask where you wen-"

"Wade... Wade! Stop. Breathe. I know that you're scared and I know.. that.. your brain dosn't want to trust me. That you will never be able to trust anyone 100% with them. Ever... but please. I need you to trust me at least 90. Can you give me 90?" He asks, hands on his shoulder as he can already see his husband dry heaving, tears running down his face as hes already about to slip back into that state of protective violence.

"....you get 5 minutes." He states, walking away before he ends up saying or doing something he will regret.

So he starts getting 5 minutes to fix it.

5 minutes to make it all better.

5 minutes for his actions to prove to Wade that he can be trusted. That he doesn't have to go all winter soilder on his ass the moment he hears one of the kids crying.

"Kids cry wade. Its what they do."

"Youre their father. Youre not supposed to make them cry..."

But now things are better.

Now his head will snap the other way, and watch. Staring in that direction rather if someone is talking to him or not.

"Hush."

"Excus-"

"SHUT UP... one of my babies is crying...." so he stares. Watching as Logan comes to scoop up the little tyke that skinned their knee at the park and give them kisses. The crying still happens because obviously theyre spooked and probably hurt a wee bit, but seeing him fully take care of it switches off that instant rage and he turns back like "what were you saying?"

He just can't silence that scream in his head, telling him that Logan (or someone else) is hurting them, so it needs proof that he isn't (as bad as that sounds)

Hurting his poor little babies.

Esspecially if it IS a baby. Wade would be extremely over possesive over a baby. The older the kid gets (and if they have healing factors or not) the more chilled out Wade gets. At this point he expects Laura or Gabby to say something back so when one of them run off crying without a remark it really throws him back into that "What the fuck did you do!? You have 60 seconds to explain- Go." Mode.

He knows Ellie is a little more sensitive because of her truamas kids making fun of her for not being a mutant at a mutant school, but thats what chuck wanted. He wanted humans AND mutants to succeed in his school. Though sometimes Wades voices convince him that Logan loves Ellie less because shes not his "real daughter" and so they convience wade that logan is mean to her on purpose (this is a very VERY big effect on mental health type of HC)

With their other children, depending on how young, he can't help but have dreams of Logan killing them before their powers even come through or abandon them. Hes terrified of logan just deciding one day that he doesn't want to be their father anymore and just... dipping.

Traumatized🤝Not ideal parents 🤝 Traumatized

I can imagine something happening at the school and the MOMENT Logan hears about something happening instead of going to the kid he instantly has to track down his husband like Eliza Hamilton.

"I gotta go I gotta find Wade."

"Let him know we're on his side?"

"No- He'll consider this a personal slander, I gotta stop a homicide."

"OH-"

Thinking about how protective of his kids Wade would be. Like he does not give a fuck. Logan could be a little bit too harsh and make their child cry, and Wade would unload his gun plus an entire SECOND clip into his gut and then put his foot on his throat, lean in, and be like:

"Don't you EVER talk to my fucking kids like that ever again if you want to stay in this house. You're here because I let you be. I don't need you* I can just as easily replace you** and I sure as hell won't let you treat our children like how we were raised. Do I make myself clear?" And if Logan doesn't agree within a certian amount of time, Wade would just shoot him in the head and walk away.

"....Papa?"

"Yes sweetheart?"

"...what happened to daddy?"

"Daddys taking a nap honey. He'll be alright in a couple minutes don't worry baby. Hey are you okay? You know daddy doesn't mean the things he says, right?"

The child nods, wiping tears from their eyes as Wade hugs them and kisses their head. "Daddy wasn't hugged as a kid, that's all. Hey! We should order pizza! Would you like that?"

And they nod softely but are still concerned with the fact that they saw their dad (who by now is sitting up) bleeding out on the floor two seconds ago.

"Oooh, Heeeyyy. Well, mornin' sleepy head! How was your nap. I think you had something to say to you. Don't you, Wolvie?" 😃

"I... uhm... Sorry kiddo.. I- i didnt mean to yell at you like that.."

"Awww! Great! Now we can go to Vinnies as one big happy family! Yaaayy!" 😊

The moral of this story is- Wade Wilson don't play when it comes to his kids.

*lies.

**another lie.