#me and my love for the Machiavellians
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
beastsovrevelation · 2 years ago
Text
I think, killing Areala (the love of his life), is Adriel's biggest regret. Don't get me wrong, he'd do it again, if he needed to. But, it hurts him to the marrow of his bone.
Also, I think Areala's last words to him were "I love you." Because, she can be manipulative, too. She wanted him to suffer for what he had done.
In this house, we love actually complex characters.
0 notes
3zgritty · 27 days ago
Text
Benny x Courier to me is the perfect example of Rooting For S/O bf x Praying For His Downfall s/o
7 notes · View notes
sapphoshands · 6 months ago
Note
do you ever think about how agatha's so fucking curious (always watching, cogs always turning in her mind) that denying her knowledge was actually so damn cruel
yeah i try fucking not to!
i have no desire to soften her or make her very deliberate choices seem less like actual choices, but i do also think that there's a very good chance her early transgressions into 'dark magic' were about her wanting to know EVERYTHING. and then being punished for learning things she didn't initially know were wrong just made her want enough power that she would never be prevented from knowing things ever again.
10 notes · View notes
14dayswithyou · 2 years ago
Note
Bro i was listening to Taylor swift and ‘don’t blame me’ song reminded me of Rin deadass
✦゜ANSWERED: YEAHHHHH!! IT TOTALLY FITS HIM!! @yourunhingedgirlfriend once made a Ren mood board(?) including that song as well, and it hasn't left my mind since ^^ <3
But yeah!! I still stand by the headcanon that [REDACTED] is in his Reputation era and Ren is in his Lover era ;v; Also, in this 391,490,009 page essay I will be talking about how "Mastermind" and "Hey Stephen (Taylor's Version)" are such Ren/[REDACTED] coded songs, and that the entire Evermore and Folklore albums were the inspiration behind Elanor's charac-
91 notes · View notes
zapsoda · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
i love everything about this conversation.
6 notes · View notes
mercif4l · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗲 𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆.
pairing: reader x choi seungcheol genre: fluff summary: seungcheol and you are forced to confront your feelings after some time apart. content warning: pure fluff, she/her pronouns and femme!pet names used, mentions of alcohol consumption, a teensy bit of yearning, friends-to-lovers, idiots-to-lovers, vernon is like the opposite of a mediator.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
leftovers.
csc 👋, named after his excessive use of the waving emoji when you first started texting. instead of ‘hi’, or ‘sup’, or ‘may i take you out?’, it was always the 👋 instead. years later and he still defers to the habit when he’s a little overwhelmed by his feelings. it’s cute. he’s cute. he loves your contact name in his phone—it always puts a shit eating grin on his face. so much so that the boys know just when he’s texting you; its the only smile bigger than the one he gives to carats. but the nickname's conception is nothing special, really. it just happened to be the first gift he bought you: a box of ladybug chocolates. you’d ogled and fawned over them at some white elephant party, devastated when they were taken away by (always the machiavellian) jeonghan, only to have a box of your own delivered the next day by a red-nosed seungcheol. hence aa ladybug ᡣ𐭩.
notes: seungcheol and you are both typo warriors. your obsession with emojis inspired a more liberal use of his. cheol has no shame in spilling all his feelings out into imessage; he'll say it all again in person when he can, but he's practically bursting at the seams to confess at this point. vernon is stuck somewhere in between, violently single and sick of it.
a/n: like everyone on this platform, i am obsessed with @xinganhao and their smau storytelling! they inspired me to have a go fooling around with one of these and try the medium out... if i flopped yes i didn't <3 my fic drafts are a hellscape rn so this was such a relief to write heh hope u enjoy.
975 notes · View notes
jam3sacaster · 6 months ago
Text
“I’m gonna have ‘ta punish ya’.”
(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader
Suggestion by darling anon 🫶🏽 / You and Declan butt heads, and then some…
Set just after the pageant, messed with the timeline a lil i think but I managed to work the punch in another way <3
18+ FANFIC / SMUT GALORE, angsty & lots of swearing. Fairly long and very HEAVY smut, sorry x Declan you horny bastard, we love you. Reader character aged 21.
As always, request what you wanna see in the ask box 💋
Tumblr media
“I can’t just stop working for Corinium, Declan. You cannot just waltz into my life and expect me to give everything up for you!” You shout, feeling rage seep through your veins. Declan and Rupert have been cooking up a ridiculous idea within an hour, desperate to overthrow Baddingham’s Machiavellian reign of television. “They have my balls in a fuckin’ vice, my love,”
“No, they HAVEN’T! You have thrown a ridiculous temper tantrum, on television, because you are so determined to get your own way because you’re a selfish, stubborn bastard.” You interject, slamming your reddened palms on the dinner table, face contorting in fury. “They want me to sell my fuckin’ soul, babe. To sit and judge these fuckin’ superficial pageants whilst that cunt Vereker gets MY spot on my fuckin’ show.” The Irishman bellows, leaning across the table and pointing his finger dangerously close to your face. Declan O’Hara is fucking scary when he’s angry, but my God is he sexy.
Rupert leans against the counter top, remaining silent in embarrassment. It was certainly better for everyone that way. Steaming with rage, you sit back in your seat, stray hairs sticking to the beading sweat on your forehead. “You can’t keep behaving like this, Declan. Like a fucking child.” You tut, avoiding eye contact with him. Declan frustratedly rakes a hand through his slicked hair before pouring himself an intoxicatingly large unit of whiskey. “I’m sure you can coax Tony into some amicable solution. It’s blatant he wants to fuck you. He would do anything for someone willing to open their legs for him.” Rupert pipes up and gestures towards you, cigarette smoke creating an ashy veil across his face. An excruciating silence ensued. Your eyes widened in absolute horror — Declan would certainly not take kindly to this joke. Rupert should’ve kept his mouth shut.
“You fucking what?” Declan asked him, walking towards him slowly, eyes frenzied with wrath. “Calm down, Declan, it was just a joke.” Rupert chuckled, offering his hands up in defeat. “What did ya’ fuckin’ say?” Declan asked again, containing to walk towards him until they were nose-to-nose. Another incredibly painful silence— even Rupert didn’t dare speak. After a few seconds, he opened his mouth to speak but Declan swung at him, landing a brutal punch with a wet smack. “DECLAN.” You bellow, grabbing his muscular arm and pulling him towards you. “Get out, Rupert. I’m so sorry, but just go home.” You shake your hands frantically as Rupert pulls himself from the floor and ushers himself out, clutching his face in agony.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” You scream, voice croaking under the pressure. You push Declan away from you as soon as you hear the front door click. “Ya’ t’ink I’m gonna let him talk about ‘ya like ‘dat? Talk about ‘ya spreadin’ ya’ legs for tha’ CUNT Tony?” Declan matches your enraged tone, pacing around the kitchen table but maintaining eye contact with you. You couldn’t reply to this. He was wildly protective of you — often infuriatingly so, but he could barely stand to see another man so much as look at you. Rupert’s joke was way too far.
“My job is turnin’ me into a fuckin’ laughin’ stock, you t’ink I’m a joke and you’re wavin’ your fuckin’ arse around in front of Tony.” He howled again, enraging himself with his own words. “Oh, fuck off Declan.” You spit, pushing yourself out of your chair and beginning to abandon the kitchen. “Don’t walk away from me.” He tuts, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. “Don’t fucking touch me.” You scream and the words can barely leave your mouth — a pathetic mixture of anger and despair. “I am fucking sick of you!” You immediately regret the words as Declan’s top lip curls in vexation. Oh fuck.
He hurtles towards you, pushing you towards the wall and almost taking you off of your feet. You close an eye, internally preparing yourself for the crescendo of noise he is about to create. Instead, he collides his lips onto yours, grunting in annoyance as his tongue pushes his way into your mouth. Feeling yourself melt under his touch, Declan’s hand rides under your blouse, ripping it off from the inside and exposing your bare chest — perky breasts wobbling with the force and nipples hard from arousal. The bristles of his moustache send a quiver down your spine as he kisses down your chest before taking your left nipple into his mouth: swirling around the pink bud and sucking it softly. A stifled whimper escapes your lift as you lift your hand to his trousers, rubbing across his hardening bulge.
“Bend over.” Declan demands, pulling away from you and pushing you gently towards the dining table. Hesitantly, you do as you’re told and bend over the table, skirt riding up your thighs. Not that it matters too much, as it was promptly yanked down, exposing your bare arse to the man that owned it. Running his rough hand across the right cheek, Declan smacked it firmly, the harsh noise of skin on skin reverberating across the room. “Ya’ do know I’m gonna have ta’ punish ya’.” He growled, readying his hand for another firm smack. “Mhm hmm.” You whisper, nodding your head, consenting softly. Another unyielding smack made you yelp with aching pressure — a reddened hand print beginning to take form. “Oh fuck.” He groaned, lowering himself to your level and biting firmly into your arse, pleasure taking control of his entire conscience. You keep your eyes firmly pressed shut, awaiting the next smack. Instead, you chomp down on your lip as you hear Declan’s zipper, and the subsequent sound of his trousers dropping to the ground.
“Do ya’ want it?” The Irishman questioned, teasing your slick entrance with the head of his painfully erect cock. You could feel yourself practically dripping as he placed a firm hand onto your waist. “Yes…” You breathlessly moan, pushing yourself towards him, aching to feel his girth inside you. “Yes, what?” He growled. “Yes… Daddy.” You whimper once more, desperation overtaking you.
“Good girl.” Declan praised, and pushed the full length of his cock into you, but thrusted slowly in and out. “Oh, fuck.” You wail, as the walls of your vagina grip him like a vice, already aching with the girth of his dick. “Ya’ like that? Do I feel good stretchin’ ya’ out?” He asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and increasing his tempo with every wet smack of your arse against his pelvis. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy, teeth firmly planted into your bottom lip, mind fuzzy — you must definitely cannot muster a reply. “Tell me, girl. Tell me how good I feel inside ya’.” He asks again, hand reaching under to stroke your clit, coaxing you even closer to orgasm. Declan lolled his head back, pumping harder inside you as his fingers worked their rugged magic. “So fucking good, Daddy.” You manage to muster a reply.
“Ya’ so fuckin’ wet. Wrapped around my cock. Look at ya’ bouncin’ on my dick like a good fuckin’ whore.” Your lover groaned under your heat as he pounded into you, but the tension twisting inside your stomach was too much to bare. “Dec..Declan, I’m gonna…” You begin, but you feel him pull out in preparation.
The repetitive pounding of his enlarged cock on your g-spot left you in a dazed mess as you squirted onto the kitchen floor, legs trembling insanely throughout your orgasm. Declan watched the obscene mess he’d created with a terrible smirk on his face, full of adoration. “Good girl,” He affirmed again, “Look at the mess you’ve made for Daddy. Fuckin’ good girl.” He thrusted into you again, tempo increasing, hungry for his own release. “Are ya’ gonna let me cum inside ya?’ He asked, but he needn’t. You were already pleading with him to fill you with his seed. You needed to feel his hot, sweet cum inside of you.
“Please. I need it, Daddy. Please fill me up.” You begged, feeling Declan’s cock twitching inside you. The gratifying groans leaving his mouth prompted you to reach under your legs and stroke his cum-filled balls, luring him to ecstasy. “Fuck. Get ready, princess. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”
Bracing yourself to feel his warmth inside you, you kept your hands wrapped round his balls whilst pushing your arse into him, goading him to go faster. Spurts of hot cum covered the walls of your pussy, each rope accompanied with a pleasurable groan — absolute music to your ears. “Ahh, fuck.” Declan murmured, pulling his cock from your pussy and pausing for a moment to watch a droplet of his seed drip from your walls.
“Well done, my girl. You’ve fuckin’ milked me dry.” He chuckled to himself, slapping your arse once more playfully and huffing to himself.
511 notes · View notes
metranart · 6 months ago
Text
Imagine Geto and Gojo like your glorified bullies. They have had their eyes on you ever since they saw you. No one actually believed them to be bullies, sure they are arrogant and a bit mean but still, they are the golden duo of the Campus, loved and adored by everyone… but secretly obsessed with you, so but SO obsessed that their innocent teasing, playful at most, in time became more physical….
"Eyes on me, pretty," Geto grunts and swears and sweats and CAN'T seem to look away when he guides you down and kiss the tip of his cock, your tongue licking the roundness of the head like a lollipop, all in hope that this one-night stand will manage to dissuade this devilish duo from continuing to harass you, make them have their fill and be done with you. 
Geto watches you closely, breaths coming out labored and heavy. Your pretty eyes finally locking with his lovesick stare, orbs full of a sick devotion he refuses to give to anyone else, only perhaps to Satoru, who right now can’t help but chuckle amused at the love-stricken look Geto has on his face, not realizing he has the same damn look right at that moment.
"Dammit! you’ll be my end, I just know it,” the raven-haired heaves way too reverently before he realizes how vulnerable you are making him look and immediately, tries to keep face in front of a giggling Satoru. “Told ya, this little cunt can easily take us both.” 
Geto's hand comes to rest on your hair a little meaner, pushing you down and making you choke on his fat cock, but—… allowing you to control the speed with which you suck him off. Dammit! he just can’t control that soft spot he has for you.
Gojo snickers and rolls his eyes, shaking his head lightly at the devastating effect your mere existence has in his bestie… and in him, if he’s being honest. 
"Don't hog her, Suguru-"  
You blearily stare back into Satoru Gojo’s pouting grimace and he looks more frustrated than amused this time, you could laugh at how pathetic he looks if your mouth wasn't being used to make his best friend cum. Your drooling lips dragging over Suguru's throbbing cock, you can only try to follow his thrusting hips in order to protect the fragile, frayed strands of your sanity.
“You said you w-wanted….” Suguru has to concentrate to form logical sentences, “her s-sweet pussy first-…” he chokes a little when the tip touches the back of your throat but recovers the best he can, “then have-have her sweet p-pussy first, dumbass.”
You just ignore their little quarrel, just nibbling the sides of Geto's cock before he´s making you go down on him with a little more force, taking him whole in one go. Gojo lets his growing twinge of jealousy guide his next actions and with a mischievous grin, varnishes his lips in saliva, making sure are nice and slick to lick a fat and wet trip on your quivering slit.
You yelp at the unexpectedness and Geto shushes you, a benevolent expression on his face. 
"Just concentrate on sucking my cock," he hums and noticing your struggle, adds, "breath through your nose, pretty, nice and easy... just listen to my voice, sweetness." 
Eventually you do as he says, taking more of Geto in your mouth. "That's right, that's a good girl.” The raven-haired praises unable to hide anymore how much he wants you for himself. How much he wants to devote his life to you… and maybe, Satoru as well. If you can handle both, he'll take it... if you only want him, he'll take it faster.
Gojo's pathetic shriek tells Geto that he manages to slip in your tightness and your bouncing hips on his cock make him moan, appreciatively. 
Gojo's powerful hips colliding with your bruised ass cheeks without an inch of restraint is making sucking Geto off, sloppier and dirtier, and somehow, making him love it even more. Making him more verbal and prompter to show his more vulnerable side.
You knew that from the two, Geto was the machiavellian mind behind every act of bullying against you, but right now… this man, this weak mass of hormones, broken groans and trembling thighs under your hands were also showing a disarmingly sweet and unexpected, side of him. Something intimate and utterly private.
"Am I being too rough? Are you comfortable?" His rambling started all of the sudden and kept coming… "You want it deeper, should Gojo speed up or slow down..." "You're so beautiful. Ask us for ANYTHING, we'll put Tokyo at your feet... be our princess." "Shit! If you keep sounding so incredibly adorable, I'm going to cum... I don't want to cum yet-" "No, don't stop, let me hear you... I was just thinking out loud, I love the way our name sounds in your voice. Oh baby! You're going to be my downfall, please... be my downfall!
“OUR downfall!” 
Gojo corrects and the two men lock eyes. His cock stills inside you and your body tenses. There’s a heavy silence before Geto nods in agreement, the easygoing grin back on his lips. 
"Sorry. It slipped out. Our girl," he shifts his dark gaze to your reddened face and his eyes soften again. "You knew we bullied you because we like you, don’cha? I know you knew it-” 
You didn’t. You actually don't want to believe that to be the reason, that reason gives you more chills than the fact that they only saw you as a passing victim. This new information makes you make him cum faster, it slips down your chin and neck at how heavy it is, and you hear him chuckle breathlessly, as one of his hands pet your head, way too gently. 
"Y-You just wanted to keep us on the edge of our seats, y-you wanted to torture us, I just know it, kitten... well, you did well... we're crazy-crazy about you.”
You freeze, don’t knowing how to react, so you don’t… and they notice.
Soon Gojo finishes too, and a loop begins, one after another after another… like trying to brand you from the inside out, they need to seize their chance. Satoru’s strong but gentle fingers keep you effectively anchored to his groin, as he only hums appreciatively in response to your adorable, pathetic moans as both keep feeding those glorious pieces of meat to your conquered holes. 
“You, letting me rut into your softness and enduring our frenzy with such grace has undoubtedly been the best thing of my damn year, pretty." Satoru finally confesses, leaving his tough guy facade aside. Both their masks are off for good now.
Suguru Geto chuckles at his confession, you make them so desperate, so desperate to hear something more than moans mumbled brokenly from your lips, they want to hear you say that you accept all their proposals and future plans, that you are their girlfriend, their future wife, the future mother of their child… he wants to hear that you are HIS… Theirs, he means, theirs. 
But you don’t and that irks and burns deeper than expected and makes them have to go back to their nasty and reprovable behavior. Unfortunately for you, they just run out of patience.
“Y’know,” Suguru starts conversationally, disturbingly stretched grin and unfaltering obsidian gaze betraying his previous gentle approach and innocently whispered proclamations of love. “I REALLY like this pussy… I think we’ll keep it.”
You hear Satoru laugh, and for the first time, you can glimpse your mistake. This wasn’t a night one stand, their greed for you is bottomless, your foolish attempt to tame them, failed and now they look greedier than EVER.
➡️ 👀 Sneak Peek Artwork HERE
🔞➡️ FULL NSFW ART of this drabble HERE
670 notes · View notes
vaguely-concerned · 9 months ago
Text
the fact that irving canonically survives through the end of asunder to be at wynne's funeral is so fucking funny to me. nothing but love and respect for MY unstoppable cockroach morally grey machiavellian mage dad!!! he's survived in his position through multiple attempted rites of annulment and blood mage plots popping up left right and center around him. the chantry keeps trying to stamp him out but his dodge game is simply out of this world, divine. civil wars, political machinations and minefields, chantry atrocities, this wily old motherfucker is dodging and weaving his way through it all, not-quite-no-hits-taken-running-it-but-honestly-close-enough-under-the-circumstances style. if solas does succeed in tearing down the veil I would fully believe that one of the like three people still alive at the end of it all would be a very weary 90 year old first enchanter irving going 'oh this shit again huh'. the maker has cursed him for his hubris and his paperwork is never finished (affectionate, it's fine he canonically loves paperwork)
#we should have had the option to leave him in the fade instead of hawke or a warden#he would've just annoyedly shuffled his way back out of there a week later#dragon age#dragon age origins#first enchanter irving#he must be SO annoying to the chantry because it's heavily implied he's made his playground#out of tirelessly finding technicalities and loopholes to exploit that they can't *quite* call him on without domino effects going off#I think first enchanter in the circle system at origins times is a position that invariably and inevitably leaves you morally compromised#but I feel he really does his best within the rules he's given to play with and personally i love him a bit for that. and also#for being an unkillable lil shit. insufferable. inconquerable in his 'I'm about to be such an annoyance to you' impish spirit.#the I'm going to suffer but guess what. so are you of it all. traumatize the chantry back#I just imagine sophia sending letters home right before the vote for independence like '...dad I am hearing some INSANE rumours out here#what the actual fuck is going on back home???'#and he's like 'nothing that you need to worry about sweetie just keep living your best life and have fun killing darkspawn <3'#(there's something that makes me feel So much about how consistently his stance is like... 'you'll always be welcome here#but the circle doesn't *need* you; go be a warden and live your life'. he managed to fineagle freedom for you somehow and won't let you#turn and glance back. not even once. I feel somehow both so abandoned and so incredibly loved it's wild)#oc: sophia amell
908 notes · View notes
beastsovrevelation · 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
If it isn't my beloved celestial harpy, most holy Michael the Archangel herself (meaning, I turned this into proper line-art). ⚔ Good Omens has insulted her, but she will always be Supreme Commander of the Heavenly Host in my mind, and in my fics. I can only try to do her justice.
What do you think, should I colour it? It almost looks like a colouring page, I'm tempted to print it, and colour it with pencils or markers. ✏
32 notes · View notes
l4mplight · 10 months ago
Text
Miquella and Trina; A Tragedy
Hey Tumblr. I have a lot of thoughts about Shadow of the Erdtree, and these ones... let's just say I don't think they'd do well on Reddit. It's not often that I feel particularly impacted by a particular fictional character. Usually I connect more with narrative arcs and themes, which is why I think I'm so drawn to the ephemeral, vibes based storytelling of Fromsoft's games. Playing through SOTE, though, I found Miquella (and St Trina) to be extremely emotionally compelling and relatable, and I wasn't sure exactly why. I think I've put my finger on it now though. First of all, know that I am writing from the perspective that Miquella is a sympathetic character. I know that it's not uncommon to read him as a manipulative Machiavellian villain, but I think that's both a misreading of the text as well as just plain boring. Like, he's not a Griffith clone you guys, give From some credit. Anyway, here we go.
"You have no understanding. Of Miquella the Kind. Of St. Trina's Love.
Content Warning: I'll be discussing themes of depression, and the implication of suicidal ideation.
So, a classic Fromsoftware theme is despair, and the ways we cope with a world full of it. It shows up twice in Shadow of the Erdtree; with Midra and the Frenzied Flame, where despair leads to a selfish nihilism that asks us to burn everything down, and with Thiollier and St Trina, who offer sleep as a comfort to the weary. Running a small errand for Thiollier has him say the following.
Tumblr media
"If you find yourself… weary of the weight of this life, then just give me the word. Sleep is a balm, and eternal sleep… is an elixir."
Drinking the elixir he offers will, of course, result in an instant death. This is our first encounter with the idea of "Eternal Sleep," a more potent form of the sleep status effect that only appears here in the Shadowlands, after St Trina has been abandoned. The Velvet Sword of St. Trina tells us as much: "Silver sword of St. Trina, now stained the color of velvet. Inflicts eternal sleep. When St. Trina was abandoned, the faint, light-purple mists coalesced into an intoxicating deep-purple cloud." In order to ascend to godhood, Miquella abandons first his physical body, and then the more abstract aspects of himself. As we begin to descend down the fissure where we'll find Trina, a cross marks the spot as the place where Miquella abandoned his love. This connects Trina, "the discarded half" as Thiollier puts it, with Miquella's love. Leda confirms this in her own dialogue:
"St. Trina's love for Kind Miquella is boundless. She is, after all, his other half. Or perhaps her feelings go beyond even that. Even if she was left behind, I doubt her heart would waver."
Keep that in mind, it'll be relevant later.
Tumblr media
Near the cross, a spirit offers up some of the most heartbreaking dialogue I've come across so far. The spirit gives us a bigger picture of Miquella's goals:
"Kindly Miquella... I see you've thrown away... something you should not have. Under any circumstances. How will you salvation offer... to those who cannot be saved? When you could not even save your other self?"
I teared up at this. The emotional impacted was aided by the fact that I ran into the spirit right after telling Moore to put his past behind him, leading him to rededicate himself to Miquella. He says:
"Hm. Maybe that’s Kindly Miquella’s love. Love for all the unloved. Love, to banish the pain."
Note here that Moore suggest Miquella's love will "banish the pain." This is also essentially what Trina's sleep does. It's a comfort to those in need. Anyway, between these two instances, we end up with a pretty good picture of the sort of god Miquella wants to become. He was already sympathetic to the outcasts of The Lands Between in the basegame, where he built Elphael and the Haligtree as a haven for those rejected by the Golden Order, such as the Albinaurics and Misbegotten we find there. In the Shadowlands, he has gone a step further. Hornsent tells us that he has committed himself, in essence, to righting Marika's wrongs.
"Miquella has said as much himself – he wishes now to throw it all away. He says the act – though undoubtedly painful – will sear clean the Erdtree’s wanton sin. The truth of his claim can be found at each cross. 'Tis evidence enough to earn my belief."
Of all of Marika's children, Miquella is the only one to see the serious flaws in her empire. Ymir points this out to us as well.
"No matter our efforts, if the roots are rotten, then we have little recourse. Ever-Young Miquella saw things for what they were. He knew his bloodline was tainted, his roots mired in madness. A tragedy if there ever was one. That he would feel compelled to renounce everything when the blame lay squarely with the mother."
My thinking here is aligned with Mother Ymir. You really have to feel for Miquella; he has essentially taken on, alone, the responsibility of making up for centuries of Golden Order imperialism. That's a massive burden to bear, especially for Miquella, cursed with eternal childhood.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
(It's easy to miss, but Miquella actually ages up significantly when we see him in god-form. Until he steps back through the Divine Gate, he would have looked and sounded like he does in the introductory art and in ending memory scene. Compare those with how he appears in the boss fight, and it's clear godhood at least helped him reach puberty lol) So we've established that Miquella is the child of Imperial Rome on Steroids, is cursed with eternal childhood, and is an empathetic prodigy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Surely his mental state is perfectly healthy, right? Right??
Final warning, this is where things get quite sad. Here is where I will try to tie Miquella's arc together with Thiollier and St Trina, and the comforting oblivion and relief from despair that sleep represents for them.
Tumblr media
As we search for St Trina, we descend down into the Stone Coffin Fissure. This is a place of death, with massive coffins built into the fissure walls, and Gravebirds, Bloodfiends and Putrescent enemies everywhere. St Trina is found at the deepest possible pit of this fissure, in a swamp of putrescence that has since blossomed into a garden of deep velvet lilies because of her influence. Trina offers us nectar of "eternal sleep," as Thiollier did previously, and as established then, "eternal sleep" is essentially nothing more than a peaceful death. Trina seems to fit in quite well in this place of ancient dead things, with some of the ancient remains even being compelled to fight for her in exchange for eternal rest, becoming the Putrescent Knight.
Tumblr media
(Side note for levity because we're about to get sad again; I love this guy. It's a knight made out of the skeleton of a horse, riding on that same horse's decaying flesh goop body. Like, ugh. Beautiful. Plus, it may even have taken that shape because of Trina sharing Miquella's memories of Radahn, who was never far from his horse Leonard...)
We meet St Trina in her garden, and when we imbibe her nectar, we eventually begin to hear her voice in our death-dreams. She seems to pity him. Mourn for him, almost.
"Make Miquella stop... Don't turn the poor thing into a god..."
Trina appears to be in a bad state after her fall. She can only manage to get a few words across to us at once. Just as Leda predicted, her heart hasn't wavered. She is only concerned with Miquella's well-being.
"Godhood would be Miquella's prison. A caged divinity... is beyond saving."
Trina's most pressing concern is that godhood will be a prison for Miquella. Now, this could in theory be because gods are subject to manipulation from the Fingers and the Greater Will or a similar reason, but given that she calls him a "poor thing," I think there is likely a more emotional reason behind Trina's plea. I think that Trina is speaking as the embodiment of Miquella's love, but especially his ability to love and care for himself...
"You must kill Miquella... Grant him forgiveness."
...and she asks us to kill him.
Tumblr media
In excising Trina from his being, I think Miquella also expelled the part of himself that was able to recognize how miserable divinity would be for him, and how miserable he was. The part of him that was tired of carrying the responsibilities that his compassion demanded of him. The part of him that was exhausted, despairing and desperate from having failed to cure Malenia, failed to save Godwyn, failed to perfect the Haligtree. St Trina is the part of Miquella that wanted to be stopped, to rest, to sleep, to die. In abandoning her as he does, Miquella is essentially repressing those thoughts and feelings, replacing them with more "selfless" ones; self-sacrifice, suffering on behalf of others, his martyrdom and apotheosis. I don't want to forget about "grant him forgiveness" either. She might mean forgiveness for failing to become a god, for not being good enough to succeed Marika and right her wrings. Maybe forgiveness for failing Malenia and Godwyn, or for leaving the Haligtree behind. Maybe even for abandoning her. But on the road to godhood, Miquella can't afford to indulge in this sort of self-pity. A child craves forgiveness and approval, a god must cast these things out.
Tumblr media
"I'm feeling rather lost. Haunted by memories. Of St. Trina. Her visage. Her scent. The lure of velvety sleep. Would Kindly Miquella chasten me? For falling for St. Trina, while knowing that she was the discarded half? The problem is… I simply cannot help it. I would sacrifice everything, just to gaze upon her, one last time."
I want to mention Thiollier one more time here too. His primary visual motif is the long white braids that he wears on his clothes, reminiscent of Miquella and Trina's own signature braids (remember, she looked like an older feminine Miquella before her fall and injury). Thiollier is obsessed with Trina, pursuing her to hear her voice and fade into the comfort of her velvet sleep, though this doesn't kill him like it does us. I don't think Thiollier is connected to Miquella in any textual way, but I think he does serve as a reflection of the sorts of thoughts Miquella may have been surpressing. The self-pity, the need for approval and love, the feelings of weakness and uselessness. These are the things that lead Thiollier to pursue endless slumber.
Thiollier doesn't give in to that despair, however. Though he initially takes St. Trina's words... poorly, he eventually realizes what must be done, and dedicates himself to his new purpose: carrying out her final wish.
"I am here to serve St. Trina evermore. I am deeply sorry. For doubting you. I am here only to grant St. Trina's singular wish. I will stop Miquella the kind. He will never become a god."
Tumblr media
This post is already quite long, but I also want to mention the obvious gender stuff going on here. There are a number of moments that make it seem as though St. Trina might actually be more than just "half" of Miquella. Firstly, as she is shown falling in the story trailer, Leda is describing how Miquella abandoned his fate, as if Trina had a vital role to play in Miquella's future. It also seems as though Trina isn't cursed in the same way that Miquella is; her voice and size indicate that she is at least more substantial than his "infant form," and she is depicted in "adult form, somewhat unnervingly" on the Torch of St. Trina. Furthermore, her "adult form" has a third eye in the middle of her forehead. The third eye is a symbol of enlightenment in both Hinduism and Buddhism; it seems that Trina has achieved some level of wholeness in this depiction. Meanwhile, when Miquella achieves godhood, his eyes remain permanently shut. He also appears to have only one physical arm. He holds Radahn with two incorporeal arms while casting with his real right arm, but his left arm appears to fade away to nothing before the elbow, as if unfinished. Miquella's blindness and asymmetry here, I think, reflect how unbalanced and incomplete his divinity is without Trina.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
One more hint towards St Trina being a part of Miquella's future lies way back at the Haligtree. In Malenia's bossroom, just above where Miquella's cocoon was once embedded into the tree, the branches and roots appear to form a silhouette. This could be Miquella, Trina, or both, but I do see a certain resemblance to Trina's depiction on the torch in the way the "hair" covers the eyes. Given that Miquella's body appears to have grown a decent amount inside of the cocoon when we see in at Mohg's palace, it's possible that the cocoon situation was his original attempt to cure himself of his own curse, or perhaps become a part of the Haligtree itself. In the Shaman Village, Marika's home, there is a similar scene. A woman's body that resembles Marika seemingly mummified within the hollow of a tree. I honestly have no idea what to make of that just yet, but I thought it worth a mention.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
So, with all that in mind, abandoning Trina seems to be even more significant. Not only has Miquella divested himself of his love and his fate, but maybe even his future, too. Being eternally nascent, he is always in a state of potential, after all. Am I suggesting that Miquella is a transfeminine character? That he was meant to grow up to become a goddess in the aspect of St. Trina, or maybe even more like Marika than he already is? Well, maybe. If you find it compelling, then absolutely. Fromsoftware's storytelling is always ambiguous, and is always design to leave us some room to read and interpret, to really play in the space we are given. Personally, I do find it compelling in a horribly tragic sort of way, fitting for the setting. It's also entirely possible that I have rather self-indulgently projected some of my own angst onto these character. I likely have, to be perfectly honest. It's rare that I really connect with a set of characters or a story like I have with this lot, and I hope that maybe some of you reading this will feel similarly. If you have read this far, thanks <3
686 notes · View notes
stzrgirl4norris · 11 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
My Kink Is Karma
Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: After a turbulent break up, Max left you all alone, dealing with the pain from his poisonous words. He was thriving, having the time of his life, and you were determined to see his downfall.
Word count: 9k
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (don't do that), degradation, Mean!Max, Mean! Reader, they are both toxic to each other, revenge sex, hate sex. All the good stuff
I'm on my Max kick later, specially since the last race. Hope you guys can enjoy my freak with me!!
Three months, twenty eight days since he left.
Actually, since you left. No, even worse, since you were kicked out of his stupid cubicle of an apartment. Why is every goddamn apartment in Monaco so small either way? It's like millionaires have a kink for minimalism or something. There were still a couple of his t-shirts hanging around, shoved down the back of a drawer you never opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, picking up anything with his scent on it would cause world war three, and you didn't want that.
Not because you don't hate him, you do, wholeheartedly, but you would rather see the universe handle it, slowly, sadistically, because you always believed in karma, plus, he didn't deserve any type of reaction from you.
However, almost four months is a whole lot of time of waiting for Max Verstappen to get something bad coming his way. Somehow, that blue eyed man is always on top. McLaren had the fastest car and he was still dominating, pole position, podiums, even fucking won a race against all odds. Max Verstappen not only defied your beliefs around love, but your beliefs in general. He tested your faith. Because in this wednesday afternoon, sitting on your plane sit, next to a crying baby and an exhausted mother, you were wondering if the universe gave a flying damn about how much that man hurt you. Gods Are you listening over there? He left me with no direction, no sense of belonging, stole my pride, joy and clothes. I was left empty. So why the fuck is he the one thriving?
That's why you decided to make matters with your own hands. Karma isn't real? No problem. You would create karma and shove it down his throat. Max Verstappen is not going to hell when he dies? Then, you will make sure he lives through hell while you are around. And the plan starts with a suitcase and an economic class ticket to Bahrain.
The city was scalding. The complete opposite of an early spring in Monaco. Too many people, a legion of tourists who were there for the Grand Prix. You looked around, analyzing the environment, but he was everywhere. In t-shirts, flags, posters, dolls. "The flying dutchman", "The Dutch Lion". That was the worst one. A lion? That motherfucker was just as coward as a toddler being confronted by their angry parent.
Hey. Just landed. Where was the place / was supposed to wait for the driver?
Max: Gate seven. He's already there.
You don't answer. He doesn't deserve an answer.
On the other hand, if the plan was going to work perfectly, you needed him to believe you were desperate for him. Because Max has an ego, he craves the attention. It's Machiavellian, but any current pain is worth the final result. What even is a single text message compared to seeing Max Verstappen’s downfall live and in bright colors?
You walked towards gate seven. Sure enough, the man was there, holding a little white plank with your surname written on it. As if it was needed, since to his left, there he was, wearing his stupia red bull cap, white t-shirt and dark blue jeans.
Classic Max. You weren't taken by surprise, at the end of the day, Verstappen was as predictable as playing chess with a child, at least to you. You knew he was going to be there, just to torment you, prove, somehow, that he never left, his scent, manners, soul, were all surrounding you, everyday since that rainy tuesday when all hell broke loose.
As you approached both men with a confidence acquired from whatever cheap wine they offered on the flight, you could swore you saw a glimpse of relief in his arctic blue eyes.
Max was relieved. Seeing you, full shape, materialized in front of him like a dying man's last vision, as beautiful as ever, maybe even more, left him with a feeling of immense relief. Because ever since the break up, he never saw or spoke to you.
He didn't even understand how the hell that was possible, considering Monaco was just a big gated commune. He had no idea, however, that for those three months you barely left your bed, purposefully avoiding him. The funny thing is, Max could've swore on his career that he saw a different type of glimmer surrounding you, because as you gave him a shy kiss on the cheek, shivers went down his neck, all the way though his spine. There was uncertainty in his mind if, at that moment, you were a salvation from heaven or his worst nightmare.
"I didn't actually think you would come?" He couldn't control the excitement in his voice. To you? Pathetic.
"You know Bahrain has always been my favorite circuit." Lies. "Plus, I really wanted to talk." More lies. Oh, weren't you just the best pretty little liar?
'I agree"
Max had no idea of what you planned. With all the innocence of a little boy in love, who fucked up, he believed that you wanted to try again, that you were able to give him another chance. If for three months you were crying underneath the shower steam, he was begging via text messages, voicemails, red roses and handwritten notes to talk to you and sort things out. In his mind, his words were bad, a disaster. "Your career isn't important, you can't keep crying over this shit." Actually, the words were bad, but the context was even worse. To be fair, you were crying over a minor problem, a grain of sand in the midst of long beach, still, that was the result of a build-up that lasted weeks, days having to suffer countless abuse in your job, burnout was imminent. Haven't you been breaking down, releasing every tension from the stress of your career, you could have actually forgiven him. In contrast, the coldness and nonchalant in his voice when saying "your career isn't important" was what actually got to you. "So, I can't cry over my boss raging at me from mistakes he made, but you can cry whenever your stupid little car isn't 0.5 seconds faster than another car? Why? Because being a Formula 1 racer is the only job that matters? Huh, Max?"
That whole argument spiraled to a rabbit hole of pointing fingers and repressed emotions. Deep down, you knew you hated your job, you wanted to leave every time you stepped a foot in that building, but Max didn't need to know that. And he had no right assuming that it wasn't important.
Arriving at his hotel, the boy next to you handled a room key. 405.
"It's right next to mine"
You gave him a look, the one that said "well, obviously." Another predictable move. God, if any other driver paid enough attention to him, you were convinced he wouldn't be called Mad Max at all, because, in reality, Verstappen was as clear as a crystal glass.
The whole way up to the room, Max was a gentleman, carrying bags, hands on your lower back, guiding the way, walking in front. Just like you never stopped being his girlfriend. Maybe, in his mind, you never did.
The room was brightened with yellow lights, contrasting to the cold of the atmosphere between both ex-lovers. Even though you were trying your best to not give anything away, Max wasn't stupid, he could read you with eyes closed, he knew there was an unsettledness in your movements, he just couldn't point exactly why or what is going on.
"Do you want me to leave? Or do you just want to get it out of the way?" Max didn't quite know what he meant with "it", whatever it was, it has been filling his lungs with deep anxiety. And you knew he was suffering. For a man who was used to get anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, being completely lost in the matters of the heart, hurt his pride and gave him tremendous affliction.
"I was hoping we could catch a nice dinner, properly talk with some good food and wine. What do you say?" The words came off of your tongue spontaneously, as if you didn't rehearse them 300 hundred times during that 11 hour flight.
"Sure, yeah, fine. Even better with people around... That way you won't have the courage to kill me." You could hear the tension in his words when he joked, and he could hear the mockery in your chuckle just as well.
"Pick me up at eight?"
The fact that you made no comment around his stupid joke bothered him to his core. Which is the reason he just nodded and left the room without saying anything else. Just as soon as that door closed, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet. You couldn't say what the fuck you were feeling, nausea, pain, anxiety, shame, guilt, rage. You should just open the door, go to his room, throw things around, break glasses, throw his suitcase on the hotel pool, tell the press he is leaving red bull and get on a plan, never look back. Having to wait for revenge to be served cold is what drives everyone insane, and no one talks about that.
Countless of hours later, after two long crying sessions, and screaming, and burning pages of your journal, you were ready. Dressed up casually. You wouldn't give him too much, because you knew he was expecting to show up as beautiful as ever, Lady Di in her revenge dress, so the fact that you were just dressed as his Y/N, raw, honest beauty, broke his heart. Because when he opened the door to your room, he was taken by your perfume and your pure self, just like he did for three years every time he came home from a race weekend and you were waiting for him on the couch.
"Come on, Max, you don't need to give this look." You were surprised by how effective flirting was in maskaring hate.
"What look?"
"Like I'm your long lost childhood love you encountered 20 years later." He shook his head, slightly.
"You're something like that."
Something like that. What the fuck did he mean?
"We should go." You said a little bit more desperate than you hoped. Maybe due to the fact that you were dying to leave. "Lead the way."
*
God. Wasn't middle eastern food the key to all your problems? Maybe if the scent of blended spices and dates filled your nostrils before, there would be no reason for any of this.
For the past couple of hours, you were focused on trying to enjoy the delights Sakhir had to offer.
Notice the word trying. Because with Max Verstappen looking like a god sent angel in front of you, no amount of cloves and cinnamon would be able to erase the scent of wanting that was emanating from him.
Max was paying extra attention to you. Every time you looked excited about whatever you were tasting, he could catch a proper breath. However, one look into your eyes later and he has filled with thousands of questions in his head.
"So, what is the strategy for this weekend?"
"Do you actually want to talk about my racing strategies for the weekend?" Yes. You did. How were you supposed to ruin his life if you had no clue what was going on with the only thing that mattered to him. "You said you wanted to talk, Y/ N."
"We are talking." He raised his eyebrow. You sighed, stomach twisting in ten thousand knots.
"Fine..."
Before you could select which carefully constructed phrase you compartmentalized for this very moment, Max, with his usual quickness, took the upfront.
"Please, come back to me."
It's not that you weren't expecting that he would say something like this, you just weren't expecting how much your internal organs would fire up as a response. In that particular moment, you could swore you forgot all of the lines of the plan you spent one month obsessing over. He broke your character, for just a slight of a second, a fraction.
"You really hurt me." For the first time in this whole entire trip, you were being honest.
"I know. I am truly deeply sorry. I fucked up."
You just stared. Contemplating if you were going to let him talk a little more. The dark twisted part of your brain was enjoying seeing him act as pathetic as you once did for him. That same side of your brain was already collecting ideas. Screw that one month evil plan, Max was giving everything you need to do even more damage than you anticipated.
"Let me show you how much I regret it. Let me make it up to you." The phrase was constructed as if he was asking for permission, but both of you knew, deep down, that he wasn't backing up any soon.
"These past few months were hell to me, Max."
The words were true, but there was no emotion in your voice to actually reflect the pain you went through. Max had no idea. He would never guess.
It seemed to him that you were giving something, but a weird feeling in his gut was sparking a doubt that you were hiding something.
"I will fix this up."
His legs under the table were shaking like the first time he stepped out of a Formula 1 car. Max was speaking as he was walking barefoot on shattered glass. There is no way for you to fix this up. Only me. You wanted to answer. You couldn't.
"Are you excited for the race?"
The deviation of the subject showed Max you were uncomfortable, which is why he decided that was enough of pushing. He didn't know there was a strategy underneath your tongue.
"Are you?" He fired back, letting himself taste a bit of the wine that you chose. It was bitter, dry, unlike the sweet rosés you'd usually go for.
"Thrilled." Your lips curled into a smirk stained with maroon liquid. Something shifted in the tone of your words. It was malicious, Max could sense it, but he was a man after all, guile and sexiness go hand-in-hand, specially coming from a girl holding a glass of wine.
ready to head back, whenever you want to go."
"Are we not going to order dessert?"
Nope. He wanted to leave. Matter of fact, as soon as possible. He wanted to take you to his room, or your room, whichever one is closest to the elevator door, and peel off every lying secret you were hiding behind your sore, tired eyes.
"Do you want dessert?"
You looked at his eyes, then his lips, then his neck, back at his eyes. Licked your lips, the bitterness of the wine reminding you of pure sex.
"Maybe not from here."
You knew you had control over him by the way he looked at you, like a puppy begging for food. Max didn't even try to hide how much he was longing to just touch you in any way, shape, or form. God, men were so easy.
A few formalities and street lights later, you were back to the golden architecture of the place you were staying. It wasn't your first time in the country, but it was your first time in this hotel, hadn't it been the circumstances of your visit, you could have actually enjoyed the experience.
The elevator door shut, fourth floor was a short ride. Helped to ease the tension. Not too much, but just enough.
"I can't find the key to my room."
Max knew it was inside your purse, you knew it too, obviously. There was just no reason to bother looking it up.
"Hm. Thankfully, I got you." He held the white car between his fingers, flashing them with a teenage boy smile.
"My hero,"
For the first time during this night, you felt the tension leaving with the winds of Sakhir. Sex was not on your plan, in fact, quite the opposite.
However, you forgot there was no such thing as a plan when it came to Max Verstappen. Specially not when it came to desire and love. Plus, a girl is allowed to enjoy herself, it's not like you were going to get soft on him now, right?
The closing door blocked all the noise. Suddenly, the room was carried with heavy air, lost faith, gained hope, misery, all at once. If you listened closely, you were able to hear Max's heart beating irregular beats. It felt to him like he was about to have a stroke, a heart attack, a breakdown, or all of the above. You were danger, your presence was too powerful. He needed to get control back, or he would just spiral.
But you would not let him. Not right now.
Just as quick as you left him that night, you were pulling him by his neck. Lips connected like they were never meant to leave each other in the first place. Looking for each other's air because the room was getting smaller and smaller. This was the point of the night in which you didn't need to perform. You were not doing it for the plot, the revenge, you were doing it because you desperately craved him.
Max had only a few times seen you this way. It was unusual, but he wasn't complaining. He didn't quite like the fact that if you asked him to kneel down and bark, he'd do it, however. And he was afraid you'd notice it and just torture him the whole night. The boy was just a little too late.
"You said you wanted to make it up to me." Max didn't know how you managed to get a full sentence out in the middle of what was going on, if he opened his mouth all that would leave his throat were pathetic sighs and moans. "Then prove it."
You pushed him away, slightly. Max's chest underneath his navy blue t-shirt didn't hide his erratic breathing.
"I am proving it to you."
He leaned in, but was met with another slight push. This time, mixed between his confusion, was frustration. Just as much as you wanted him, he wanted you. No, he needed you. Needed to be close to you as if there was a war going on outside and that was the only way to keep both of you safe.
"No." No? What the hell no meant? "Kneel."
Your command was firm, imperative. You were no stranger to take charge in the bedroom with Max, but it usually lasted around five minutes, a way to spice things up or push him to the edge until he finally broke. In a way, it was fake-control, because you knew it was just a matter of time until you were at his mercy. But not this time.
"What?" He heard you well, the question was put there simply as a way of making you change your mind.
"You heard me, Verstappen. Kneel and beg for me."
Max didn't have a chance to respond or brush it off with a scoffed laugh, your hands were already on his shoulders, applying force to bring him down. It wasn't gravity the one who put Max Verstappen to his knees, it was the magnetic force of your words and the torment of his desires for you.
"Schatje, come on."
"Hm. That all you got?"
The truth is, Max was running out of protests. You knew it took him a lot to put his pride to the side.
He wanted you back, but there was no way he was going to beg for it. Max Verstappen doesn't beg, for anyone. Actually, he never needed to, he always got what he wanted. But his resources were coming to an end, because your posture and the way you were demanding the room, left him with no choice.
With the gentlest touch, like you were made out of the rarest crystal, Max's hand came to the back of your calves, slowly making their way to the back of your knees. He stopped there, didn't dare going further up. His hands were big enough to almost wrap around it completely, and he applied pressure. It was a simple gesture, but goddamn it you missed his fingers touching you, you didn't care where.
You looked down, right hand travelling to his hair, fingers intertwining between some strands, making a mess. He always looked beautiful with messy hair.
"Please." A kiss on your right knee. "Please, forgive me." A kiss on the left knee. "I will do anything for you."
The hand that was on his hair made its way to his cheek. Your thumb brushing the soft skin underneath his eyes. Max was flushing, the blood was rushing everywhere through his veins, heart pounding, maybe after this he should cancel his weekend, because there is no way he would make it out alive.
Then, all of the sudden, your gentle rub became a slap. Not a rough slap, in fact, only a couple of taps, to call out his attention. And, damn, maybe a hard slap would be less humiliating than this. And it didn't help when you had a devilish grin in your lips.
"Come on, pretty boy, just a little bit more. You're almost there. Look at me."
He was. Like a puppy. Like a dog starving. His pupils were so dilated you couldn't tell his eyes were pale blue. You were hell. That wasn't you. Looked like you, wore your clothes, the same old vanilla perfume, but if his whole life Max saw you as his sweet girl, this time he was seeing you as a mythical creature, completely transformed into something else.
"I fucked up. I can't live without you. Please, Y/N, I am about to go insane. I fucking love you, just come back to me, please. I can't make it without you." His chin rested somewhere on top of your legs.
You smiled. Humiliating Max sexually was not a part of the plan, but it was so satisfactory you could go straight back home with fulfillment in your bones.
"Good enough."
You backed out and walked straight to the door. In a sudden movement, Max got up, his legs felt like jelly, his head was spinning. There was no time for him to catch up, you had already left. He heard something like a see you tomorrow, but wasn't completely sure. In that particular moment he was out. Interpreting his feelings wasn't always easy, and right now it sure as hell was the hardest thing for him to do, considering there was a mix of everything inside his guts.
It took all of your strength to not go back, just to get a glimpse of how Max Verstappen looked completely desolated, alone in his hotel room, frustrated, confused. Exactly like you were that afternoon, three months ago. If you suffered, he was going to suffer the exact same thing, but ten times more.
*
"Max, you good? Looks like you're about to throw up."
Sitting in a round table, his salad was untouched, his cup still filled with water. The voices were mushy, he couldn't tell which driver elaborated that question. Truth is, he wasn't paying attention to anything else, too busy looking around, searching for any glimpse of you. Anything to demonstrate that you were still there, because you could probably be back home by now, laughing while sitting on your sofa, seeing his misery on live television.
He was brought back to the real world with Charles' voice commanding his attention, because finally, for the first time during that stupid lunch, someone said something that actually mattered.
"Mate, what is Y/N doing here? I thought you two broke up."
"Where is she?" His voice sounded so desperate, so pathetic, Lando couldn't help but chuckle.
"Just saw her talking to Honer when I passed the Red Bull garage. Could've swore I was seeing things, but it was actually her. Are you two back together?"
Midst sentence Max was already gone, rushing through the crowd as fast as he could before it was too late. He looked desperate, like he was looking for water in a desert island.
The meters to the garage seemed like the distance to the moon. His eyes were filled by the sigh of Horner, talking to someone else, not relevant, nor for him, because the someone else wasn't you. The conversation seemed important, and it would be rude to interrupt, but Max couldn't care less.
"Christian, where is Y/N?"
Horner turned around to look at his driver, bright fake smile. A little annoyed that he interrupted, but there was no way he was going to show Verstappen any annoyance.
"Well, hello to you too, Max. I was meaning to ask, what is she doing here? Thought you left her."
"Where the fuck is she?" Max asked again, this time his tone showed little to no patience.
Horner narrowed his eyes, if anyone else in this world talked to him like this, God would feel sorry for them. But again, the golden boy could do anything he pleased.
"If I'm not mistaken, she was looking for you. My guess is that she is waiting on your driver room."
The boy left. No thank you, no sorry, just simply vanished like dust.
The fragile door was opened with violence. This time, Max was quicker, not giving you a chance to play your game.
Eventually, after two days of deep contemplation, torture and screaming into his pillow, Max decided that he had enough of your games. Now, both of you were going to play things his way. Or so he thought.
"Why the fuck are you here? What the fuck do you want?"
You were sitting, legs crossed. His presence was dominating, but you didn't break character.
"What happened to good mornings? No one taught you proper manners?"
"Cut the fucking bullshit, Y/N. Why are you doing this?"
You got up, making your way towards him. Not too close and Max thanked God for that, because one more step and he would just break down again, crumble into crushed pieces of a boy. However, standing from a safe distance, his mind was taken by frustration, he wanted answers just as well as he wanted to rip your clothes off and make you pay for the little stunt you pulled two nights ago.
"I want to see you suffer."
You knew he would eventually caught up. It's Max, he is smart. And if anyone would understand the reasonings behind your feelings, it would be him.
So there was no reason to hide your true intentions anymore.
Max nodded, hands on his waist. He expressed some sort of laugh as a substitute for just yelling and screaming. He had done that already.
"How's that going for you?"
"Not nearly as close as the amount of suffering I am hoping for." Max was taken back by the cruelness and coldness in your words. "I want you to regret leaving me 'til the day you are buried six feet under ground. If you suffered ten times of what I did for those past months, still, wouldn't be enough.”
"I don't know how to break this to you, sweetheart. But making me kneel and beg, although I appreciate the effort, it was cute, isn't really close to the pain of getting dumped. You'll have to work harder than that."
Your lips curled into a wide spread smile.
"I know."
Up and close to his eyes, between your delicate fingers, a medium sized black piece of something he had an idea of, but didn't want to believe it was real.
"What is this?"
"You should get going, Maxie, quali is about to begin."
"You removed a piece from my fucking car?! Are you fucking insane?! This is psychotic, Jesus fucking Christ!" His eyes widened, his hands went through his hair in a desperate act. "How the fuck did you even manage to do that?!"
"A lady never tells."
Max thanked the universe when he heard a knock on the door, because God only knows what his next move was going to be, hadn't he been interrupted by GP at that second.
"Buddy, we have 10 minutes, you better come." He looked at the clueless man standing at the door, then back at you, who put on your best innocent smile, hands behind your back like you just didn't do the most devilish, disgraceful thing he has ever seen.
"Yeah, okay, give me two seconds.
As GP closed the door, Max took a step closer to you. He contemplated letting people know, snitching on you, but he held his anger and shoved the burning flames to the back of his throat. He wasn't going to play your game. If you were bad, Max Verstappen was worse.
Max's next move wasn't what you were expecting at all. With the gentleness of a first kiss, he brought his lips to your forehead, like he always did before stepping to his car, however, this time, taking a little bit longer, savouring the feeling of your skin beneath him.
"See you later, Schatje."
You were confused. Angry, even, by his reaction.
And then, when he finally left, you felt it. The shame, the guilt. You knew you went too far, but you were too blind by hatred, and too hungry for seeing him break.
On the other hand, Max walked into his car with the confidence and determination he hadn't felt in a while. It was Red Bull. This was a secure place, there were a innumerous amount of people there watching his fucking car. There was no chance that you, clueless girl, could just walk up there and steal a piece of whatever that thing was. God, you didn't even know how a Formula 1 car worked, how the hell were you supposed to remove an important piece? Max thought, hoped, wished, that you just took something he could manage to work without, and it was what gave him a little bit of relief stepping into the car.
Nonetheless, as quick as the relief came, it was washed away by a thought so much darker, what if you had help?
"Hey, Paul." Max called out for the man to his left.
"The car is good, yeah?"
"You tell me, mate." Paul joked around, not quite understanding the driver's question.
"No, I mean, the car is intact, right? Nothing missing?"
Paul arched an eyebrow.
"Of course, Max, it's all good."
The driver nodded and soon enough left with his car.
Qualifying started. You watched nervously through the screen in the garage. Maybe you crossed the line. On the other hand, you knew Max wasn't stupid, he made sure you knew with that ridiculous kiss. No other man could drive you insane. Two days later you were reading him like your favorite book, now, you couldn't tell a word inside his brain, except for, of course, how badly he was cursing you.
And boy... He was. Every time he made a turn and the car trembled he found a new name to curse you inside his mind. Thank God the FlA couldn't hear thoughts, at least twenty thousand fines were proffered only in the first five minutes.
The car was shit, unsteady. It was honestly scaring Max how unpredictable it was. Never in his entire career he felt so uneasy with a vehicle, not even in his rookie years.
"There is something really wrong with the car."
Max added in a frustrated radio message before firing back to his garage.
The crew was there, waiting for him. He stepped out of the car and let the engineers take a look.
You managed to catch a glimpse of him, even though his face was hiding behind the helmet, you knew he was contorted in desperation. You couldn't believe it. For better or for worse, your plan fucking worked.
The engineers cleared the way and Max tried again, completely incredulous on how you managed to ruin his entire race weekend. There was no way your relationship was going to make it after this. Max didn't even know if he was going to make it after this, he might just shove the car into a wall and die inside of it just to prove a point, watch you suffer with guilt until the end of your life.
By the last lap he was third.
Q2 was a bit better than Q1, that until someone crashed their car. Perfect, not only were you ruining his day, but the universe also decided to collaborate with your evil plan. Maybe you got Max's rivals to be a part of it. Maybe the whole entire team and crew were by your side.
By Q3 Max started to actually considering driving his car to the wall. The breaks weren't working. He couldn't break, at all. You fucking destroyed his breaks. You toyed with his car like it was a lego piece. At the end of that session, taking seventh place, Max stormed out of the car and threw his gloves on the floor. He just wanted to get everything off, his clothes, his helmet, his shoes. He wanted to go back home, to his cats, to his pillow, cry for hours.
Yes, the disaster of a bad qualifying hurt, but it was the heartbreak that got to him. Never in a million years he thought the love of his life would be capable of doing something so cruel and evil.
That wasn't normal. A normal thing would be for you to burn his hoodies or slash the tyres of his Porsche. You manipulated his car, possibly messing with his safety. You weren't the love of his life, you were a full blown psychopath. Which is the reason Max thanked that you weren't in his driver's room when he came back.
That being said, he wasn't so blessed when he opened his hotel room and found you sitting on his bed, wearing the same clothes as you were in the afternoon.
"Are you fucking for real? You have some guts coming into my room thinking that I would actually want to see you. I take everything back, I don't want you! I fucking hate you! I want you gone! I want to never look at your face again! You are the most terrible person I have ever met."
He was shouting, yelling, clenching his teeth and jawline. Stomping around like a maniac while the explosive bursts of verbal thunder left his mouth.
"Max, please, let me explain." You didn't raise your voice, you couldn't, you were wrong here.
"Explain what?! Huh?! How you manipulated my car?! Played around with my safety?! Almost killed me?! God, Y/N, I love you and you do this? This isn't normal, this isn't alright, this isn't something you fix with an explanation. There is no fixing this."
His voice became lower, not because he wasn't angry, he still was outrageous, but now the sadness of a heartbreak were too consuming, surpassing every emotion that was battling inside his mind and heart. There were tears in his eyes and they were the bluest you have ever seen. His lips were pink, trembling. His cheeks and nose were red. You felt an agonizing need to hold him.
"Max, you need to breathe." Poor choice of words, you could see it in his entire face as his eyes became shallow. "I didn't alter your car."
Max was about to lash out again, but he didn't believe his ears. As much as he hated you right now, you caught his attention. He didn't slow down, though, his chest was heavy, he was close to breaking down.
"Come again?"
"I didn't take any piece from your car!"
He could see you were crying now and he could swear you seemed honest, like a child trying to prove to their parents that they weren't the one in the wrong.
"Yes, you fucking did, you showed me! Do you seriously think I am going to believe your bullshit right now?"
"No, I didn't, this isn't anything! It's just a stupid piece of plastic!"
In a desperate attempt you held the black piece close to his face.
His vision was blurry, by tears, by confusion and hatred. He caught the piece and analyzed every corner of it. It didn't seem legit, it seemed, like you said, just a piece of plastic.
"What the actual-"
"-I just wanted you to believe I did. I wanted to scare you. I wanted to make you doubt yourself. I would never do anything that would actually put you in danger, Max, I love you. I wanted to prove a point." He couldn't believe it. In fact, he thought he was hallucinating the whole weekend and this was all a twisted nightmare, "Yes, it was selfish, I am wrong, I crossed the line. But I thought you were going to catch up to it. I didn't believe it was going to work, you are you, Max"
Now, add skepticism to the list of emotions inside his gut.
"But the fucking car was shit! The breaks weren't working! I couldn't drive that thing at all!"
"That has nothing to do with me."
Max couldn't tell if he was relieved by the fact that you didn't try to kill and you still loved him, or felt betrayed by how you manipulated his reality to the point he drove like shit just because he believed something was wrong with the car. Or maybe Red Bull just fucking sucks. Both later options were not respectful outcomes to him.
"Please, say something. I am so sorry, Max! I regret it. I should have never done it, I know. I am so sorry. I understand if you never want to see me again and, God, I'll even move from Monaco if that's what you like. I'll disappear, completely."
Your words hit him. He thought about them for a split second. The thought of you leaving his life, to him, was death. Sure, what you did was not okay, he was heartbroken, it would take time to heal. However, the more he thought about it, the more willing he was to try. If you were able to give him a second chance, he should give you the benefit of the doubt. You were taken by passion, by heartache and overwhelming sadness, Max wasn't a stranger to strong bursts of emotions and impulsiveness, which is why, deep down, he understood why you did what you did. Maybe, if he was in your shoes, he would've done worse.
"We are too old for shit like this, Y/N."
You could feel he was a bit more relaxed, which is why you felt an openness to just hold him. You didn't care if he wasn't going to hold you back, you just wanted to show him how much you regret your childish ploy.
"I know, baby, I am so sorry, I love you."
Fair enough, Max didn't hold you back. Instead, he pushed you away, another idea forming in the back of his twisted, unserious mind.
"You're going to work a little bit harder than this, sweetheart, if you want my forgiveness."
In his eyes, you could see there was still anger painted in the black of his pupils, but mixed with the gleam of his almost dried tears, you noticed a different kind of sparkle, one he saw in your eyes two nights ago.
"Do you want me to kneel and beg?"
Max took a step back.
"I want you to kneel, but I think your mouth can do better things than begging."
There was a feeling of delirium happening in the back of your mind, that carefully traveled through your veins as if you had take the most powerful drug available in the market. In just a matter of seconds you were down on your knees, hands playing with the hem of Max's shorts. You looked up, as if asking for permission to take them off. To Max, that was a vision out of the walls of the louvre, you, down, eyes sparkling with sultry glamour, mouth watering.
With an attentive movement, you pulled down his shorts, leaving a trail of kisses on the inside of his thigh, making sure you were scratching every inch of his skin, treating him as if he was the cure to all your worries and troubles. He might as well be.
"Get to it, my love, no teasing."
"Where's the fun in that?" You asked with a tint of playfulness in your voice.
"You're not really in a position to have fun. You either put those pretty lips to use or I will leave you here with nothing."
"Well, since you asked so politely."
You completely removed his boxers, facing his cock. Your mouth watered. You made sure you spread enough saliva around, licking every inch of him, paying extra attention to his sensitive spots you were well familiar with, before taking him with gluttony, tasting every bit he was giving.
Your hands were everywhere, scratching his thighs, caressing his balls, while you moved your head, feeling him in the back of your throat, around your lips.
Max was in pure bliss, his organs were electrified.
He swore you got better since the break up. Or maybe it was the absence that made it much more intimate, filthy, delicious.
"Jesus, Schatje, you're so dirty." He ran his fingers through your hair until he decided to guide your movements with his hands, slowly, making sure the pace was comfortable for both of you. "You look so pretty when you're doing what I want."
He went a bit further and you gagged in response, moaning right after. The vibrations coming from your throat sent Max into a frenzy. You swirled your tongue around his head, looking up through your eyelashes, exactly the way he liked. You loved giving Max blowjobs, it was as pleasurable for you as for him and he could tell, and there was nothing hotter to Max than seeing you get aroused by giving him pleasure.
Each time his cock hit your throat, he could feel he was getting closer.
"Don't stop, keep sucking me off, keep going." You just obeyed, feeling yourself get hotter by the second, you knew your panties were gone by now, yet you still craved more. You needed to taste him more, you needed to take back the time you missed. "Fuck-Y/N, fucking hell. Just like that.
You're so good."
The praise was everything, because you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve him. Yet, here he was, giving you all of him, all of his time and body, the best parts.
One more deeper thrust and you gagged again, the reaction made you squeeze his thighs. Max shut his eyes tight, groaning and moaning a bit too loud, but he couldn't control himself, not when you were on his knees, taking him so well, doing your job like a freaking pornstar.
"Shit, I'm gonna cum." The liquid was everywhere inside your throat. He made sure he finished before removing his cock from inside your mouth, drops of drool spilling on the floor. "You better swallow every drop or we'll do it all over again."
You did as he asked, you wouldn't dare do it otherwise. You stood up, looking right into his eyes as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out.
"Good fucking slut."
In a sinful act, Max spat in your tongue, holding your hair tightly in a knot between his palm. The move was so dirty, so filthy, you could come just by relieving the scene alone.
With desperate hands, you started to remove your top and then proceeded to his shirt. Meanwhile, Max was practically ripping out your skirt, abruptly removing every piece of fabric that dared touch your skin.
His kiss was demanding, hard, rough, thrilling.
There was a primal instinct awaken inside you, one that wanted to be with him and serve him for the rest of your life. One that could live in beds with him until you grow old.
Max pushed you to the bed, body towering yours.
Your hands desperately tried to grab his neck, his back, bring him closer, if it was any possible. You felt his hand sliding slowly between your thighs, until he reached your folds. He made sure to spread the wetness around, making a mess on your inner thighs and hip bones.
"Max, please." You pleated, voice cracking, there was no way you could form coherent sentences, your mind was hazy, no other thought inside your head except Max Verstappen and his hands.
"Look at you." His voice was dark, husky. "So wet just from sucking me off. Do you want more?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah? Then ask for it, use your words."
That man had you in the palm of his hands. If he asked you to go to war for him, at that moment, in your situation, you would.
"Please, Max, please." Your vocals were stuck down your throat, you were struggling to speak, the sensations of his hands rubbing your clit ever so slightly you could barely say they were in there was just too overwhelming.
"Pathetic, try again." He placed a kiss on your collarbone, then on the curve of your neck. His lips were wet and hot, a little bit swollen from the roughness of your kisses.
"Max, fuck me, please, stuff me, use me, do Whatever you want."
Max stopped every touch. Looked deep inside your eyes with a smirk on his lips that you just wanted to slap it off, or kiss it off, whichever one your reflexes allowed.
He scrunched his nose and giggle, it was a way of mocking you, you knew that. You knew you sounded pathetic, you didn't care. The humiliation was not crossing your mind, nothing to worry about, it wasn't worth it. He was. Max was worth it.
"Stupid little thing, trying to pull stunts on me, then begging me to use you like you were some sort of cheap whore."
You moaned in response, lifting your hips to meet his. In a firm movement, Max held your hips down with his right leg, applying pressure on your lower belly, making it unable for you to move.
"Stop lifting your hips like a goddamn whore, you're going to take whatever I decide to give you."
He wasn't treating you kindly, you knew there was still resentment somewhere inside him. Sure, there was. Max knew it too. At that moment he was using you, taking his frustration out. But it wasn't like you haven't done the same, only your way of torturing him was a bit less fun than his.
You felt yourself sinking into Max's cock, involuntarily you sunk your nails on his back, trying to fight back the scorching sensation filling you up, making you whole. Max's rhythm was slow, painfully slow, which was unlike him, he never fucked you like this, always fast, slamming, pounding. This was even more overwhelming than his usual desperation and roughness, because it wasn't hurting but it felt like you simply couldn't take it, the lack of pace was driving you insane.
Max knew it, it was taking every single tear of strength left in his tired body to keep it slow, because you felt too good, too perfect wrapped around him. He missed your feeling, he missed your whimpers and cries.
"You feel so good, Schatje, like you were made only for my cock. Nothing more. Too useless to anything else, couldn't even figure out how to take a piece out of my car." He laughed, replaying the scene back in his memory. "Stupid little thing."
You cried out because you felt that he, without thinking, went a little bit harder when remembering what happened. If you wanted him to give you what you needed, you would have to push him only a little bit. You lost the war, you know you did, but there were still some battles left.
"Come on, Max. Slow on tracks, slow in bed. You used to be better than this. What are you trying to do? Fuck me to sleep?"
He looked down on you, with contempt. How dare you talk to him this way? But it was a good try, he was close to snapping, making you regret the whole week, going too hard until you couldn't remember why you were on this earth for.
You were scared of his eyes, how dark they were, but your stomach flipped with the thrill of waiting for his next move.
"Oh, she can talk!" His voice was drenched in disdain. "Let's fix this."
Not even stopping, Max parted your lips only to shove the lace fabric of your panties into your mouth. Fucking bastard. You protested, but now even you had to admit the sounds coming from you were a joke.
"Much better."
Then, in a sudden, fierce movement, he flipped you. Stomach down the mattress, face pressed against the egyptian sheets, a luxury that only Bahrain could provide. Max's left hand was pressing your head further down as he started to pick up the pace, slamming hard and faster. He was, in fact, using you as a personal fucktoy, but you didn't mind it, the feeling was too good.
You felt euphoric, your blood was buzzing. You tried to hold the sheets, grab something, but there was no way for you to control your body. The sounds coming from your mouth were involuntary, so were the one's coming from Max.
It was too much for him, he knew he wouldn't last longer. He never used you like this before, it made him feel like a god. No amount of championship wins would come close to the feeling of being buried deep down inside you.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck- Look at what you made me do, fucking slut." You could feel the tears coming down. Good tears. The hot kind. "Are you going to cry on me now?"
You saw one of his hands coming to your mouth, removing the fabric and tossing far away to the other side of the room.
"Yes, Max, oh God, fuck."
He groaned, the wet noises were feeling the room.
The familiar sensation of fire pooling low in your abdomen started to show up. If he asked you to hold on, God forgive you, there was no way in hell.
You heard him moan a mixture of curse words and your name, but your senses were coming blurry, as if you were about to pass out.
"Max, 'm gonna cum."
"Gonna cum inside you, baby."
He pressed down, letting his weight fall on top of you, that's when you felt the tightness around your organs being released. The sounds coming from you were too much for Max to hold on any longer, not even seconds later he was breaking down. It was animalistic, filthy, pornographic, even.
He never took it out, he stayed inside of you for minutes after he was done. You were too sensitive to take any movement. That experience was whatever religious people were trying to reach with their existence. Who needed faith when you had Max Verstappen as a lover?
You barely noticed that his weight left the top of your naked body, only flipping back around when you saw him coming from the bathroom with a towel. He sat down next to you, breathing slowly, gently rubbing the fabric between your thighs.
"Are you okay?" You nodded, thinking you blacked out for a second. "Do you want a glass of water?"
"I just want you to lay down here."
He did as you asked, letting you wrap yourself around him. You could tell there were no bad feelings around, everything vanished into thin air.
It was just you and Max, same as ever.
"Do you forgive me, Max?"
He placed a long lasting kiss in your right temple.
"Is it bad if I said you should pull stuff like this more often just so that we could repeat this?"
You giggled, fingers tracing drawings on his stomach.
"I think we can figure another game that won't risk our relationship burning to ashes if something goes wrong."
"Fair enough." You felt him adjust his body. "And, yes, I do forgive you."
You needed the reassurance, Max knew that. He knew you. You were a melody from his favorite childhood song, one that he listened to it and it never left his mind.
There was no letting you go. It would always be complex and easy at the same time. But any complication was worth it if it meant you would never leave his side.
256 notes · View notes
stylesispunk · 5 months ago
Text
Silent strain | part viii
outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader
previous part | next chapter
Tumblr media
summary: Joel still holds on to the idea of ​​giving you the world even though everything feels broken.
w.c: 9k>
warnings: angst, mentions of murder, mentions of death, panics attacks, fluff.
a/n: Hello! I have to be honest. I don't feel really connected to this story since I stopped thinking about it for 3 weeks. I don't know if this chapter makes sense at all. I went to my drafts and tried to join all the different ideas I had written for this chapter 😭 I didn't want to end this story here and there will be one more chapter 🥺 thanks for your patience and sorry for my outbursts. By the way thank you so much on all the love you had given to my marcus acacius fic that one was carefully written haha ✨ Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Tumblr media
For the last few days, the house had been quiet.
Unbearable quiet.
The air seemed to be charged with some kind of machiavellian aura. You could breathe the fear coming out your lungs mingling in it with it in some kind of joke. Because after a long time of surviving and doing everything, you could to arrive to a place where you could come to close your eyes at night without the fear of being murdered. The dream faded.
After a long time, you felt hopeless and scared.
After a long time, you had to face the imminent death of someone you loved.
Your biggest fear.
You had seen your sister died before your eyes when the world became mad. You saw Tess died sacrificed for you all, and now, you almost lost your daughter.
Joel hadn’t left your side since you were dismissed from the infirmary.
He had been watching you. At nights when you were finally sleeping, he kept himself awake just to see you sleep and making sure you were fighting your demons in your dreams.
It cut him deep in the heart to feel it, to hear it, and to acknowledge. The sight of you, every day in front of the window with your arms crossed around your middle as a shield from the outside broke his heart. Joel’s heart ached as he watched you, your usual force now cloaked in fear.
The soft light from this morning highlighted the bruise on your face, the purple and blue tones reminding the events that had happened just a few days ago. He hated it, the mark on your skin, the haunted look in your eyes, the way your hands shook no matter how tightly you tried to hold yourself together.
The ring he had given you laid on your finger, shining as the only light you could see during the clouding morning.
He hated this. He hated that someone had dared to put that mark on you, hated that he hadn’t been able to stop it before it happened. But more than anything, he hated seeing the fire in you dimmed, replaced by this trembling fear he didn’t recognize in you.
You had been holding Rosie close every day. The grip on her became almost desperate, like you were afraid she might slip away if you let go, and Joel’s chest tightened at the sight.
And the moments like this, when she was lost in sleeping dreaming about butterflies, you were gripping your arms around your middle, again and again.
Joel cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle you, but enough to pull you from whatever dark thoughts were haunting you. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and gentle, like it was meant to keep the fragility of the moment intact. “You’re gonna wear a hole in that spot if you keep standin’ there.”
You glanced over your shoulder at him, the tiredness in your eyes making his stomach churn. But you didn’t speak, just offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your face before turning your gaze back out the window.
He stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. “Hey,” he said softer this time. “You’ve been standin’ there all mornin’. Come sit with me.”
“I don’t want to.” You replied, “I’m looking…whenever he comes back. I’m going to kill him.” 
Joel’s breath caught in his throat at your words. The cold, steely tone in your voice sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t just the anger, he’d seen you angry before, it was the edge of pain buried underneath it, sharp and raw.
He studied you for a moment, the way your jaw was clenched, your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself like you were holding something in. Joel sighed softly, stepping closer until he was right beside you, his hand brushing against your arm. “I know you’re hurtin’,” he said carefully. “I know you’re angry. Hell, I’m angry too- “
You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed on the horizon like you were waiting for some shadow to reappear. “He hurt her, Joel. Hurt Rosie. And he-” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting to keep it steady. “He tried to kill me.”
“I know,” Joel said, his voice heavy. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, but he didn’t. Not yet. “And if it comes to it, I’ll be the one to handle it. You don’t gotta carry that on top of everythin’ else. That ain’t who you are anymore.”
Finally, you turned to him, your eyes blazing with a despair “You don’t get to tell me who I am, Joel,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t know what killing him means now that we are here? But do you think I care? He almost took Rosie from me. I can’t--I won’t let him get away with that.”
Joel’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words cutting into him. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that contrasted the fire blazing for your words.
Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away again, shaking your head. “I can’t sleep well, I can’t breathe, knowing he might come back.”
Joel’s hand moved to your shoulder, grounding you. “We’ll protect her,” he said firmly. “I’ll protect you. I swear to God, he’s not gonna hurt either of you again. I won’t allow that.”
You blinked and turned to look at him, your eyes glassy with tears. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “If you hadn’t been there, Joel... if Paul had...”
Joel shook his head quickly, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the unbruised side. “But he didn’t. I was there, and I’ll always be there. No one’s gonna hurt you or Rosie again, you hear me?”
Your lower lip quivered, but you nodded, the tears finally spilling over. “I feel so stupid. I’ve faced worse before, but now... I can’t even step outside without panicking.”
He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you as if he could shield you from the world. “You’re not stupid,” he said firmly.
You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, and for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of safety amidst the storm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you whispered.
Joel kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You’ll never have to find out, darlin’. Never.”
“Never leave me, please” you whispered, your voice trembling as your eyes locked with his. The love in Joel’s gaze was overwhelming, deep and steady, like it could ground you even in the midst of your unraveling. In that moment, it felt as though he could heal every wound in the world just by looking at you like that.
He didn’t say anything right away, but his hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your skin. His touch was so tender, it almost broke you all over again.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Always. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
The weight of his words, the sheer promise in them, weakened you. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his with all the love, fear, and gratitude coursing through you. The kiss wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was deep, purposeful, filled with everything you couldn’t put into words.
Joel responded with equal intensity, his hands steadying you as if anchoring you to him. The kiss deepened, and you poured every single feeling you had for him into it, your love, your fear, your desperate need for him to know just how much he meant to you.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested on his neck. His eyes stayed on you, dark and filled with so much love it left you almost breathless.
“You are my world,” he murmured, his voice rough with honesty. “There ain’t nothin’ that’s ever gonna take me away from you.” He paused, “No Paul, not even Tommy” he said, finally allowing himself to be angry with his brother for not acting properly when you needed.
You smiled softly, your fingers lifted, tracing the familiar lines of his face. “You heal me, Joel,” you whispered. “In ways I didn’t think were possible.” You sighed, “I’ve slept just because you are by my side,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the vulnerability you rarely showed.
Joel's eyes softened at your confession, the lines of his face etched with worry and love. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms securely around you, as if shielding you from everything outside your small, shared world.
“I’ll always be here,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “No one’s gonna hurt you again, not while I’m breathin’. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He tilted your chin up slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that both comforted and steadied you. “You believe me, don’t you?”
You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I do,” you whispered. “I just... I don’t want to lose you, Joel. Not again. You mean everything to me. Rosie and Ellie need you. I need you.”
His lips pressed into a firm line as he kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment before speaking. “You won’t lose me. Not to this world, not to anyone.” His tone carried a weight of conviction that made you believe him, despite the dark corners of your mind that tried to tell you otherwise.
You let out a shaky breath, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to him could ground you further. “I love you,” you said, the words spilling out with a mix of desperation and relief.
Joel tightened his embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I love you too, darlin’. More than I’ll ever be able to say.”
Tumblr media
The days that followed, the tension between Joel and Tommy hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting. The anger in Joel’s chest refused to leave and every time he thought about Paul, about what he had done to you, about Rosie crying in your arms, about Tommy and Maria’s insistence on letting him live because he was the most capable doctor in Jackson, made his blood boil.
Joel stayed distant, avoiding Tommy whenever he could. But the inevitable day came when Tommy finally showed up at your door.
The sound of footsteps outside was followed by a knock. You opened the door cautiously, seeing Tommy standing there, his posture tense, but his face holding a mix of determination and concern. He wasn’t going to let this go.
“Can we talk?” Tommy’s voice was low, almost pleading, as he stood at the threshold, not pushing any further without an invitation.
You glanced back at Joel, who stood in the corner of the room, his arms crossed, jaw clenched. His posture was rigid, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel the weight of his gaze on Tommy.
“You’re here now,” you said quietly, your gaze flicking between the two men. "Let’s just talk. It’s time to sort this out.”
Tommy looked at you, grateful for your willingness to listen, but then his eyes moved to Joel. “I’m not here to argue,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a hint of frustration. “I just want to make sure you both understand why I did what I did. Maria and I- we thought it was best for Jackson.”
Joel stepped forward then, his voice tight, filled with a simmering anger. “Best for Jackson?” he spat; his words heavy. “You think keeping Paul around is what's best? After what he did to my family? After what he did to her?” His gaze flicked to you, and his face twisted with pain and rage.
Tommy’s face faltered slightly, but he stood firm. “We can’t just murder people, Joel. We’ve got to think about the bigger picture here.”
“The bigger picture?” Joel’s voice broke through the silence, louder now. “The bigger picture is you letting him get away with what he did. You think a doctor’s skills are worth more than the safety of someone?”
You stepped in between the two men, your hand on Joel’s chest, trying to diffuse the tension that had only escalated. “Joel.” you said softly, your voice firm yet gentle.
Joel’s anger didn’t subside, but he took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he met Tommy’s eyes. “I get it, Tommy. I do. I get you don’t kill people. But this is not about you or me. It’s About her, about Rosie.” He nodded toward you, his voice softer but still filled with that quiet fury. “You failed us, and I’m not gonna forget that.”
Tommy’s face tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “I’m not asking you to forget,” he said, his voice growing quiet, but steady. “I’m asking you to try to understand. I had to make a choice. And I’m sorry it hurt you. I didn’t want that. But we can’t just act on anger. It’ll destroy us all.”
The silence between them was heavy, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Joel’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the two brothers just stood there, glaring at each other. You could feel the tension in the room, the hurt, the unresolved conflict.
“I’m gonna kill him, Tommy” you say, leaving no room to even think about an answer. The words left your lips before you could even stop them. You meant it, if you were just speaking out of fear, anger, or something deeper. But in that moment, it felt real. It felt like the only thing that made sense.
Tommy’s face paled; his eyes wide in disbelief. He took a step back, as if your words had physically hit him.
“Don’t say that,” Tommy said, his voice shaky now. “You can’t mean that. No matter what Paul did, that’s not-” He looked to Joel, who stood silent, his jaw clenched tightly as his gaze fixed on you.
Joel’s expression didn’t soften. His eyes were filled with an intensity you knew all too well, but it wasn’t just anger anymore.
“I can’t let him hurt us again,” you continued, your voice steady. “Not after what he did. To me. To Rosie.” Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, the thought of what Paul done still fresh. “He can’t be allowed to walk away from this.”
“I get it. I know how much you hate him. How much you want to make him pay. But that’s not the way” he said, trying to open a door to your own feelings and make to see you beyond the anger.
You shook your head, the frustration bubbling up. “You don’t understand. You knew what he did and you did nothing to stop it.” You could feel the tears threatening to spill again, but you fought them back. “I can’t just let it go.”
Joel’s gaze softened at you, and he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the rage that was building inside you.
“I don’t want you to become like him,” Joel whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t want you to lose yourself in this. You’re better than that.”
Tommy stood quietly behind Joel; his face pained. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He looked between you and Joel, his hands rising in a gesture of helplessness.
“Please,” Tommy said softly, the weight of his voice more sincere now. “I don’t want to lose you both. Not like this.”
There was a long silence, the tension between the three of you palpable. You could feel the storm brewing in your chest, the fury, the fear, and the loss. But looking at Joel, his eyes filled with that quiet, unshakable love, something in you began to still, just slightly.
“Joel…” You whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to hold onto your resolve. But the reality of the situation hit you, the sheer weight of everything that had happened.
Joel’s hand never left your cheek, and he pulled you closer, his body shielding you, his love steadying you. He didn’t need to say anything more. The silence spoke volumes, louder than any words ever could.
For the first time in days, the raw anger inside you began to dull, if only for a moment. And in that moment, you knew what he was trying to do.
 keep you whole.
You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as Joel held you, his strength grounding you in a way words never could. The storm within you hadn’t passed—it was still there, simmering—but his touch, his love, gave you a moment of clarity.
“I don’t know how to let this go,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers clung to the fabric of Joel’s shirt, desperate for something solid, something real. “I can still feel it, Joel. What he did. How he made me feel powerless. How he put our daughter at risk.”
Joel nodded, his jaw tightening as he pulled you closer. “I know, darlin’. I know.” His voice was thick with emotion, his own rage barely contained. “But you’re not powerless. You’ve got me. You’ve got Rosie. We’ll face this together. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Tommy shifted uncomfortably in the background, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but directly at you. When he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant but firm. “Paul’s gone. I made sure of it. He’s not coming back here. He doesn’t get to hurt you or your family again.”
You opened your eyes, pulling away from Joel just enough to look at Tommy. “Gone where?” you asked, your tone sharp despite the exhaustion in your voice.
Tommy met your gaze, his face solemn. “Out of Jackson. Banished. He’s on his own now. That’s his punishment.”
It wasn’t enough. Not for you. But the flicker of guilt in Tommy’s eyes told you it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
“Banished?” Joel’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “That’s supposed to make up for what he did? You think that’s justice, Tommy? Letting him walk away alive?”
Tommy winced but stood his ground. “It’s all I could do, Joel. You know that. Maria and I—”
“Maria.” Joel’s voice was laced with bitterness, his lips curling into a sneer. “Of course, Maria had a say in this. She always does.”
“Don’t do that,” Tommy shot back, his tone defensive. “Don’t make this about her. She’s trying to keep this place together, same as me.”
Joel shook his head, his grip on you tightening protectively. “This ain’t about Jackson. This is about family. And you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you let him off easy.”
The tension in the room thickened, the weight of Joel’s words pressing down on all of you. Tommy opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to let you down. Either of you.”
You watched him carefully, the sincerity in his voice softening your anger but not extinguishing it. You leaned into Joel, your voice steady but quiet. “We needed you to protect us, Tommy. And you didn’t.”
Tommy’s face fell, and for a moment, he looked lost, like the younger brother Joel used to shield from the world. “I’ll do better,” he said after a pause. “I promise.”
Joel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you wanted. You gave him a small nod, your fingers brushing against his hand.
“Fine,” Joel said gruffly, his tone still heavy with distrust. “If he comes back, if he so much as looks in our direction, I won’t wait for you to make the call.”
Tommy nodded solemnly, knowing better than to argue. “He won’t,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
With that, Tommy turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I meant what I said,” he added, looking back at both of you. “I’ll do better.”
Joel didn’t respond, his attention already back on you as the door clicked shut behind his brother. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that had spilled during the heated exchange.
“You, okay?” he asked softly, his voice a stark contrast to the anger he’d directed at Tommy moments ago.
You nodded, though the ache in your chest lingered. “I will be,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “As long as I have you.”
Tumblr media
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over Jackson as you stepped outside for the first time in days. The cool breeze felt foreign on your skin, and the familiar hum of life around the town was both comforting and unnerving. People moved about, their voices mingling in the air, but it didn’t take long for you to notice the glances, those fleeting, pity-filled looks that made your stomach twist.
Joel had left early for patrol, a reluctant decision that you’d seen weigh on him. Before leaving, he’d turned to Ellie, handing her the silent responsibility of looking out for you. She had protested initially, grumbling about not being a babysitter, but her eyes had softened when she looked at you. Joel knew, as did you, that Ellie’s sharp wit and unwavering loyalty were exactly what you needed to ground yourself amidst the whispers of the town.
“Come on,” Ellie said now, falling into step beside you. “Let’s go to the stables. I think is time to introduce you to Shimmer.”
You gave her a small smile, grateful for her enthusiasm. “Think so? I haven’t exactly been good company lately.”
“Don’t start with that,” Ellie replied, her tone firm but not unkind. “People in this place don’t know what they’re talking about half the time. Who cares what they think? You’re way tougher than any of them.”
Her words stirred something in you, a small flicker of strength you hadn’t felt in days. “Thanks, Ellie.”
She shrugged, her usual smirk returning. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me.”
The two of you made your way through Jackson, the familiar paths slowly feeling less daunting with Ellie by your side. She talked about anything and everything, her rambling stories pulling you away from the stares and murmurs. By the time you reached the stables, you almost felt like yourself again.
As you ran your fingers along Shimmer’s mane, Ellie leaned against the stall door, watching you with an expression that was rare for her, soft and patient.
“Y’know,” she started, her voice quieter now, “Joel worries about you a lot.”
You nodded, your hand still brushing against the horse. “I know he does. I worry about him, too.”
Ellie hesitated, as if weighing her next words carefully. “You don’t have to be okay all the time. It’s fine if you’re not. But...you’re important to him. And to me. So, if you need anything, just...say it, okay?”
The lump in your throat was back, but this time it wasn’t from fear or sadness. It was gratitude, pure and simple. You turned to Ellie, her usual tough exterior softened just enough to let her sincerity shine through.
“Thank you, Ellie,” you said, your voice steady. “For everything.”
She grinned, her cocky demeanor sliding back into place. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it. Now let’s get moving before Joel gets back and freaks out because you’re not at the house.”
You laughed softly, the sound surprising both of you. For the first time, you felt like you were taking a step, however small, toward reclaiming the part of yourself that Paul had tried to steal.
Joel would come home later, his expression softening the moment he saw you standing in the kitchen, Ellie at your side, and Rosie cooing softly in your arms. The sight of you holding her, your face showing a glimmer of the strength he had always admired, eased the tension in his chest.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and warm as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. His gaze lingered on you, taking in the small smile that graced your lips as you bounced Rosie gently.
“Hey,” you replied, meeting his eyes. There was still a shadow of everything you’d been through, but there was also something more—hope.
Rosie reached out a tiny hand toward Joel, her soft babbles filling the room as she wriggled excitedly. Joel couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he walked over, pressing a gentle kiss to her head before turning his attention back to you.
“You been good today?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on your waist, grounding you in that quiet, unshakable way only he could.
“I’ve been okay,” you admitted, glancing at Ellie. “Ellie made sure I didn’t completely lose it.”
“Damn right I did,” Ellie said with a smirk, though her tone was laced with affection. “You should thank me. I could’ve let her go feral.”
Joel chuckled, his fingers brushing your cheek. “Thanks, kid. Knew I could count on you.”
Ellie shrugged, playing it cool, though her smile betrayed her pride. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sappy on me.”
Rosie giggled in your arms, her tiny hands now tugging at Joel’s shirt. He let out a low laugh, taking her from you and cradling her against his chest.
“You been keepin’ your mama company, huh?” he murmured to Rosie, his tone soft as she babbled in response.
You watched the two of them, a warmth spreading through your chest. Despite everything, despite the weight of the past days, there was this, your family. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was yours.
And as Joel wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close while still holding Rosie, you realized that no matter how rocky the road ahead was, you’d face it together.
Later that night, the house had settled into a calm quiet. You and Joel were in your bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the space. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair while you folded Rosie’s tiny clothes, setting them neatly in a small basket by the dresser.
A knock on the door broke the silence.
“Come in,” you called, glancing up to see Ellie poking her head inside.
“Just wanted to say goodnight,” she said casually, but the softness in her eyes revealed more.
You smiled warmly, setting down the clothes. “Goodnight, Ellie. Thank you for today.”
Ellie waved a hand, brushing off your gratitude. “It was nothing. Just, you know… don’t go all weird again, okay? Makes me feel like I gotta be responsible or somethin’.”
Joel chuckled from his spot on the bed, his gruff voice carrying a note of fondness. “You’re plenty responsible, kid. More than you give yourself credit for.”
Ellie scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she gave you a small smile, her gaze lingering on you for a moment. “Night, guys.”
“Goodnight, Ellie,” you and Joel said in unison, watching as she closed the door behind her.
The room fell quiet again, the air filled with a comfortable stillness. Joel shifted, standing to walk over to where you stood. His hands settled on your waist, his touch firm but gentle.
“Got somethin’ I wanna ask you,” he said, his voice low.
You looked up at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”
Joel took a deep breath, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for the right words. “You know… maybe we could…” He paused, seeming almost unsure, then continued, his voice quiet but filled with a flicker of hope. “Maybe we could find a farm. Somethin’ out there, for us to live together. Rosie could grow up there, maybe Ellie could come too.”
A small smile crept onto your face, the idea warming something deep within you. The thought of a place away from the constant need to survive, a place where Rosie could learn what it meant to grow up safely, it was more than you’d ever thought to hope for.
You squeezed Joel’s hand, meeting his eyes. “I’d love that,” you murmured, imagining the life you could have together on that farm. “But maybe… let’s give Rosie a bit more time. Let her grow a little. She’s just starting to get to know this world, and Jackson’s safe for now.”
Joel’s face softened; his eyes filled with a warmth that made you feel completely at home. “Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Ain’t no rush. Just… it’s good to have somethin’ to look forward to. Somethin’ better for her. For us.”
You leaned into him, letting the silence settle over you, both of you holding onto that shared vision. A little farm, a life of peace, a future beyond the fight, one that you could finally believe in.
“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you, Joel. Always.”
He let out a breath, his shoulders easing, and a quiet smile formed on his face. “Guess I’m the luckiest damn fool in this world, then.”
His words made you smile, and you closed the small space between you, resting your head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you. The warmth of his embrace felt like the safest place in a world that had taken so much, yet somehow, you had found each other. And that was more than either of you had ever thought to hope for.
His lips brushed over your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, each kiss tender and deliberate, as though he wanted to mark every part of you with the love he felt.
“We’re gonna get married,” he repeated, his voice low but steady, as if speaking it aloud made it more real. His fingers traced soft circles on your back, his touch reassuring and protective. “Then we’ll make that farm happen. A place for Rosie, for us. Maybe some chickens, a couple of goats. We’ll figure it all out.”
You laughed softly, the sound light in the quiet room. “Chickens and goats, huh? You planning on becoming a farmer, Miller?”
“Don’t see why not,” he said with a small grin, his eyes twinkling with a rare spark of humor. “Figure I can learn, long as you’re by my side.”
Your hand came up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. “That sounds perfect.”
His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you.
You smiled, lifting your head to look at him fully. “Dream as much as you want. Just know that wherever you go, I’ll be right there with you. Always.”
His jaw clenched slightly, emotion flickering across his face before he leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“You’re my whole damn world,” he said quietly, his voice thick with sincerity. “Now get some sleep, baby. You deserve it,” Joel murmured, his voice soft and soothing as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.
You felt the exhaustion finally catching up, the weight of everything settling down now that you were safe, here in his arms. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a calming rhythm that lulled you closer to sleep.
With your eyes closing, you whispered, “I love you, Joel.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice a low, comforting rumble. “I love you, too. Now rest. I’ve got you.”
And with those words, you let yourself drift, knowing that, for once, everything was exactly where it needed to be.
Tumblr media
A few weeks later, the world outside your home didn’t seem as suffocating as it once had. You found yourself stepping out more often, though each time felt like a small battle. The whispers of pity had dulled into occasional glances, but you didn’t care much anymore. What mattered was reclaiming pieces of yourself, the parts that had been shaken to their core.
Joel had noticed the shift in you. It wasn’t just bravery returning; it was something darker. There was a hunger in your eyes, a quiet, burning thirst for vengeance. He didn’t need to ask to know what you were thinking. He had seen it in the way your grip tightened on your gun when you joined him on patrol for the first time, in the way your eyes scanned the horizon as though searching for someone. Searching for him.
Paul.
“I don’t know if this is the best idea,” Joel had murmured that morning, watching you strap on your gear with determination. Rosie was with Ellie, safe and sound, but Joel couldn’t shake the unease in his gut.
“I need this, Joel,” you replied firmly, your voice leaving no room for argument. “I can’t sit in that house anymore, feeling helpless. I need to do something.”
Joel hesitated, but he couldn’t deny you. He knew the feeling of needing to act, of needing to take back control. So, he let you come, though he kept a protective eye on you every second.
Now, as the two of you rode along a quiet path outside Jackson, the sun dipping low in the sky, you felt the weight of your riffle against your shoulders, silent reminder of the decision you’d already made in your heart. If Paul was out here, if by some chance you found him, you wouldn’t hesitate. You couldn’t.
Joel glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his jaw tight. “You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice low.
You turned to him, your expression guarded. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” he pressed gently, though he already had a good idea.
You hesitated before answering, your fingers gripping the reins of your horse a little tighter. “About what I’d do if I saw him out here.”
Joel’s hand twitched on his own reins, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what’s that?” he asked, his tone careful.
You looked straight ahead, your voice unwavering. “I’d finish what he started.”
Joel’s breath hitched, and he pulled his horse to a stop, forcing you to do the same. He turned to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “You really think that’s gonna fix this? Killing him?”
“It’ll fix the part of me that still wakes up at night hearing Rosie cry,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “The part of me that can’t shake the image of him grabbing her, hurting her.”
Joel’s face softened, but his eyes remained steady on yours. “I get it,” he said quietly. “God, I get it more than you know. But that path? It doesn’t end. You take that step, and it stays with you. Forever.”
You swallowed hard, his words hitting deeper than you wanted to admit. “You’ve done it,” you whispered. “You’ve done what needed to be done.”
“And it’s carved pieces outta me I’ll never get back,” Joel said, his voice rough with emotion. “Pieces I don’t want you to lose, too. Not when I’ve fought like hell to keep you whole.”
“Have I ever told you about how my sister really died?” You asked, stopping on your tracks.
Joel froze at your words, his brows knitting together as he watched you. The rawness in your voice, the way your shoulders tensed, told him this wasn’t something you’d ever shared before, not with him, not with anyone.
“You don’t have to-” Joel started, but you cut him off, your tone firm yet fragile.
“No, I do,” you said, gripping the reins tightly, your knuckles white. “If I don’t say it now, I don’t think I ever will.”
Joel dismounted his horse without a word, grounding himself on the dirt path, his full attention on you. He didn’t try to stop you again. He knew you well enough to know that this was something you needed to let out.
You took a shaky breath, your eyes fixed on the horizon. “She wasn’t just sick,” you began, your voice trembling. “She didn’t die because we ran out of medicine or supplies. She died because someone decided her life wasn’t worth saving.”
Joel’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as he listened, his heart sinking at the pain in your voice.
“We were desperate, starving. I’d gone to trade what little we had for anything that could help her, food, medicine, something. But the man… he said no. Said it wasn’t worth it for someone who was already on their way out. I begged him, Joel. I begged him with everything I had.” Your voice broke, tears threatening to spill as the memory clawed its way back. “He just walked away.”
Joel took a step closer, his chest tightening at the sight of you, so strong yet so broken by the weight of the past.
“When I got back, she was already gone,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “And I’ve hated myself ever since for not doing more. For not forcing him to help her. For not-” You stopped, your breath hitching as tears slipped down your cheeks.
Joel reached for you then, his hands gently cupping your face, pulling you to him. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You did everything you could. Don’t carry that blame, not for a second.”
“You looked up at him, your tears reflecting the fading light. “She was Ellie’s age, and I’ve carried it every day, Joel. And now, with Paul... I can’t let him walk away like that man did. I can’t let him think he can take something so precious from me and just go on living.”
Joel’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing away your tears. “I understand,” he said, his voice low and unwavering. “More than you know. But listen to me, you’re not the same person you were back then. And this time, you’re not alone. You have me. You have Rosie. Ellie. We’ll make it through this together, but not like this. Not by lettin’ that hatred eat away at you.”
You let out a shaky breath, his words sinking in, though the fire inside you still burned. Joel leaned his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, don’t let him take any more from you than he already has. Don’t let him steal the light I see in you every day.”
“If it has to be done,” Joel paused, “It’s gonna be me the one to do it for you.” He finally said.
You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat as the gravity of his promise hit you. His hands remained steady on you, grounding you, while his eyes held that unyielding intensity, a mixture of love, pain, and determination.
“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want you carrying that. Not for me.”
His jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly. “It ain’t about what I want to carry,” he said firmly. “It’s about what I won’t let you carry. You don’t deserve to live with that weight, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it off you.”
Your heart ached at the sheer depth of his devotion. You reached up, your hand resting on his cheek, feeling the familiar scruff beneath your palm. “You think I can’t live with it, but I’m not sure I can live with you doin’ it either,” you admitted, your voice cracking.
Joel exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing harder against yours. “I know you’re stronger than you think, darlin’. But I also know what it’s like to live with somethin’ like that. I won’t let it twist you up inside. You’re the one thing in my life that’s still pure. You are carrying my secret already.”
The weight of his words settled over you like a blow. Your hand faltered slightly against his cheek.
“You’re carrying the only thing I can’t tell Ellie yet” he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken emotion.
“Ellie’s carryin’ that guilt without even knowin’,” Joel said, his voice cracking. “And you’re carryin’ my guilt. I see it in your eyes, darlin’. You’re strong enough to hold it, but it doesn’t mean you should have to and I can’t let you to carry this responsibility.”
Tears welled in your eyes as you cupped his face, your hands trembling. “Joel,” you breathed.
He shook his head slightly, his forehead brushing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. “That’s my burden to bear,” he said quietly. “Not yours. Not Ellie’s. You didn’t ask for this, darlin’. I brought it to you, just like I brought so much else.”
Your hands steadied on his face, thumbs gently tracing the lines etched deep from years of pain and survival. “You think I can’t handle it,” you said, your voice soft but firm, “but I can. Joel, I’m not breaking under this. You’re not dragging me down—you’re keeping me standing. We’re carrying this together, even if you can’t see that yet.”
His eyes closed briefly, his breath shuddering as he let your words settle over him. “I just…” He exhaled, shaking his head as if trying to push away the weight of his guilt. “I just don’t want to lose the parts of you that make me believe there’s still good in this world. You’re my light, darlin’. I can’t let this world take that away from you like it’s taken so much from me.”
You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’ve lost pieces of yourself to protect the people you love, Joel. But you didn’t lose your heart. You didn’t lose the ability to care, to love. That’s what I see every day. That’s why I love you.”
Joel’s hands slid up to cradle your face, his eyes glassy as he gazed at you. “You make me wanna believe we can have somethin’ better. You and Rosie… Ellie…” He trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion.
“And we will,” you whispered, your own tears slipping down your cheeks.
For a moment, the room was filled with the quiet hum of your shared breath, the weight of Joel’s secret and his pain hanging between you like a fragile thread. Then, as if finally surrendering to the truth in your words, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly.
“I’ll do my best,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your hair. “But I’ll never stop tryin’ to protect you. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ll always be.”
You nodded against him, your own arms wrapping around his waist as you clung to him. “And I’ll protect you, too, Joel. Always.”
……………………………………….
The next morning, you woke to the quiet sounds of the house, birds singing outside, the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. But as you blinked awake, a familiar sense of unease settled deep in your chest. You turned to find Joel already up, getting dressed in his patrol gear, his movements steady and practiced.
But there was something about the way he moved this morning, something that made your stomach twist. The sense of calm you’d felt the night before had faded with the dawn, replaced by a gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered. “Joel,” you called softly, watching as he fastened his boots.
He turned toward you, his expression softening when he saw you awake. “Mornin’,” he said with a small smile, though there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.
You frowned, pushing the blankets aside as you slowly got to your feet. “You got patrol?”
Joel nodded, adjusting the straps on his jacket. “Yeah. Gotta keep an eye on things, make sure no one’s out there stirring up trouble.”
The unease inside you only deepened as you stood there, watching him. You wanted to say something, to voice the feeling that gnawed at you, but it was hard to put into words. You’d been through so much together, and you knew the risks. But there was something in the air this morning, something different.
“Be careful,” you finally said, your voice low. You moved closer, your eyes searching his face. “Please.”
Joel’s eyes softened at your concern, and he reached out to touch your arm gently, his fingers warm against your skin. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll be fine. I’ve done this a hundred times.”
“I know,” you murmured, but the unease refused to leave you. It settled deep, a cold weight you couldn’t shake. “It’s just… I don’t know. I have a bad feeling, Joel.”
He gave you a reassuring smile, though there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that made you wonder if he was hiding something. “You’re just gettin’ anxious, that’s all. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”
You didn’t believe him, but you didn’t press further. He could see it in your face, the doubt, the fear, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he leaned down to kiss your forehead.
“Look, I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll be careful, promise. I told Ellie to check on you when I get out there. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
You nodded, though the worry still clung to you, heavy in your chest. You watched him grab his rifle and head for the door, your heart tightening as the unease only deepened.
“Come back safe,” you whispered, though he was already out the door, the sound of it closing behind him leaving you with nothing but the silence of the house.
The day passed in a haze; your every step weighed down by the gnawing feeling in your chest. Rosie was a constant, her small hands gripping onto your fingers as you walked through the house, but even her giggles and soft coos couldn’t shake the sense of dread that clung to you.
You tried to keep busy, shifting from one task to the next, preparing food, tidying up, organizing things in a way that felt normal. But it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Joel, to the way he’d left this morning, and to that unsettling feeling that something was going to happen.
Rosie’s tiny laugh broke through your thoughts, and you turned to her, forcing a smile as she looked up at you with her bright, innocent eyes. “What’s so funny, huh?” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, but the sensation of unease lingered, like a shadow you couldn’t outrun.
You carried her around the house, humming softly to calm her, but the tension inside you only seemed to grow. You tried to focus on the present, on her needs, but your mind kept returning to Joel, to the patrol, to the feeling of something wrong.
You spent hours moving through the motions, your hands busy with Rosie, but your mind was somewhere else. You couldn’t shake the weight of the silence. Even the usual comfort of Jackson, the rhythm of life, the sense of safety felt distant. You wanted to believe that Joel would come home safely, that everything would be fine, but every part of you felt like it was bracing for something.
Every time you heard a sound outside, whether it was the wind brushing through the trees or footsteps in the distance, you jumped, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew it wasn’t rational, but the dread wouldn’t leave.
You glanced at the window once more, eyes scanning the horizon. The day stretched on, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being stuck in limbo, waiting for something you couldn’t see or name, but could feel settling deeper into your bones.
By the time the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the house, your nerves were frayed, the silence between you and Rosie growing thicker. She had fallen asleep in your arms, her little breaths gentle against your chest, but even her calmness couldn’t settle your mind.
You tried to push everything aside, focusing on her, but as the evening wore on, the darkness began to close in. The sounds of Jackson, usually comforting, seemed muted, everything felt distant, like you were separated from the world outside, and the only thing that existed was the growing ache inside you.
You forced yourself to sit down on the couch with Rosie, running your fingers through her hair, trying to lull her back to sleep. But all you could hear in the back of your mind was the warning, something was wrong, and you couldn’t ignore it.
The clock ticked on, and the hours seemed to stretch impossibly long. Joel should’ve been home by now.
Your eyes drifted to the door, and for the hundredth time, you found yourself wondering if he was okay. You could feel the weight of the night pressing down on you, the silence now suffocating, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on Rosie, the bad feeling wouldn’t let go.
You couldn’t ignore it anymore.
And then, it came, the knock at the door.
The sound shattered the quiet like a thunderclap, and your heart leaped into your throat. For a split second, you stood frozen, staring at the door as the sound of it echoed in your chest.
Rosie stirred slightly in your arms, her small body shifting against you, but you didn’t move, didn’t speak. The knock came again, more urgent this time, and it felt like the world was holding its breath.
You slowly set Rosie down on the couch, her sleepy gaze not yet aware of the tension in the room. You walked toward the door, each step heavy, your mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.
When you finally reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment, your hand resting on the cold metal of the doorknob. Your chest tightened with each breath, and you could almost feel the weight of whatever was about to happen bearing down on you.
With a swift motion, you swung the door open.
Standing on the other side was a familiar figure, one you didn’t want to see right now. Tommy’s face was grim, his posture stiff and anxious. The second his eyes landed on you, he froze, his expression darkening further.
You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady, but it trembled nonetheless.
 “Where’s Joel?” The question was simple, but it felt like it would crush you to ask it out loud.
Tommy looked down, unable to meet your gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. His silence was enough. You could feel your chest tightening, your breath coming shallow.
“Tommy…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You needed to know, needed to hear him say it wasn’t what you feared. But the way he held himself, the way he refused to look at you directly, it told you everything you needed to know.
“He’s… he’s not coming back right now,” Tommy said, his words falling like a weight in the room.
Your breath caught, a sharp, cold wave crashing over you. “What happened?” you forced out, each syllable like a blade.
Tommy’s jaw tightened, and he glanced over his shoulder as if searching for something he couldn’t find. “He… got caught up in a situation. We’re trying to find him, but-” He stopped himself, eyes flicking to the ground. “He wasn’t alone.”
Your heart skipped a beat. You barely heard him over the rush of panic flooding your mind. You reached out for the doorframe to steady yourself, the cold wood grounding you as everything else around you seemed to blur.
“Where is he?” you managed to ask, barely able to hold back the tremble in your voice.
Tommy looked at you, his eyes softening with regret, and then he finally spoke the words you were dreading to hear. “I don’t know yet. But we’re looking. We’re gonna bring him back.”
But it didn’t feel like enough. Not nearly enough.
The dread you’d felt all day was now a full-on tidal wave crashing through you. And the silence between you and Tommy stretched on, thick and suffocating, as your world began to unravel again.
You looked at Tommy, but his expression was distant, haunted by the same dread that clung to your own heart. His eyes were hard and red, but there was a flicker of something beneath them, something that looked like guilt, like he had already resigned himself to the possibility of losing Joel. And you couldn’t bear that. You couldn’t let it be true.
The world around you seemed to fade away, the noises of Jackson growing muffled, distant. It was just you and that empty space in your chest.
Where is he? Why can’t they find him?
“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “He can’t be-he can’t be gone.”
Tommy’s silence was enough of an answer. You felt your knees go weak beneath you, your vision blurring, and for a moment, the world seemed to close around you. You barely caught yourself against the nearby wall, your body trembling violently as a cold sweat broke out across your skin.
“No”you gasped, shaking your head. “No... No, no, no...”
Everything around you shifted, the edges of reality blurring like the melting colors of a fading drawing. The walls seemed to warp, stretch. Your breath was quick and shallow, heart pounding in your chest.
Tommy’s voice reached you, but it felt like it was coming from miles away. “We’re gonna bring him back,” he repeated. But his words felt wrong, distant. The hollow tone of them echoed in your mind.
And then it all snapped into place.
A flash of bright light, too bright. A sharp pain in your chest. Joel’s face. Blood. The unmistakable scent of the forest. A scream, raw and panicked, splitting through the air.
You felt yourself falling, your vision spinning. The world kept shifting, twisting in strange angles you hadn’t seen before. Memories of Joel, his soft brown eyes, his smile, his touch. They all merged into one blurry mess, until they were impossible to separate. You reached out instinctively, your hands clawing at the air. But there was nothing there to hold on to. Just emptiness.
Was it real? Was he really gone?
A jolt of pain sliced through your head, and you gasped, your whole body seizing with terror. You could hear your voice, but it was distant, like someone else was screaming your name, calling for you to wake up.
"Wake up!"
Your eyes snapped open.
The room was still. The silence was deafening. Your chest heaved, each breath sharp and jagged as you fought to understand where you were. Everything felt wrong, like it didn’t belong. The cool air caressed your face with calloused fingertips.
You were still in your room.
But where was Joel?
Was he really-?
You turned, heart drumming against your ribcage as your eyes scanned the room, your pulse ringing in your ears. And there he was. Joel. Alive. But he wasn’t moving. His form was just an indistinct shadow in the moonlight, still and silent as the night itself.
Your breath caught in your throat as you reached for him, hands trembling.
“Joel?”
You whispered his name, too afraid to speak louder, afraid that it would shatter the fragile illusion you were holding on to. Your hands brushed against his arm, and the relief that flooded you was instant.
His skin was warm. He was real.
But as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed something odd.
Joel wasn’t looking at you.
The way his body was turned, half-covered by the shadows, the slow rise and fall of his chest... it wasn’t like him. Something felt off.
And then the silence broke. His breathing was ragged, strained.
Your heart stopped in your chest.
A voice, barely a whisper, weak and broken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
And with that, everything slipped once again.
Was it real? Was this a nightmare you hadn’t woken from yet?
You couldn’t tell anymore.
Tumblr media
Tags 💌: @jasminedragoon @orcasoul @missladym1981 @hiroikegawa @eleganthottubfun @lumpypoll @cuteanimalmama @thespookywookies @goodvibesonly421 @karaslqve @greenwitchfromthewoods @somedayheaven @bambisweethearts @joelsteinfeld @guelyury @biapascal @picketniffler @mrsyixingunicorn10 @httpvomitello @kulekehe @callmecath1 @persephone-girl @colmiillo @pedroswife69 @keileighr @capswife @fallout-girl219 @sullyselena @cymbalta-slut @my-tearsricochet
323 notes · View notes
ifyouarediablo · 1 month ago
Text
CRUEL OR MISUNDERSTOOD?(spoiler alert: its BOTH???)
carla: the embodiment of machiavellianism
carla as a character isn't misunderstood, but his reasons behind being “cruel” are misinterpreted. (note: there's a difference trust me)
carla wasn’t raised to be a man, he was “raised” to be a ruler. within carla's first few scenes we see he gets DOWN TO BUSINESS.
hes a founder, so he doesn't have the same exact craving that the vampires do BUT. while yui's blood is "special" it doesn't change the fact that a lot of the times in which carla sucked her blood it was for shits and giggles (to instill fear). his goal was to continue the founder bloodline, and yui was an important tool in the plan.
endzeit (aka the disease that only affects founders and killed off his entire bloodline aside from him and his brother haha..) creates a desperation within him, but one he refuses to acknowledge outwardly. while he does say he doesn’t care how yui sees/perceives him, that obviously changes later on since he distances himself and refuses help. it was his curiosity regarding humans which led him to warm up to yui. he didn’t have much outside interaction at all, so reading gave him a lot of insight. all in all, he doesn’t want to be perceived as anything but the image he set for himself.
i dont think hes the type to be ashamed at all, though. he already accepted his fate, so like i said, he just wants to keep the image he set for himself.
(note: unfortunately it’s hard to make a solid point about endzeit bc rejet switched up sooo hard after DF and endzeit continued to affect carla even in lost eden…)
the validation he sought from his father when he was younger led him to be faced with an eventual "betrayal". he showed his father the magic he’d started developing (something which he believed would help him earn his father’s approval), but his father didn't praise him, though. he actually feared carla's strength.
(what does a machiavellian do when faced with a perceived threat? eliminate it.)
carla’s cruelty is not born from just sadistic pleasure but rather from an ideology rooted in survival and supremacy of the first bloods.
each of carla’s endings is a different answer to the question of what matters more: power or “humanity”.
(note: i especially love yui in this route because she indirectly challenges carla’s belief that vulnerability equals weakness.)
in his brute ending, he fully embraces ruthless ideals, giving in to the idea that emotions are weaknesses.
in his manservant ending, his downfall was set by his inability to act on his emotions until it was too late.
in his vampire ending, he finally acknowledges his feelings and allows himself to change.
Tumblr media
--end
hi my precious freakalicious gangsters,, thank you for reading!!! let me know what you think,, I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IT!!!! carla is another one of my favorites,, i happen to think he's also very interesting.
100 notes · View notes
mortish-writes · 15 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
The night is finally coming together. Without going into too much detail (I'll do that on Patreon this week) the original plan was for all of the opening scenes to merge into a single storyline. A sacred storyline, if you will.
Sadly, Serax refused to comply with one of the drafts, opting instead to get super Machiavellian because for some reason he was more interested in pissing off Valdricht than falling in love with the MC. Also, in one of the routes Valdricht got really horny and lost all interest in taking the MC shopping or basically doing anything that didn't serve the purpose of convincing her to sleep with him as quickly as possible. So lame.
I'm kind of frustrated by how I decided to name these updates and I'm probably going to snap and change them from Nights to Chapters/Episodes, because this "half night" I'm going to be uploading this week is officially the length of a novel.
Frustrations aside, I love the variations in the routes for this night and I like the idea of people replaying the IF assuming they know what'll happen, only to trip over a completely different storyline they had no idea existed. That said, I'm so ready to get to the babymaking. Maybe when Valdricht went off script, that was just me projecting onto him my intense desire to impregnate the MC, idk.
83 notes · View notes
threepandas · 6 months ago
Text
Bad End: Loyalties
Tumblr media
Did you know? That one of the unexpected benefits to being reborn, with your memories intact, is that you carry your first life's cultural taboos with you? All your knowledge, all your superstitions, every horror movie you've ever so much as glanced at. Like a dowry, brought with you, into this, your new life.
You end up not giving as much weight, to local superstitions. Especially the ones you know are not true. How? Well, sometimes? In the mad, random, overwhelming blur of the Cosmos? You end up in a Reality that to YOU? Was once fiction. Living in a snapshot of that world's history, as it plays out. Just as it was prophesied.
It's kinda disorienting. But? You get used to it.
Though you DO have to make a choice. Quickly. And decide where in that prophecy you want to stand. After all... there are many ways it could go. It WAS a "game". A story of romance. That other's lives would be impacted? That nations might rise or fall? That people could and will DIE? Oh, that is irrelevant! Isn't it?
They are young.
In LOVE.
Obviously, I could not risk my life on such irresponsible grounds. Plant my flag and swear loyalty, to such fickle hearts. I would die. They would get me killed, for their love story. No... No, what I needed? Was something stable. Selfish. Someone who would claim, but would KEEP.
I needed someone who rewarded loyalty. Someone who praised cleverness. Protected his own. Had (and would again) kill any who set untoward eyes upon those who served him. Someone guaranteed to survive until the end. Machiavellian, scheming. A soft and twisting word. Whispered kindly, in so many, many ears.
The power behind whichever throne he chooses.
Most Senior Royal Advisor, Iwamoto Nobutoshi. My boss. Or, really, Master I guess. Boss was for gangsters. Which was still weird for me. Part of me still twitched violently, every time I said the word "master". My brain insisting, it was either a sex thing or a slavery thing, and that I should respond with Immediate Violence at being told to call anyone that.
Yeah... there ARE downsides to keeping your memories. It really is a mixed bag, all told.
But, hey! All those horror movies I've seen in passing? Scary Horror-Terror Stuff I've absorbed through cultural osmosis? Has been really coming in handy, not gonna lie. So has my understanding of what constitutes "psychological warfare" and "mindfuck-y, liminal, torment".
It should NOT be as cathartic as it is? But... not gonna lie. I've gotten weirdly GOOD at this. Learned to become one with the shadows. Sneak into and out of places, I rightfully should not BE. Usually with a bucket of animal blood from a butcher's. Occasionally, if I KNOW they have someone who can test it? I get the bucket from the morgue.
Which? Is gross as FUCK. And disrespectful. But I have to believe they'd be totally down for fucking with some Evil Rich Assholes. Plus I donate funds to their family's anonymously. So I like to think it balances out? Still don't like to do it, though. I feel like the longer I've been here, the more my morals have chipped away...
Where was I? Right! Tonight's "art"!
I forget where that quote was from, exactly? But? It was true. People do not look up nearly enough. Worse yet, most manors around here? Had attics and weird pockets in their ceilings, with easy access to the floors below. I had? Gotten past? SO many patrols this way. So, SO many.
Frankly, an ALARMING number of patrols.
I'd taken to putting traps in the ceiling, back home.
What I was aiming for, here, was the private rooms. Not the hallway outside the private rooms, oh no, those would be patrolled to hell and back. But inside. Plus? It would have that added, spicy, "we can get you where you sleep" fear factor. And? Having their oh so TRUSTED, highly trained gaurds? See NOTHING? Perfect~
Cause? We? Were doing a good ol fashioned "Sins of The Past" Haunting!
The trick, if you don't actually have any good oppo-research available? Is to be vague, yet aim for things you do know about them. Let them fill in the blanks. Such as? The VERY convenient deaths of Lord Jackass's other brothers, which cleared HIS way towards power. There's no PROOF of any wrong doing... but~? Guilty hearts DO tend to tell on themselves~!
Slinking down the rope ladder silently, into the frankly hideously overdecorated room. I got to work. On silent feet, I began to set the stage. Furniture, lifted and silently stacked, around the snoring Lord and his equally unconscious wife. Expensive pottery, covered in a thick and padded bag, before it is struck.
As though some silent blast of power had gone off. Each piece, placed right back where it had been, now broken, on the floor. Next? The most time consuming, but subtle, one. Also the one that would spread farthest as gossip. Using a custom made seam ripper, tear out the eyes of every example of his family's crest on his clothes. On his bedding.
Yes, ALSO on the robe he wore to bed. That one takes very gentle movement. Very nerve-wracking, not gonna lie. You gotta go slow. Once you DO? Good ol "tears of blood." Just paint it right on the cloth, let it stain. As though the crests were weeping.
THEN, you paint the room in nicely vague horror movie script.
"Brother. Why?" "We know. We know EVERYTHING. How could you?" "We are tired of waiting, join us. Join us Brother." "We are witness, a shame upon our blood."
And other such gems! Plus the good ol hands scrambling, covered in blood, to a point in the center of the room. Put a round painters cloth down, and~? Gently sift ash and bone dust (I dried up bones from the kitchens, then ground um! Also great for gardening.) over the floor. Step UP, to my ladder, kit away, grab the cloth, and? Off we go!
Room successfully haunted.
Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole, really. Is it a BIT much? Yeah, probably. People lose their SHIT. I apparently have "a talent", according to my teammates. Which is nonsense. It's all B-grade horror move nonsense and house of horrors gross outs. Visceral ick. But it's NEW here, so I guess that counts? Even if I am plagiarizing the FUCK out of somebody.
Thankfully, though, dispite my "talent"? Master Iwa- ...No, wait, didn't he tell me recently to call him by his name? Uncomfy. A good sign, obviously, but... uncomfy. Don't Like that he knows who I am. I was aiming for, you know, mid rank? Not disposable but pretty forgetable? But now I have a Useful Skill. Have proven to be INTELLIGENT.
Fuck, I even made the mistake of cleaning up and organizing PAPERWORK. You know, paperwork? A thing you would have to READ and MAKE SENSE OFF, to be able to organize? Have to create some kind of workable and efficient system, by WHICH to sort? I thought it was an assistants! Not HIS!
One fuck up is all it takes.
He will find you, he WILL rip the secrets out of you, and yes! He WILL smile pleasantly the entire fucking time! It's horrifying! Kinda cool! I'm pretty sure my life flashed before my eyes! Ha ha... Holy SHIT.
Right, where...? Right! My "talent"! Master Nobutoshi? Big on "right piece for the right purpose". Yeah, you could FORCE people to go against their ideals, their beliefs, their very nature... but you can only do so, for so long. Fear fades. Pain can be overcome. Not everyone fears death.
He regards it as foolish, inefficient, to drag and force and scream.
No, no! He? Oh, he merely... suggests. A softly spoken recommendation. A guiding hand, to show you, the best use of your skills. And if that guidance just so happens to serve his interests? Well... what a wonderful coincidence~ How fortuitous.
Heavy hands get broken. Snapped at and slapped away. But a gentle touch? A little nudge? Sweet whispers in your ear? That tell you what you want to hear? Guide you where HE wants you to be? Well, THAT is so much harder to notice, isn't it. So, SO much harder to fight.
I chose pretty well, I like to think. Because no matter the game? He'll come out on top. Probably laugh, as all the other players, dance to his tune. Who WOULDN'T want to be on his team? His team wins.
And winning? Means I survive.
Dropping off my kit in the shed at the back of the Iwamoto guest residence gardens (where, should it be found, the presence of such things could be blamed on unscrupulous guests), I trudge back towards the servants quarters. I'm tired and filthy. It's the kind of late? Where it's flipped right around to become early.
Luckily, me and my teammates plan ahead, so there is a still moderately warm bath waiting for me. God bless Aiko and all she stands for. For this? I'll even carry her back to our room. Since, once again, she's decided "fuck it" and just curled up on the stack of towels. Doesn't even fit. She just shoved her upper body in the cubby and called it good.
I snort and step over her. Get my fuckin bath. Late night shifts are the worst. But we all take um. I focus on getting clean, grabbing my passed out lump of a roommate, and heading to bed. Fucker drools on me. Snorkels right in my ear. Takashi laughs silently as we pass him, hold the door for me. Seems to be heading out as we head in.
Master Iwamoto's shadow network never truely sleeps, after all.
Always someone doing something.
Dumping us both in our beds, I greatfully pass out. Do not dream. Greet near mid-day as my dawn, ready to start it all over again. Up, a quick bath, dressed and ready to go. Nothing to seem here but us identical servants. We go in shifts. All the better to be as disorienting as possible, to outsiders.
Everyone who looks like each other? Grouped on a shift. Taught to use make up to make themselves even MORE indistinguishable. We pick someone about in the middle, appearance wise, of each group, as the Standard. Everyone is to copy them. For my group, it's me.
I pick up the whispers and news, that have been collected since this mornings report. Second one of the day. At least, second one when we're not on "war" footing. As I walk, I glance down. Technically not supposed to read these, but I'm fairly sure he knows I do at least read the top page. Is amused by it. I'd have seen punishment otherwise. Or removed from delivery.
Oooh~ lookie THERE! How SCARY~☆! It appears someone was HAUNTED last night! By the ghosts of their dead brothers, you say? Angry ancestors, you say? Wife hysterical? Fled to her parents house? Sister, in tears, before the king? Oh my, oh my~!
I struggle not to grin. That would give the game away. Me? Reading something I'm not supposed too? I would NEVER. He he he~
Casually weaving through other servants, I keep reading. Climbing stairs and ducking down halls. Huh. Wait a second... slowing, I step to the side of the covered walkway. Re-read that last paragraph. Near the end of the page? Is something... strange. Not right.
I REMEMBER the Plot.
Made SURE I would remember. Wrote it down, then again and again. Memorized it, like my life literally depended on it, while it was still somewhat fresh in my mind. Because, frankly, it DID depend on it. Even now? Decades later? I can recite it by rote.
So why? Pray tell? Did our blushing Protagonist? Have a BROTHER.
Furthermore, why the FUCK have I not NOTICED this before?
Glancing around, I see far too many watchful eyes, to properly investigate. So I straighten. Pleasant, vague, expression in place. I walk forward. In no hurry at all. Definitely going to deliver these papers. Certainly not delaying in the slightest. Nothing to see here, everyone! Go about, what you were. We are all friends here, RIGHT?
I step into the building at the far end of the covered pathway. Resist diving into the first room available. That? Would be too predictable. I go for the THIRD. One quick grab, slide, and side-step? And~? Poof! Like I was never there. Servant? WHAT servant? These halls are EMPTY. You're clearly seeing things... are you okay?
Immediately, I lift the reports. Well, immediate after a look around the room, of course. Don't want to get CAUGHT. Flipping to the second page, I start reading. What's this about a Brother? What BROTHER?! There IS no BROTHER!
....except there IS.
Somehow.
And HE? Is a very, VERY clever man. One who lived quietly. Like a ghost. After the failed assassination attempt that nearly killed him and his mother. Wait a- ...failed? That sounds...? Familiar.
I have to close my eyes and think, to remember. Lean my head back and let my brain churn. It's... obscure. A tiny detail, mentioned offhand. Single line of dialog, in only one of the routes. Not even the MAIN routes. But one of the Secret ones, that you have to unlock... in the... collectors? Edition? I think? There was that play through video, right? We were eating... a noodle dish of some kind...
Fuck, I can't remember it. Not fully.
But I remember ENOUGH.
I REMEMBER? That it WASN'T a FAILED attempt. That Protagonist-chan's family didn't talk about them. For vaguely plot relevant reason. There was healing and good vibes. Follow your dreams, kids. Buy now. Etc etc...
He... survived? How? Damn it. Doesn't say. But... shit. He's cause a LOT of trouble, isn't he? And it looks like he's kind... railroading his sister into a specific route. That, or keeping her from emotionally cheating on her fiancée. Can't tell. Haven't met her. Looks like he's also patented a few... is that a fucking WHISK? Holy shit. These are all early industrial revolution!
Looking up from the reports, I stare blankly into space. Is... is the Protagonist's brother... ALSO a Reincarnator? What do I do with that? Do I contact him? Say "hello"? "I'm here too"? I thought I was... was completely alone in this world. But of all the places he could BE. Smack dap RIGHT in the middle of all the action?! Holy SHIT.
I'm going to have to think about this. A LOT.
Correcting the reports, I step back into the hallways. Casual as you please. Continue on my way, even as my mind churns and churns. Why is he gathering allies? Why hide for so long? Is he counting on his sister's plot armor to carry over? Or does he have actual military training? He's amassing loyalists. For WHAT?
And the reports said he's searching for something. Seem to suggest that WE are keeping it AWAY from him. What are we hiding? Protecting?
People? Resources? A mine?
I reached Master Nobutoshi's study, in his private wing. The halls quite, as only the most elite and trusted servants were allowed to travel here. Kneeling, I knocked on the door frame, waited to be acknowledged.
Receiving an almost absent-minded acknowledgement, I slide open the door.
Framed by delicately painted screen and thickly stuffed book shelves, Iwamoto Nobutoshi was, as always, the very picture of an elite scholar. Beautiful and refined. Slow and deliberate in movements, as though each had been pondered and found acceptable. I had never met a man more graceful. Not in this life, not in the last.
To my right, the sliding door to the gardens were open. Giving a picturesque view of summer, as it faded into fall. To the left, painted screens. Done by some Master's hand. With a splendid level of detail that still caught me off gaurd, even now. There were birds, in those painted trees! Had there always been? I wished I could look closer.
Nonetheless, I respectfully offered the reports for perusal.
"Right on time. This One had begun to worry." He said as he set aside his brush, smile mild as ever, even as his eyes swiftly cataloged each new discrepancy. There were several. "Bruises. Did the new padding in your suit, not sufficiently protect? This One will be most displeased if we have been lied too. We were promised it would."
No, and that was the thing, wasn't it? My kit? Had never been better. But... I had been damn near ambushed on my way TOO my job. Had to take evasive maneuvers. Do a LOT more parkour then I was comfortable with. Those fuckers had been... persistent. Weirdly so. Which made no sense, since they didn't seem affiliated with anyone I recognized.
"Oh?" The question was less a question and more a flat note of outrage. He held a hand out for the reports, began to read. "How... interesting. They certainly seem to be getting bold. This One begins to wonder. If he has perhaps been too kind, that they would see fit to harrass his-"
An ominous silence fills the room as he cuts off mid-sentence, as his eyes find something on the page he's reading. He has gone utterly still. The gentle curl of smoke from his pipe, wafting around him like the warning trails of a dragon. The deadly hidden embers of a forest fire, flaring up. His pleasant smile had frozen upon his face. Like a mask.
"He certainly does love to push his luck, does he? Make demands, for things he has no right too. Things which are ours." The words weren't even so much addressed to me? As the were a hissed accusation, towards the report in his hand. Someone, somewhere, seemed REALLY dead set on pissing Master Nobutoshi off.
Honestly? That seemed really unwise, but it's their funeral... I guess...?
Master Nobutoshi turns so suddenly I only barely avoid flinching. Jumping like a newbie. He's doing that "pick you apart at the seems" stare again. Looking into my soul. I remain politely deferential, patient, as I wait for him to work through his thoughts. He rises from his desk. Elegant and prowling, as he stalks towards me. Gaze intense, fixated. I... I am missing something.
"Tell me, my loyal little shadow. What would you do? If some... upstart, dared begin to covet, that which was yours? Started panting after your dearly beloved trusted, like a filthy dog? Trying to steal them away? Would you take that? Tolerate such disrespect? I... This One... can not imagine you would."
"You are so very loyal. So diligent. You serve me not for fame or glory, power nor wealth. You ask for so little, offer so much. I would give the world to you. My precious, loyal, little shadow. Forever by my side. No doubt, we shall grow old together. That they would covet you? The audacity is unthinkable."
Soft yet warrior calloused hands, come up to cup my cheeks. And... ah. Yeah. T-That's pretty fucking CLEAR on what I'm missing. My boss? Has a thing for me? Crush? Or... or is it "is in love with"? W-what was that about people coveting?! Hold on! Roll things back a second! What's happening?! I never thought I was blind... about apparently I need a stick and some GLASSES.
Because there is "missed some subtext" and then there's "dude, how do you miss the silent war with guerrilla tactics, right fucking IN FRONT OF YOU?!", so like? Either I was being DELIBERATELY kept seperate? Or... actually? No. That actually sound exactly like what probably happened. An information diet.
FUCK.
Before I could decide how, exactly, I felt about that? The same door I had entered through, opened again. This time sharply and with an audible snap. Dragging urgently along it's tracks and hitting its end, in a way the delicate crafting had never been meant for. I swear it nearly cracked. Alarmed, I spun, breaking free of Master Nobutoshi's hold on my face, to face whoever was at the door.
Aiko.
Shouldn't she be near the front gates? "Sweeping" and listening to gossip for the Shadows? How. Why!? My eyes catch on slowly spreading red. Stark against her... our uniform, she's hurt. Badly. Gripping her side and the door frame like it's the only thing still holding her up. Her face ashy pale and sweating with terrible pain. Eyes determined. Her jaw set in that stubborn, stubborn grit.
"Master. You need to leave. Now! They...!" She wavers, starting to blackout from the pain, before forcing it back. "They've attacked! We're holding them back. A-As best as we c..can! Please! Lord Iwamoto, I BEG you! You must go! If you don't survive this, then everything is lost!"
As if to underline the terrible wait of her words, an explosion goes off, shaking the austere foundations of the ancient house in which I serve. My mind immediately flits and races along the emergency protocols. W-was that one of ours? Did we..? No. No, we would have... DID set up barricades. This is our house. We've already trapped it.
They are the ones who brought explosives.
You don't bring things like those, if you plan to leave survivors. You bring those? When you plan to make EXAMPLES. Aiko is right. We have to go. Now. Heart hurting, I nod to my roommate, one of my best friends, and know that this is it. I will likely never see her again, alive. There are... so many goodbyes, words, I wish I had time to say.
In the look she shoots me? I see the same.
We knew this might come.
Just... just hoped it never would.
My boss's crush can wait. His LIFE is more important. I turn and reach for him, to guide him towards the screens, leading deeper into his wing. Get to him easily. But do not get more then two steps before an arm, like steel, is suddenly around my waist and jerking me back.
Jerking US back. Towards the wall of scrolls and decorative pieces, that sat behind Master Nobutoshi's desk. Startled, my gaze shoots down to see Master Nobutoshi's arm, unhesitating and possessive, wrapped around my waist. There is... a lot more muscle under those flowing robes, then I ever suspected. But-?
I do not even have time to think, to ponder, the question before it is violently answered. The masterfully painted screens, that I had long admired, smashing and tearing as bodies crash through them.
Takashi, dead on the floor, sword still in hand. Around him, his teammates dying, as they still tried to by their Lord even a few moments more, to escape. The large, ever polite Shadow, a man who had been like a brother to me... dumped upon the ground like little more then trash. To be tossed aside and discarded. Stepped over, on some other man's campaign.
His blood mixed with the ruins of the Hunting Tiger screen. Two proud, quietly noble wonders, destroyed. It had been his favorite.
Aiko howled with rage and grief. Threw herself into the fight.
We had been family.
I turned, away, hating myself for it. Knowing it's what they would want. Tears threatened but I could not let them come. Not... not yet. Not yet. There was an emergency exit. Where? Where!? I remembered it. I knew, I knew it! But the grief was muddling my mind, making it slow. Damn it. DAMN IT! WHERE WAS IT!!!??
Master Nobutoshi reached past me. Gripping the hilt of decorative sword, he lifted and drew. It.. it was not decorative. Merely disguised. A masterwork blade. It sang ominously as it cut through the air, entering the scene. Then... a face, breathe, pressed to the side of my head. Like.. like a lover? A terrible discordance, in this already awful event.
"Behind the Three Mountains and a Shrine, My Love. I will be with you shortly."
I froze. The world froze, for all it continued, around me. Distantly... I felt Master Nobutoshi loosen his grip, after... after one last possessive squeeze. Let go. Felt him turn away, as he faced the room. But... but that was... he.... he had....
W-was that? I-Informal? A..And WHAT did he call m-!?
My hand, shaking, found the right scroll. Somehow. Without my numb, panicking mind, they moved dispite me. Somehow determined to keep me alive, dispite my shock. I flicked the right switch. Disarmed the traps in the order they needed to be. And... click. There was the trap door. Our... our way out...
I stared. Blankly. W.. what was I supposed to..? Do?
Was I finally... in shock? That's... probably not good. Bad, actually. I should... should move. There are swords here. It's...? Dangerous? Yes. Dangerous. Bad. I need too... too think. Cry, maybe. Somewhere... not loud. With... with no... no swords.
Stumbling. Stiffly. Like my body was not my own anymore, I knelt. Hands clumsy and far away, I struggled with the trap door. Finally got it. People were... were fighting. Hurting. I... I didn't want to be here anymore. Didn't want to be ANYWHERE anymore. I... I wanted it to stop.
Why? Why wouldn't they all just... just STOP.
Aiko. Takashi. My teammates. Who else? Who else was hurt? G-gone? I was... was supposed to be SAFE. This was supposed to be SAFE. I worked so hard. Compromised and compromised, pushed myself down, and made myself fit. I worked and worked and WORKED, until I had nothing LEFT, b... because this was supposed to be SAFE!!!
I... I was supposed to b-be...!
"Iwamoto!" A voice roared above the chaos and fighting. "Where is She?! I know you're keeping her somewhere!"
Like a lions roar, some primal part of my brain demanded I pay attention. Now. Dragging, with brutal claws, my fragile mind, from its drifting cloud of numbness. One leg already on the steps to the escape tunnel, I turned, and... with horror? Realized I was to blame. For... for ALL of this.
Because? There, in armor, stood the Protagonist's brother. Surrounded by his men, with his sister safely at home, what other SHE could he POSSIBLY mean? If not the one? That ALSO remembers? H...He killed Aiko. Takashi. For THIS?
Monster.
Oh god, he.. he was a MONSTER.
Master Nobutoshi and the Reincarnator squared off. Swords drawn, men at their back. Already, so many were dead. So many I had known. Had worked with. My friends. Just... just pawns, between two powerful men. Dizzy, I realized, they... they hadn't even glanced at them. Didn't even seem to SEE them. Just... just more fodder. For their grand campaigns.
"You know?" Nobutoshi all but purred, as he clashed blades with his opponent. "I really must thank you. You helped me realize, the true worth of the gem I possessed. And, once you're dealt with? I will no longer need to hide her in obscurity. With you dead, little rat, I can finally have her, in every way that matters."
"She'll be a beautiful bride." His grin was a savage thing, full of baring teeth.
The Protagonist's brother raged. A lion, a mountain, and a warlord. Fury twisting what were, no doubt, handsome features into something horrifying. Blade work swift and brutal. How many of my friend's blood? Still painted that blade? Still stained his armor? He dressed himself like he thought he was the hero. He was destroying the only home I had known, for these past decades.
"Pervert! You disgusting CREEP! You think you can just imprison women until they love you?! I always knew there was something wrong with you, but this? This take the cake, you FREAK! I'm getting her out of here! Stopping your schemes! Once and for all!" The Brother roared, something unhinged in his eyes. A lifetime of isolation at last, too much, now that relief might finally be at hand. "You'll never understand her! You CAN'T understand her! Not like me! She was MADE FOR ME! We're supposed to be in this TOGETHER! And I WON'T let you keep me from her ANY LONGER, YOU FREAK!"
They couldn't see anyone but each other, as they fought. Brutal. Savage. Singing blades and madness. Around the room, the two sides clashed. Died. Pointlessly, at the command of their Lords. Sitting at the entrance to the escape route, I could see Aiko from here. Takashi. Both dead, gone, where just this morning we had been joking over our plans for an upcoming festival. We... we were going to hit up the candy booths first. Double back to store our loot. Then enjoy the festivities.
It was a good plan. I was going to pretend... that... that I didn't notice Aiko, stealing all the sour plum candies. I hated them. She loved them. But would never take them if I offered. O.. only fun if she could sneak um. Takashi would save me my favorites. Wasn't much of a sweets guy.
Gone...
All gone.
And for what? Because I "belonged" to the Brother? Because Master Nobu-...no. Because Iwamoto Nobutoshi, picked a FIGHT? All I wanted was to be safe. Live quietly. No plot. No drama. No chaos. Just... just market days and laundry, sweeping and helping make dumplings. Weeding the gardens. Napping with kids and cats. Slowness and the shifting of seasons.
A life, unremarkable.
I looked down into the escape tunnel. Dark, long, and to somewhere unknown.
They did not notice me leave.
189 notes · View notes