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grandline-fics · 1 year ago

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All That I Need

DESCRIPTION: When your presence is all they crave

WARNINGS: some suggestive themes, some jealousy in Shanks’ mostly fluff overall

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Zoro, Shanks| Sabo,Sanji

WORD COUNT: 1,413

A/N: Finally starting to feel better so I decided to finish this. Mostly indulgent and I hope you all enjoy

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

—————

LUFFY

Long before you and Luffy even got together you knew he was solely motivated by his wants, childishly so. He saw a platter of food meant for everyone? He’d eat it all before anyone else got a chance to grab a fork. Someone tried to tell him he was too weak to beat them? Luffy had the first punch thrown before they could blink. If he wanted something he was vocal about it. It was a simplistic way to be and at least you and the crew always knew how to keep your Captain happy. There was never any guessing, even when he was unconscious.

Of course once again he’d pushed his body to the limit to win a fight and now he was dealing with the consequences. Chopper had tended to his wounds and you approached his now sleeping form with a tired but proud smile. You were used to this but still you couldn’t help but worry about the strain his body was being put through time and time again. “You know once he wakes, he’ll be shouting for meat and jumping around like nothing happened.” Nami muttered like a disapproving mother as she left and you let out a small laugh.

Now close enough you lightly pushed the hair from his face, smiling to see that the mention of meat had made him grin in his sleep. Your worries all but left you now to see that. As long as he could smile, you would find the strength to do so too. You pulled your hand back and turned to leave the room, letting your significant -but reckless- other rest. Except you stopped when his hand clasped around your wrist. You turned in shock, he was awake already?

Your eyes widened to see that he was still unconscious. You were about to call for Chopper but all that could escape your lips was a gasp of surprise when you were abruptly pulled down onto the bed. Through muscle memory or pure instinct, Luffy lay with his arms around you the perfect balance of protectiveness and possessiveness in his hold. It was like this every night you both slept in your shared quarters. When his head lay against your chest while mumbling your name in in his sleep you smiled warmly, overcome with a sense of belonging and joy to know that you will always be something Luffy needed.

ZORO

Zoro was frustrated; his form was too tense, nothing was landing the way he wanted, the way he needed to. If he was to get stronger, to become the best this wasn’t good enough. If he was in an actual fight and not training he’d be losing. Angrily he swore and let his weights fall loudly onto the floor. Storming out of the Crow’s Nest he sought the one thing he desperately needed to make this frustration and tension go away. Listening intently he heard your familiar laugh sound from the kitchen and dining room. Striding in he saw you listening to Usopp telling a story of the crew’s adventures from the early days before you’d joined.

Just seeing you help Usopp cleaning up was enough to help his mood but still it wasn’t enough. He needed more, he craved you. Your warmth, your very essence and it was now he realised why he had felt so off. He hadn’t gotten enough of you today. With the watch rotations from the night before, usual morning chores, and then when Robin and Chopper had called you away to help them with their nonsense it had disrupted your usual time together completely. Now that he knew what his issue was, the solution was so simple. Wasting no more time he walked across the room with you in his sights.

You’d blinked in confusion when Usopp trailed off in the middle of his story and looked behind your shoulder. Slowly you turned and smiled at Zoro, believing he’d only stop his training midway through for food or an equally important emergency. “Hey, is everything okay? Do you need something?”

“Yeah. You.” Zoro stated firmly when he closed the distance. Before you could react, your boyfriend had his hands secured to your waist and pulled you forward so his lips could find yours, coaxing you into an increasingly hungry, intense kiss. Zoro savoured every moment of it, taking in every second and reclaiming the time he’d lost out on just being with you. As dizzying and as powerful the kiss was you could feel the shift in your lover; as subtle as it was you could tell he had been holding onto something that was making him more tense than normal. If this was what fixed it you weren’t complaining. When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, Zoro let out a huff of relief.

Now energised and focussed, Zoro threw you over his shoulder allowing himself a smirk when you yelped at the sudden action. Knowing it was pointless to even pretend like you wanted to struggle out of his hold you enjoyed the luxury of Zoro carrying you out of the kitchen and up to the Crows Nest so he could finish his training. Whether you remained on his shoulder or just sitting to the side and watching it didn’t matter to Zoro. As long as he had you in his vicinity, one of his main motivations for getting stronger that was all that mattered.

SHANKS

“If you think you’re looking cool and brooding over here, I hate to break it to you Captain you look more like you’re sulking.” Beckman laughed from behind his mug of ale. Shank clicked his tongue in annoyance and took a slow sip of his own drink, watching as you talked and laughed with the new recruits of the crew. You’d all decided to stay the night at one of the islands under your protection. The first time for the new recruits to get to terms with how the Red Haired Pirates did things beyond just sailing the seas. It also gave everyone a chance to unwind and enjoy some shore leave.

It was only natural that the new crew members would gravitate towards you, after all you were the go-between for them. You were the one they asked for help with things to avoid disappointing or angering their intimidating but inspiring Captain. They were still finding their place in the crew with the longer standing members and you’d promised them all it would take time and that they’d all been welcomed onto the crew for a reason. Still they all felt the most comfortable with you so far. Unfortunately your lover and Captain didn’t want to see it that way. He was jealous of them claiming your attention all the time and he missed you even though you hadn’t gone anywhere.

Shanks’ eyes met yours when you looked over to check on him. He tried to keep his expression level but clearly it wasn’t convincing enough because you swiftly but politely excused yourself from the group you were with and stepped up to where your Captain was sitting. Slowly you turned your head towards Beckman and jerked your head. A silent request for him to leave you both alone. As much as he’d love to stay and watch you expertly handle the Pirate Emperor he knew to give you both some sort of privacy and left.

With a tired sigh you slid into Shanks’ lap, throwing your legs over his and tucking your head under his chin. Wordlessly you took his mug of ale from his hand and coaxed his arm around your waist. “This is what you wanted right? Me all to yourself.” You asked with a smile before taking a sip of the ale. You knew Shanks better than most, he wouldn’t offer an explanation for his mood unless you started the conversation. His arm tightened around you and he chuckled softly.

“Can you blame me? Your very presence is utterly intoxicating to me. Why would I want to share my treasure with anyone?” Shanks asked and you rolled your eyes at his words with a small smile. You did want to remind him that he had nothing to be jealous about, everyone knew you were an item but still it was cute to have him still be like this after so many years together. “I mean it you know. I can’t get enough of you, need you more than breathing.”

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 3 months ago

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A good grade.

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader Words count: 4844 Rating: +18, MDNI Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade? Tags: perv!Joel, soft!Joel, power imbalance, degradation, smut, blackmail, reader is described having female genitalia, no other description of her is given, unspecified age gap (in my mind 24/45 but you can imagine whatever, they’re both grown up anyway), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but you know, do better irl), oral (f receiving), mention of blowjob, edging, edging with a brush, creampie, pet names, slurs, Joel has a dirty mouth, a lot of swearing, some reader's thoughts marked in italics.

Disclaimers: English is not my first language, very poorly proofread, no beta, it's all my fault and I'm very sorry! I like art but I'm not an expert, I've never taken lessons (well, in high school I did but it was art history and it was only theoretical) and I don't really know how they work, I made it all up so if it doesn't adhere to reality please excuse me. I hope you like it anyway, the other morning I woke up with the idea of Joel painting me as one of his French girls (heheheheh) and I started writing this thing 💀

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

You’ve always loved art, since high school it’s always been your favorite subject and drawing and painting your outlet, your way of expressing yourself. Your teachers have always praised you, considering your works not only perfectly executed but significant, mature, full of pathos. Everyone has always told you that you had an eye for recognizing artistic value, you’ve always been the best in your class and you’ve worked hard to get here.

You graduated with excellent grades and were accepted into a prestigious master's program. You would like to become a professional artist or at least an art critic.

You had a bright future ahead of you, until you met Professor Joel Miller.

He has done nothing but criticize you, your skills and your work from the very first day.

And he always does it deliberately, in front of everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you never get more than F for every work you submit. The disdain with which he treats you makes you feel like a failure and your breath die in your throat every time he lays eyes on you and says the most hateful words you’ve ever heard about yourself. Today it happened again. You spent sleepless nights working on this portrait, begging the model called by Professor Miller to see you after class hours. You even offered to pay her and she was kind, she didn’t ask for an outrageous amount despite the fact that she could have taken much more lucrative jobs instead of posing for you. You’re just a master’s student trying to support herself by working nights in a bar.

“What is this?” he thundered looking at your painting “You are only getting worse, miss, I have never seen anything like this. It is indecent that a person like you tries to make art, it should be prohibited by law. Look at this, wrong proportions, no harmony, no attention to detail, nothing. This does not even look like the same person I had pose for hours in front of you. You should be ashamed to present a work like this after 6 months of course”

You won't be able to finish your master's degree unless you get a passing grade in Professor Miller's course, but he doesn't seem at all inclined to give you even a measly D.

It’s a nightmare.

You'd be forced to start all over again, ask your parents for financial help, which is the last thing you want to do when they've already sacrificed so much to help you pay for college, or do the unthinkable and give up on all your dreams, the career you have cultivated with strength and passion throughout your life up until now.

You decide to make a last-ditch effort and try to talk to Mr Miller during his office hours.

You've always avoided it until now because you thought things would get better but it's the third F you get and you can't afford to go on like this.

The idea of being alone with him doesn't excite you at all, but you hate losing everything you've worked so hard for even more.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, terrified of what he might say to you.

Mr Miller is also an established artist and his work has been appreciated abroad so his disapproval could really preclude you from many opportunities.

“Come in” even from behind closed door his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You walk in muttering “good afternoon” feeling like a complete idiot, you are already convinced that it was a mistake to come to him, nothing will change his mind.

Joel is sitting behind his desk, frowning as he corrects tests. He looks up from the papers only when you are in front of him “Oh. it's you,” he says in his usual dismissive tone of voice “What do you want miss?”

You clear your throat and murmur, “I...” his gaze is already back on the tests, he doesn't even look at your face as he fills the paper with red marks and writes a big circled F at the top, the assignment of some other hapless person like you who will find himself failing his class. Incredible anger mounts in your body, you clench your fists and say "excuse me" in a stern voice.

It infuriates you, it's maddening how he can't even treat you as a human being for a second.

"What do you want?" he asks annoyed looking back up at you "and be quick about it, you are wasting my time."

“I'd like to know what I need to do to have you evaluate me favorably” you try to keep your tone as detached and respectful as possible even though you despise the man in front of you with every fiber of your body.

“Nothing, you can't do anything, I thought you had figured it out by now, are you also stupid besides not having the slightest talent?”

“Actually...fuck, I don't think I am that bad. And I think you are judging me too harshly,” you spit out feeling tears stinging your eyes. You promised yourself to keep calm but the way he is treating you only makes you want to insult him.

“I advise you to moderate your tone if you don't want to be expelled as well as failed in my class.”

He has the upper hand, you can't do anything about it. A sense of frustration and helplessness crackles under your skin as you plead with him, “Please Mr Miller there must be something I can do to change things. Anything...I…I don't want to fail.”

An evil grin paints on his face “how much do you care about it?”

“It's the only thing I care about, please, art means everything to me” you look at him feeling your whole essence crumble in front of him, you are desperate and tired of struggling, you just want to find a way to work things out. You have very good grades in all the other courses, he is the only one stopping you from achieving what you want most in the world.

“Actually you could do something to make it better,” Joel suggests, and you cry, ”Please, I'll do anything.”

“Anything?” he probes ”are you sure?” His smug, dangerous expression unnerves you, maybe you shouldn't have made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, but there's no turning back now. "Yes," you shriek.

He leans against the back of the chair while continuing to sneer under his mustache “Well, then I have an offer for you. I'm working on a series of paintings of women, you could pose for me.”

“Me?” you ask confused, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to paint you.

“Why not, if nothing else you're pretty,” he admits, and it's the first nice thing about you that's ever come out of his mouth.

You wonder what the scam is behind his proposal, it can't be that easy, he's probably going to ask you to pose with some repulsive animal or in a way that makes you look completely idiotic or he's just pretending that this is the solution but then he's going to blackmail you and make you regret setting foot in his office.

He writes something on a post-it note and hands it to you “Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 8” he orders you “don't be late”

“I really...” you try to say.

“What? Is there something more urgent you need to do besides securing good grades?” he raises an eyebrow scrutinizing your astonished face.

“No it's just that...I'm supposed to be working at that time.” You mutter.

“Well get your shift changed, or ask someone to fill in for you, pretend to be sick, I don't care, just show up.” He barks at you.

“Okay,” you agree. You can't say no, it's your last resort, either that or total defeat.

You walk out of his office with the feeling that you have gotten into big trouble.

_____________________________

You get confirmation of this the next day when you show up at the address written by Professor Joel. It's on a suburban street with little traffic, in front of you is what looks like an abandoned former factory. A blast of cold air makes you shiver as you ring an old intercom near the front door. You huddle in your coat, wondering where the hell you are. Maybe he gave you the wrong address just to make fun of you, you took two buses to get here, at the very least you'll soon find out your professor isn't even here.

Surprisingly, he answers you instead, his thick voice ordering you to come up. You enter through the doorway into a dusty, bare lobby, only an old freight elevator in front of you. You push the button and the elevator car begins to descend with a sinister, metallic sound. "What the hell is this place?” you ask yourself "my god, I'm going to end up dead and thrown in a dumpster". You get on the elevator with your heart in your throat praying that there isn't a serial killer waiting for you on the other side.

The doors suddenly open wide onto a large room with concrete columns. You step out and look around, there is a large table in the corner, chock full of artists' materials, tempera, canvases, oil paints, watercolors, all thrown in bulk. Various canvases are resting on pedestals scattered around the room, and others lie leaning against the wall. There is an old leather couch in the corner and a double mattress resting on wooden pallets on the other side. Several rugs are spread on the floor. It's all messy and chaotic, but it definitely has the look of an art studio.

"Oh, you're here at last," Joel grunts, popping up from behind a pillar holding a dirty brush stained with red tempera.

He is wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a white T-shirt stained in paint, he is disheveled and barefoot.

He doesn't even look like your professor; he always wears suits and perfectly ironed shirts at university.

Two large leaded windows divided into small squares open on the wall in front of you.

It’s dark by now, so the entire room is softly lit by several lamps and candles scattered around.

“Where should I stand to pose?” you don't intend to put in more than is necessary; spending time with this obnoxious man is the last thing you want to do today.

“Sit on the couch,” Joel orders, pointing to the old leather ruin to your right, ”I'll prepare the necessities and we'll get started.”

You sit, quietly, dreading what lies ahead.

Joel picks up a blank canvas and places it on a stand, takes a graphite pencil from the table and orders you " Undress"

You squint your eyes, squeaking “I'm sorry, what?”

“I'm making a series of artistic nudes, didn't I tell you?” he grins

“No, you don’t” you retort.

Fucking bastard.

“Strip” he repeats firmly.

“But I don't-”

“Look, you're already irritating me, either take off your fucking clothes or get out of here”

You've seen people pose nude in your art classes before, even in Professor Joel's class, and all you've ever cared about was doing a good job, but now it's different. It's just you and him, in a place in the middle of nowhere, you weren't warned before, and more importantly, he makes you uncomfortable.

His gaze has done nothing but judge you from the first moment it landed on you. You don't want to lose that last bit of dignity you still preserve and let him see you in your most intimate form.

“So what have you decided?” Joel presses you.

With extreme reluctance, you begin to take off your coat, laying it on the couch. What else can you do? By now you have fallen into a trap, either you do this or your grade at the end of the course will be F.

F for failure.

“Damn asshole,” you think, ”I hope I never see you again in my life after your fucking course is over.”

The resentment must be clear on your face because Joel mocks you “Oh come on, don't pout like that. There's nothing underneath that I haven't seen a hundred times before. It's just tits and a cunt” he concludes in a dismissive tone, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

He rolls his eyes when after some hesitation you slip off the T-shirt you are wearing, revealing a light pink lace bra.

He curls his lips "cute," he whispers in a lascivious tone " take that off too."

“But Mr Miller I...” you try to retort

“Go ahead and take it off,” your arms reach for your back, you undo the hooks of your bra and drop it to the floor. You cannot believe this is happening, you are bare-chested in front of your professor.

"Very well..." he acquiesces, "you see, everything is easier when you cooperate."

He strokes his beard as he glances at you remove your shoes and pulling down your jeans, the same smug, dangerous smile he had in his office returns to peep across his face.

“Good girl.”

You feel a knot in your stomach. And you who thought that commitment and talent were enough to get results...poor naive girl.

You should get out of here and go to the dean and report him for unethical conduct but you suddenly realize that he may be the first, but he won't be the last.

"Lie down on the couch," Joel whispers to you, his gaze not leaving your body, hungry and demanding.

You don't want to be here, yet you feel you can't do anything else at this point.

"Raise your right arm above your head," Joel instructs, "and bend your legs slightly."

“Like this. Don't move," Joel stands in front of the canvas and begins to trace marks on the surface. His hand moves quickly, his fingers run over the traced lines smudging them.

You remain still as he ordered you, feeling goosebumps across your body and your nipples harden from the cold.

You have to admit to yourself that it is fascinating to watch him work; his gaze is alert and sure, his hands move expertly and competently. He is certainly talented.

Joel observes the work done so far, scratching his chin, adding a few touches here and there as his eyes scan the entire surface of the canvas.

Maybe he really just wants to paint you and you're making a big deal out of nothing, maybe this will end well after all. He moves the easel to one side of the sofa you assume to look at you from another angle until he growls “Spread your legs for me, darling”

“But I don't-”

“I need more shadows on your body”

“What?” you glance at him, this sounds like a lame excuse.

“Spread your legs” he repeats ”come on”

You do so, feeling his eyes everywhere on you, feeding on every uncovered inch of your skin. And for some reason you cannot explain, you feel your body react under his gaze. You peak at the outline of his cock straining under his jeans, a rush of adrenaline rushes through you, a flush of arousal between your legs.

No, you can't.

You cannot crave for him to look at you. He's your professor who lured you here under false pretenses.

Yet you realize how incredibly handsome he is. So far you had only thought of him as your teacher and had never truly paused to observe him, especially since he always treated you like a dirtbag.

“Perfect, now stay still like this,” he mutters.

He hums as you do “Such a good girl for me” in a mellifluous and manipulative tone.

You feel his voice penetrate deep into your bones and another thrill of arousal runs through you all, gliding under your skin and straight to your pussy.

This is so fucked up but on the other hand you are thrilled by the idea of ending up in one of his paintings.

He makes a couple of changes to the sketch and then walks over to you, sitting on the armrest of the couch. He watches you intently, as if he wants to study every tiny detail about you, you still have your panties on but you've never felt more naked than that.

“Hmm, someone is wet.” he observes, gazing at the wet spot on your underwear. “It’s all for me?”

“I…uh…no, absolutely not” You don't want to admit it even to yourself but the situation is turning you on, no matter how wrong it is.

“Honey, I advise you never to play poker,” he sneers. You look at him puzzled, and he adds, “You're not good at bluffing at all.”

When he reaches out a hand to touch you, you almost tremble, it's as if your body is crying out to him “take me. use me.”

All you ever wanted from the beginning was his approval and now somehow he seems to recognize something in you. You just want to stop arguing, to stop fighting, to stop feeling like you are worth less than nothing, you just want to know that you still have a future that consists of not settling for a job that you don't love and doesn't allow you to feel fulfilled and let you get the results you know you deserve.

And most of all, you want him to be on your side.

“You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?” his voice gruels as his fingers run from your ankle to your knee and then up to your inner thigh. You stiff, feeling your heart raging up under your ribcage and a fresh flush of arousal dampening your cunt.

How did you never realize how sexy this man is? Now that his gaze has softened you notice the deep brown of his eyes, with some hazel undertones, and how he lights up as he stares at you.

God, you want him so bad right now.

You are almost on the verge of grabbing his wrist and placing his big hand on your pussy already, but you decide to let him.

His fingers move slowly over your skin; instead of touching you where you need it most, his hand stops at your hip, fiddling with the hem of your panties.

"Can I?" he grunts.

You nod silently and he demands “I need you to use your words, baby. Speak to me”

“Yes” you breath

He grins as he places his other hand on your hip and begins to pull down your panties. You lift your pelvis to ease him, and he comments, "mmm, so eager. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

You feel your cheeks on fire as you cannot take your eyes off him, desperately in need of his hands, his lips, his tongue and his cock. You want it all, right now. So maybe he’s right, you’re a slut and you don’t even care.

Joel calmly moves your panties down your legs and brings them to his nose, inhaling your scent. “Sweet. I bet you taste even better.”

He gets up from the couch, tucking your panties into his jeans pocket, and takes a clean brush from a container resting on the table. He sits back right next to you, and grins.

He caresses the inside of your leg with the brush, the feeling of the bristles flowing over your skin is incredible, soft and intense at the same time, leisurely moving on your inner thigh, raising up closer and closer to your pussy, his eyes set in yours, mesmerized by you.

You are subjugated by him as he fondles you, going up your belly with his brush, deliberately ignoring your pussy, moving deftly over every curve of your body. It is as if he is painting you, as if he has made you his work of art.

The bristles rub over your rib cage, slowly, then your breasts, moving in concentric circles from your areola to your nipples. He passes the brush back and forth over your hard buds and a deep moan escapes from your throat. “Please, Mr Miller” you whine.

“You can call me Joel, darling” he whispers “what do you need?”

“I…fuck” You’re dripping wet, your voice is a wail and your body is itching to be touched.

“Say it.” he orders you, ”I want to hear it.”

“I want - fuck - my pussy” you blather, you are not even able to form a complete sentence right now.

Joel laughs faintly, descending again on your abdomen, very slowly, until he reaches your mound. He rubs the bristles from right to left lingeringly, then lowering again, descending on your outer lips, first one side and then the other. And then again and again.

When he finally brushes over your clit, you are so pent up and needy that you arch your back, emitting a throaty moan.

“Oh God! Oh my God”

Joel lowers the brush to your clit, surrounding it with the bristles, pushing and making concentric circles. He stops when he feels you on the edge.

And then he does it all again, circling and pressing, jerking your bundle of nerves with the brush. And then a third time.

You’re a crying mess at this point, mind completely numb and your body covered in sweat.

He spreads your folds with his thumbs and sighs, “Look at this pussy, all nice and wet for me, I can’t wait to dip into your sweet honey, babe”

He throws the brush on the floor, it falls with a dull thud bouncing on the carpet.

“So fucking perfect”

You squeeze your eyes whining “please" a riot of emotions assail you, your body is so on the edge you could explode just by the way he looks at you, moistening his lips with his tongue.

He puts his arms around your neck, “cling to me,” he whispers. You do as he says, instinctively encircling his waist with your legs, clinging to his body with all your strength as he carries you to the bed and lays you gently on top.

He undresses, staying in his boxers in front of you.

You can't take your eyes off him, gazing at his wide shoulders, his broad chest, his soft belly with a thin strip of hair running down into his boxers.

He kneels on the bed, facing you, gently spreading your legs and moving between them.

He lowers himself on you, placing a kiss on your clit, making you whimper another pathetic "please."

He sticks his tongue out and runs it flat across your folds, up and down, one hand firmly clinging to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin.

"I was right, you taste amazing," he murmurs against your skin.

You are no longer thinking about anything right now, not about your master's degree, evaluations or the fact that he is your teacher.

You feel his nose hitting on your clit as he eagerly licks your folds, opening them with two fingers to sink his tongue in.

You bite your lower lip, stifling your moans, burying a hand in his dark curls, pulling him toward you “oh fuck, yes”.

His tongue encircles your hard clit, swirling around, his lips lace over it sucking greedily.

“You don’t need to hold back, you can be as loud as you want in here, no one will hear us. Let me hear you, baby. I wanna know how you sound when you come”

He doesn't stop sucking and licking until you feel your orgasm mount inside you like a flooding river, invading your body, curving your toes, clenching your fists on the sheet beneath you and rolling your hips on his face, wetting his lips, his chin, dripping onto your inner thigh.

“Yeah, baby, come apart on my tongue, just like that”

He licks you clean until you calm down, devouring your juices to the last drop and then looks up at you “you have no idea how beautiful you are, starving for my cock” he groans “god, I must have you right now, I must make you mine, you hungry little whore”

You wait for nothing else, it seems your thirst has no way to quench today.

“Please, Joel,”

He pulls off his boxers, throwing them on the floor, his cock springs free and is incredibly hard, you can't stop looking at it. He's big, so big you don't even know how he's going to fit all the way inside you but you don’t care. “Fill me up, Joel, please”

“Yeah? You want this big cock inside you? Want me to fill you up so good baby?” He grumbles.

“Please, Joel, it’s all I need” you whine.

He lies on top of you, tapping your lips a few times with the tip, running it along your folds and wetting it with your juices, aligning himself with your opening, “I'll give you what you want, then.”

He nudges at your hole a moment before he enters you, just the tip, pressing gently to let you get used to his intrusion.

You moan feverishly, clinging to his back, bucking your hips toward him “more, please, more” you plea.

As he plunges inside you, he stares at your face, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your reactions, when he’s ball deep into you you let out an incoherent whine so graveling it doesn’t even sounds like your voice.

He begins to pump into you as you circle his waist with your legs again, pushing to feel him deeper, your hands roaming in his graying hair.

“Here you go, taking me so well princess, you’re so good to me”

When his lips settle on yours you realize that you had not yet kissed until this moment. His lips are soft, demanding, his tongue penetrates your mouth licking eagerly, and you are more than happy to respond, savoring his taste of mint and cigarettes.

One of his hands kneads your breast, his fingers close on one of your nipples as his cock doesn't stop sinking inside you.

You moan into his mouth feeling like you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the sinful pit of hell.

“Where do you want me?” he whispers in your ear, and your voice comes out broken from the back of your throat ”Inside. please. I'm - fuck - I'm on the pill.”

You feel him spilling his load inside you a moment later, painting your inner wall with his hot sticky cum.

You feel delirious and exhausted, guilty for what you just did. Your moral code has just been shattered under the hot weight of his body.

He kisses you again, lingering on your bottom lip. “You’re so much better than I thought,” he chuckles.

He moves away from you and stands up naked to return to the sketch. He traces a few lines and makes some adjustments as you stare at him in amazement.

“Can you show me?” you ask. “Yes, come here,” he replies. You get up and stand next to him to observe the canvas. Your body is sketched on it and it looks perfect, you have never seen yourself so beautiful.

“You can go if you want, I’m done for today”

“I- I don’t want to”

“Do you want more?” he sneers “god, you really are a slut.” he comments as he gets closer to you.

He fucks you two more times, the first time he makes you get on all fours, licking your pussy from behind and then sinking into you while he holds you by the hips, his cock slamming against your cervix and his balls against your ass. Then you’re too eager to have him in your mouth, to taste your flavor mixed with his, so you offer to give him a blowjob and he fucks your mouth before digging back into your pussy again.

He drives you back to campus. “I may be an asshole, but I won’t let you walk around alone at night,” he says.

You get out of his car feeling like you’re in a bubble, like everything that happened was just a surreal dream you can’t wake up from. You collapse into your bed after throwing your clothes haphazardly on the floor. When you wake up the next morning you feel like shit.

You don't know how boldly you will look your classmates in the eye, but you can't skip class, and the thought of seeing Joel again thrills you, no matter how wrong it is.

When Joel enters the classroom, he ignores you, probably so as not to arouse suspicion; it would be too strange for him to treat you with regard after denigrating you for months.

He begins returning graded tests proceedings slowly as usual, moving between desks and laying down the papers without making any comment. The test that rests on your desk has a circled A at the top.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @lemon-nomel @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x afab!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #perv!joel miller

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astridthevalkyrie · 11 months ago

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xavier thinks you're cruel when you smile. everything about you is different, to the point where it feels like you're just a whole different person sharing the same face as the woman he knew. but then, when he met you as a lightseeker, he'd thought the same thing, that you were nothing like his best friend who didn't have any grand dreams of becoming a grandis knight, and only thought of living today to the fullest because she knew she would not see tomorrow. and then he'd fallen for the woman sacrificing her blood, sweat and tears just so that she could be claimed as his. and as predicted, he's fallen for you for the third time now, and he realizes that your personality could change a million times over a million lives, and he will love you more and more each time he meets you. because no matter what you do and no matter what you are trying to be, your smile blinds him each and every time. and that is what he finds cruel, because it must be cruel to make him fall for that smile again and again and again, and surely there is a limit to how many people one man can fall in love with. perhaps he's the exception, or perhaps it doesn't count because you are still one person. either way, it is torture, torture in its sweetest form that he could never hate you for, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"mister deepspace hunter," you sing, poking his cheek with a chicken plushie, "you can't sleep, we've only seen two movies."

"how many more are there?"

"three more in this series, and then we start the next fantasy series."

"you're insane," he says sweetly, burrowing further under your favorite blanket.

with a giggle, you lay your head down on his lap, hair splayed out on what he deems is your rightful pillow. "it's not a movie night if we don't stay up the whole night."

he's about to tell you that both of you need sleep, that it's not healthy to stay up this late or to pull all-nighters, but then he gazes down to where you're grinning up at him, and his heart stops for a second, because you are so, so, so beautiful, and he's gone.

sleep can wait another day.

zayne thinks you're cruel when you speak. you are reserved around him, and while he never thinks you should limit yourself, least of all on his behalf, maybe this is the most merciful path you can take. because once you do start speaking, once you place your hand over his across whichever table at whichever restaurant to go off on an excited ramble about your latest endeavor, everything else fades way. and it is cruel, to make him lose control all of all senses aside from sound. it is cruel to metaphorically force him on his knees to bend and dance to the sound of your voice and your voice alone. it leaves him vulnerable, to pain, to betrayal, to any and every harmful thing that could possibly be surrounding him, when he cannot observe, when he cannot fight, when he cannot be, while you are speaking. when every individual word you speak has its own unique significance, and he would not be able to kill anyone who interrupts you because he would not even realize it happened, too entranced by the spell you cast. he is not his own in those moments, he only belongs to you. and thankfully, nothing does befall him, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"what do you think?"

he pauses, hand in yours as the two of you walk, blinking at you a few times. "what do i think?"

"yeah, you, doctor," you tease, squeezing his fingers. "what do you think? i've been talking your head off for five minutes."

he is not jarred because he hadn't been paying attention, on the contrary he'd been hanging off your every word. his opinion simply does not matter as much in his eyes.

"i agree with you," he says, enjoying the way you beam at his concurrence, "but what did you think about the other article?"

predictably, you take the bait and launch into another long rant, and he wills this topic to last forever.

rafayel thinks you're cruel when you sleep. so, so soundly you sleep, sometimes in his own bed because he offers it to you like a fool. you look beautiful when you sleep, which is half the problem, and he knows that it is all sorts of wrong to find you beautiful when he's also paralyzed because of how similar your appearance is to death. from a distance, he could never tell the difference. it is only when he is next to you, holding your slack wrist in his hands, that he can breathe easier by pressing his fingers to your pulse. and he is terrified that one day he won't feel it, because it has happened before. one moment you were there, alive and well and his, and the next you were in his arms, lifeless and limp and somehow still beautiful. so there is no way for him to calm his racing heart when he sees you asleep, and the reason it's cruel is because he knows he cannot disturb you. not you, who works so hard and needs your sleep more than anyone else. he cannot ask you to sit up and breathe and laugh and show him that you're still alive. even though he knows you would should he ask, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"hmm." your eyes are bleary as they blink awake, hardly aware of where you are.

he slides his arms around you from behind, hiding his face in your neck. "you can go back to sleep, was just making sure you were still alive."

a quiet huff escapes you, clearly annoyed at being woken up for such a ludicrous reason. "don't be annoying."

he wasn't trying to be, this time. "okay," he whispers, "sorry."

you turn all of a sudden, shifting in his arms until you're facing him, with a light glare. another apology is on his lips when you crossly tell him, "i was kidding. you're not annoying."

"i can be. sometimes," he admits softly.

"no." you press a deep kiss to his lips, and he understands now why some humans would rather choose to drown under the sea instead of going back to the surface. "you're not annoying. you're never annoying. i love you. okay?"

his voice is choked the next time he speaks, with your face hidden in his neck, soft puffs of air on his neck letting him know that you're still breathing. a tear runs down his cheek.

"okay."

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hearts4werka · 4 months ago

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NNN day 6 | Birthday Tears

summary: today was your birthday, the day you’ve never got to actually celebrate because of some family issues. Youve now always avoided your birthday and didn’t want to celebrate it, when you were coming home from the grocery store you were met with a sweet surprise when entering the house…

warnings: FLUFF, brief mentions of family issues but aside from that nothing else!

authors note: day 6 is now complete ! Big thanks to my honey @/strnilolover for the idea and the other ideas, luv u sm💋. And tysm for all of the support throughout this whole thing, I rlly appreciate very single one of you sm. Hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The crisp autumn air hung in the space around me as I clutched the grocery bags and carried them home, each step filled with a heavy amount of memories I wish to forget everyday. Today was my birthday-the day I’ve avoided for many years now, it’s always been a battlefield in my family and it just serves as a reminder of fractured connections and unmet expectations. Each year I have tried to wish it away, for it to vanish and forever be forgotten by everyone on earth, pretending like the specific date held no significance to my well being.

I arrive at my shared apartment with my roommate Madi and set the bags down in the kitchen counter, the delicious scent of fresh basil and ripe tomatoes filling the air as a reminder to the pasta I was planning on making for tonight’s dinner for me and Madi if she wouldn’t be staying at her boyfriends house again. Just praying I won’t burn it, like it happened the previous times. I dismiss the slight sorrow hollowing a hole in my heart at the thought of others celebrating their birthday and looking forward to it, while I was avoiding it at every cost and turn I made.

My hands moved over to the grocery bags, taking each product outside and placing them one by one in the fridge at their designated spots. Just as I turn around, my attention was immediately brought to flickering lights coming from under the door leading to the living room. Did I forget to turn off the lamp before I left? Curiosity piqued as I took a step closer, my ears picking up the soft hum of perhaps my favorite sounds. Laughter but genuine, joyful laughter. Was the TV left turned on too alongside the lamp?

I paused for a moment, my heart slightly racing as trepidation coursed through me. Maybe it was best to retreat my steps back into the comfort of my lonely routine and worry about it later but something, perhaps a whisper of longing and something I lost a long time ago, pulled me towards the room without my consent. Cautiously I creaked open the door, expecting to see the same mess of a variety of items I was going to clean up when I got back home but instead I was met with colorful confetti scattered across the floor of the room along with a chorus of “Surprise!” Which caught me completely off guard.

The confetti danced in the air as I stood at the doorframe, completely surprised but then I scanned the living room. Alongside the festive chaos was standing my boyfriend, Christopher and surprisingly my roommate Madi without the presence of her boyfriend along with some of my other friends who managed to somehow scrunch into the small space of my modest living room. My heart swelled, shocked by their presence as it was unprepared for the flood of overwhelming emotions all coming down at once.

Chris moved to stand next to me, wrapping a loving arm around my waist and pulling me closer to his side as I admire the whole surprise still. “Happy birthday, ma” He celebrated, glancing down and chuckling at how well the surprise worked on me. The warmth of his small embrace scattered across my whole body and enveloped me in a safe space I never knew I needed to feel, urging away every of the shadows that clung to my heart on this day.

“What is all this?” I stammered, continuing to try and process the sight placed in front of me. On the small coffee table landed a homemade birthday cake topped off with several candles, decorations created from paper and a pile of gifts wrapped in pretty shiny wrapping paper. “We figured you finally needed to stop avoiding your birthday, everyone deserves to celebrate their birthday after all.” Madi beamed as she stepped closer to where me and Chris were standing while Chris adds, “We couldn’t let another year go by without making it special, y’know?”

Realization washes over me, the overwhelming kindness in their gesture felt like a balm to all of the years I’ve neglected my own birthday. I didn’t expect anyone to remember, let alone plan a whole celebration surprise party in my honor. “I- thank you guys. I honestly don’t know what to say.” I finally managed to speak, my voice faltering. I suddenly felt vulnerable, emotions catching right in my throat as the memories of family disappointment flooding back. Yet, while standing among my friends, a new warmth takes me into an embrace. This was love but uncomplicated and genuine which makes a soft tear roll down my cheek.

“Well let’s get this party started now, shall we?” Chris grinned, grabbing my hand and leading me to the couch, where they had already set up laughter-filled games and a playlist of my favorite songs. The atmosphere radiated with joy, and those initial bad memories and emotions I felt faded away, replaced with surprise and joy.

As we celebrated, each laugh, each honest word, chipped away at the walls I had put up to protect myself. The clinking of glasses, the sugary taste of cake, and the joy in my friends' eyes began to stitch together the lost fragments of my broken heart. I realized I wasn’t celebrating the absence of what had been, but rather embracing the promise of what could finally be.

When the time comes to blow out the candles, I wish for something different this year. Not for the day to disappear and be forgotten, but for the future where birthdays would mean love and connection. Laughter and joy echoes through the walls of my soul, when I open my eyes I was met with smiling faces, and I knew, despite all that had been, today had changed my perspective on birthdays.

This birthday was the beginning of a newfound respect for the day I had so long tried to erase—a day I could finally acknowledge as my own, filled with sweetness, acceptance, and the warmth of friendship. Today, I felt more than just celebrated; I felt alive.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

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saintrvckwell · 4 months ago

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There'll be no rest for the wicked (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!teen!reader AU

summary: more than enough of your mother's vices waltzed into your life unannounced, leaving without a trace. but then, then there was joel.

warnings: heavily implied father-daughter dynamic, joel grows protective for the reader, father-daughter bond, platonic stuff and thangs, angst as well (what else i would write, lol), but man the fluff, joel works as a cop (lol howdy), trigger warning mentioned into story (there is a warning before the scene! -- nothing happens, but the nature of it implies the boy's intentions, so i rather chose to give a warning)

wordcount: 4.6k

a/n: hi! lately i found myself enjoying the joel x platonic reader stories again and figured, i could contribute myself, again. treat the daddy issues strugglers like me, ha. enjoy!

splitting this into more parts, please, be patient with me.

Your mother was never the nurturing type. For her, this word did not exist in her vocabulary. She loved you, you supposed, because there was never a clear sign. You were left to wonder. Whether she really cared and if so, where was she?

Throughout your childhood, your mother seemed like a visitor. Someone who, once in a while, passes through. There was never a holiday, spontaneous trip or even a lunch. She had lunch, just not with you. Her friends, her social life -- it was everything for her.

And it seemed, as though, you were not part of that list.

From time to time, as you were growing up, the idea of your father popped in your mind couple of times. Your mother never told you his name, went as far as to not include him in your birth certificate. There was no clue. So, for a child, who's yearning for a presence of loving parent, your imagination stepped in.

Whenever your mom would be on a business trip or simply out with your friends, you would sit on the windowsill, counting the threes below your apartment window. Until you fell asleep. Until the dreams, the wishful thinking, the cycling imagination, gave you what you had been looking for.

A father.

It was natural, you thought. You wished to be saved from your mother's claws. Unmaternal claws that suffocated you. The desire in your eyes, she saw it. But never bothered to do something about it. Your mother never cared, she never listened. She never came to your recitals, school races or when you gave a valedictorian speech.

You put your sweat and tears into it -- trying to figure out that your message will be received. It was a significant moment in your life, or so the teachers kept saying. The praises were coming from every direction, except for the one you wished for the most.

This was the moment you were hoping for -- that she would finally acknowledge your achievements and efforts. And she would come, sit in the first row and cheer you on.

But the reserved seat stayed empty.

And you found yourself standing in the middle of the parking lot, diploma in your hands; your mother nowhere to be found. You waited, for almost an hour, before pulling out the keys from your backpack and setting off, walking the streets in your graduation robe, wiping away the tears you promised yourself not to waste.

Not on her.

When instead of trying, she stayed at home.

With a man.

The anger was running through your veins and the patience was standing on the edge of a cliff.

You could go ballistic.

Who would have blamed you anyways. Your mother's attitude gave you enough reasons to scream it out of your lungs and lose control. But, perhaps, the anger was the one, standing on the top.

The bittersweet taste of disappointment, there it was again.

"Hey, how was school today?" she asked, casually, as though it was an ordinary day -- to be frank, she probably had forgotten about your ceremony anyways.

The man, standing by the kitchen island, with a glass of brandy in his hand, turned around.

Compared to what had travelled through your apartments over the years, he looked decent. Well-dressed, without an awful cologne and more importantly -- without a fake smile. Most of your mother's short-term partners would always pretend wanting to find out more about you.

When they only wanted to find out what was under your mother's clothes.

Still, it would not last forever, you thought.

"Good," you mumbled, putting the cap back on your head. "Same stuff as usual."

There was an urge to leave this uncomfortable setting but before you made a move, the strange man had noticed the clothes you had been wearing and smiled, again. As if though it was contagious.

"Congratulations," he spoke.

Your mother looked up, eyeing your appearance.

"Oh, you had the thing today, right?" she mumbled, grabbing her glass of vine.

You couldn't help but chuckle. Somehow, the bizarre kept getting worse.

"Yeah, the Valedictorian thing, if that's what you mean," you mumbled, holding onto the red case of your diploma.

"Cool," she nodded, "Hey, how about you go pick us up some celebratory dinner? Noodles down the street?"

The anger crawled back into your mind.

"It's raining outside," you shook your head.

"Ever heard of umbrella?"

You never attempted to lash out at her -- solely because of knowing the fact that she would not care. But now, when she stood next to her latest boyfriend, vine in her hand and disinterest in her eyes, you just wanted to scream.

Every symptom of emerging emotional breakdown was on its way, and you knew, you had to get out of there. Not another word said, as you departed into your room. There was no energy to slam the door -- to give a little statement.

Throwing off the robe, along with the diploma, you laid down on the cold, wooden floor and closed your eyes. Five minutes, you just needed five minutes to gather your thoughts. You got four years left, in the same household. Then you would be free.

You never understood her stance. Why was it so easy to show to all of her dates and parties, but never to yours? When you stood on the stage, reciting your speech, you could see the numerous pairs of eyes of those proud parents.

You did want her to sit among them and weep.

You just want her there.

At this point, you would be grateful for anything. For the tinniest amount of your mother's affection that she so graciously gave to her boyfriends.

"Can I come in?"

The voice on the other side of your door pulled you out of your thoughts.

There he was her boyfriend.

You did not know why he knocked on your door and frankly, you did not care. He was going to be here long, there is no point in getting to know a temporary vise.

He could not overlook the redness in your cheeks and how swollen your eyes had gotten.

At that moment, you were thankful he decided to not care either.

Or perhaps?

"So, what food for the celebration?" he asked, trying to cheer up the mood, after a minute of an awkward silence.

You frowned.

"I was thinking, since it's raining, we could take a drive and pick up something for dinner."

There was an urge to leave the house, without a doubt. And you could either take a walk and come back soaked and cold, and mainly, hungry. Or you could follow him to the front door, watch him grab the cars keys and make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.

The further the house had gotten, the lighter your shoulders had become. The burden of your frustration kept following you everywhere, like an unwanted traveler. But now, you had a moment to breathe out a little, after everything that had happened today.

Even if it meant taking a ride with mom's newest obsession.

For a moment, you cursed yourself for not taking your phone -- since the first few minutes of your drive seemed awfully awkward. You could have at least pretended to read something profoundly engaging instead of staring out of the window, visibly trying to avoid his sight.

He was not very talkative, but still, had this odd aura that floated around the car. There was no tension, especially once he put a cassette in, having the tunes of Billy Idol fill out the space between the two of you.

He had a good taste, you thought. But still -- he was not going to be here longer than two weeks. Why invest your time, you thought.

"So, valedictorian huh?"

After ten minutes of the drive, he finally decided to break through the initial awkwardness.

You looked up from your sneakers, staring at him.

"It's just a stupid red diploma case, nothing else," you shrugged your shoulders, whilst rubbing your fingers, nervously.

He chucked, shaking his head.

"You cannot be so modest, c'mon," he so exclaimed enthusiastically, you found yourself staring at him, little taken aback. "I mean," he gave you a quick look, before locking the eyes with the green light, "You should give yourself a little credit. It is an achievement."

Somewhere, in the pits of your heart, under the walls you were forced the built, there was laying a part of you, wishing to hear this. Only if the source could have been your mother. She had these sweets words for everyone, but you. There was never an applause to be given -- not that you would be asking for it. But a little pat on the shoulder never hurt anyone.

But she never cared enough to do it. So, you settled yourself with the determination to do more, to try more. The desperation ran through your veins like fuel.

Despite the desire to hide it, his words brought a smile on your lips. With that, the awkward silence vanished, as you drove through the suburbs, with Billy Idol's White Wedding.

That evening, somewhere in the middle of ordering your victory dinner, you learned that his name was Joel. And for the first time, you caught yourself thinking that, perhaps, it would not be so bad if your mother's newest vise stayed for more than two weeks.

Over the summer, to your surprise, your mother and Joel had grown significantly closer, travelling almost all the time. You found a job at your local cinema -- with too much free time on your hand, you could have used it for something practical. Saving money was always a good choice. You spent your days watching the same comedy three times in a row, covered by the smell of cheese popcorn and splashes of coke on your sneakers.

Of course, your mother would stop by -- although, mostly to just repack and set off, again. Throughout the summer holidays, you hardly ran into each other. Usually, she left before you got home from work. She would leave a concise note on the fridge (or, if she was running late, a text message) stuck together with a small chunk of money.

As the days went by, you happened to notice the uneasiness that suddenly settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew the source very well -- the good, old, fear of missed opportunities.

It was supposed to be your last summer before high school, naturally, there was the teenage urge to do something memorable. Something, perhaps, completely out of your comfort zone.

And, as it turned out, your empty house presented an incredible opportunity.

Before this sudden urge to fit into your generation, you had never thrown a party. Frankly -- you had no clue how to throw one. Clueless to arrange but eager to learn, the help of your friends seemed as the best fit. As people more fitting for the extrovert description, it posed no issue for them.

Thus, the curse landed on your shoulders.

Certainly, you had no idea how quickly these thinks can come together. It took bunch of your friends, pack of plastic cups, one text message and before you knew, the beer was lined up by the front door and your suburban house was filled with at least thirty people from which almost a half of it were high schoolers.

Seniors, if you may add.

Quickly, they managed to turn your dining room into beer pong game hall, with liquid spilling all over your mother's expensive rugs. Only then, the feeling in your gut started to cry out for help. There were the warning signs, hanging in your mind -- but each one was followed by a cup of beer, until you found yourself looking for a balance.

You lost the track of time, somewhere between your cups, as well as of your friends. It was supposed to be one, welcoming drink. But the more your house turned into a trashcan, the bigger was the urge to kill the voice in your head, cursing you.

For being so reckless in the first place.

Before this spontaneous get together, you had not encountered alcohol -- certainly not in form as large as this one. Rules of drinking were unknown to you; not that you would be too intrigued about them, in your state.

In that moment, the only think you cared about was to stand on your own for more than two seconds. The world around you had become a little dizzy -- this state of being was completely new for you which was quite noticeable for the ones around you.

So, it happened to be a matter of time before one of the seniors posed himself as the knight in shining armor.

If only.

You were aware of his presence but paid no mind at first. After another lost round of beer pong (with no surprise, against him), you had decided to get yourself some water to freshen up. You had no desire whatsoever to lead a conversation with him, let alone anyone else. You wanted to stumble back to your bedroom, lock the door and sleep this off.

Unfortunately, in your current state, path to your bedroom down the hall felt like a ten-kilometer-long hike.

trigger warning for the part below

"Are you okay?"

He could not have asked more useless question. The false concern almost made you chuckle.

"I am absolutely perfect," you grinned your teeth at him.

"You should get some rest," he spoke, unsettling smile on his lips as he brought himself closer to you, locking your possible ways out.

He was much taller, undeniably stronger and determined.

Without a doubt, that was the worst combination.

"Thanks," a forced smile landed on your lips. You had to be smart about this, given his advantages. "But I should actually go and look for my friends."

There was an attempt to make a move, quick slip out of his claws.

You have not even fully tried it, he was already in your away, again.

"I can help you look," the creepiness of his smile imprinted on your brain. "We can search your bedroom first."

The gulp in your throat grew so big, you thought it was going to explode in your stomach, pulling everything out as well. The anxiety was circling throughout your body, up and down, the sweat was running down your shoulders, despite how cold the room had become. Every bone in your body, every nerve sent a signal into your brain.

The fear was going to swallow you whole.

You have never encountered a situation like this. The uneasiness that suddenly held so tight on you.

You could have screamed but what that be good for? Everyone around were too drunk to notice and too unbothered to care, anyways.

Or perhaps, there were exceptions.

end of the trigger warning part

Just not exactly those you would ask for, voluntarily.

You always knew that the universe had its ways to fuck with you.

But this time, this time, came the cherry on the top.

When the scream echoed around the house, buying you an escape from this situation, leaving him too shocked to notice, you ran into the shambles that once used to be your living room, coming face to face with universe's sense of humor.

Dressed in a police uniform, wearing your mother's boyfriend's face.

There he was, catching the sight of your drunken appearance.

"Oh, fuck."

Your stunned reaction came louder than you initially intended, reaching the wrong ends.

His end.

"Officer Miller, we arrived at the scene of disturbance, over..."

You mother's never mentioned his occupation -- not that you would be dying to know, but having this intel beforehand, before you had decided to tarnish your and your mother's reputation, could have been a little useful.

Now, there was no way back, as you watched three other police officers enter your nearly-destroyed house. The number of scenarios lined up in your anxious mind, one coming off worse than the previous. Frankly, just the idea of your mother receiving such phone call, interrupting her annual girls' trip, the wrath would be horrid.

After that, you would wish to be invisible, in her eyes.

You had no idea how these things work. Couple of your friends once mentioned how a party, they attended, ended being busted but the process was never shared. So, you stood there, as though your limbs had frozen, watching the cops escorting all of the kids outside.

He could have been an asshole -- with all due honesty, part of you thought he would be. Your self-made catastrophe presented an incredible opportunity to turn himself into a hero in your mother's eyes. Her brave vise that had stopped her adolescent daughter from drinking her brains out.

But when the distance between the two of you decreased and his hand landed on your arm, you founded yourself letting a sigh of relief escape through your lips.

You were not out of the woods yet.

As inconspicuously as one could, Joel walked you out of the filled living room and back into the kitchen. He was aware of the liquid courage running through your veins -- after all, he was a cop. This, most likely, was not his first rodeo.

Also, he was not an idiot.

Or so you thought, for now.

It all depended on the events that were about to unfold.

"Here," he mumbled, handing you a glass of tap water, "get some more, I will be right back."

Within a second, he was one foot out of the door.

"What now?" you called out, curiosity prevailing the fear for a glimpse of second.

"They'll do search up, so unless you wanna get your ass busted, you better stay here."

With that, he departed into the hallway, as you dissolved into your anxieties, chucking one glass after another, naively hoping the sobriety would arrive sooner.

Despite the conditions, your foggy brain was capable of holding onto the ends, getting the grasp of what was going on, from the pieces you had gathered. There had to be an advantage he had found in helping you out, you thought. The possibility of him acting on the goodness of his heart seemed too absurd to even consider.

All at once, every partner your mother had brought into your life was a copy of his predecessor. One shallow as the other, hollow and unauthentic as the one before. None of them, especially those who you once had decided to give a little faith, succeeded.

So as exaggerated as it may came to be, you could not let yourself get easily fooled. Despite the part of you that wanted to.

Undoubtedly, there was something about him, the warm your mother never had.

But once that you started building castles in the air, you knew it was over.

So, you had to snap out of your liquid-influenced thoughts and stood stern on the ground.

There was no time to be naive.

Especially, once the so-thought, banished glimpse of danger entered your space, again.

just in case, (last) trigger warning for part below

In all directions.

It still baffled you how tall and buffed he was -- he could surely pass for an adult. Adult that should have no interest in girl your age, but here he was. With that intense gaze, sheepish smile and hands that quickly found their way to your hips.

"Brought you something," he whispered, reaching into his back pocket.

He slowly reached closer, his breath brushing against your cheeks, as his hand slipped in the back pocket of your jeans, tucking something in. Only then, he pulled away, hands still resting dangerously close to your body.

"Your friend told me you're coming in September," he smiled. "Figured we could finish what we started."

In that moment, you were stone cold sober.

"I think you should go," you mumbled, rubbing your fingers. "The cops and everything.."

You had to find an easy way to let him down. Words from people like him, especially the fabricated ones, travelled faster than one would have wanted.

But he turned out to be too persistent for your abilities.

"Seriously, you're gonna get in trouble," you chuckled, as forcibly as one could, to shake off the fear.

He laughed, shaking his head.

The false care was the right string to pull, as he became more curious of the sounds coming from the living room. The voices layered over each other, mostly coming from the cops and their walkie-talkies.

He turned around, one last time -- and the second his face lowered to your height, the worst flew over your mind, as the fear squeezed you like a ball.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself wishing to throw up.

Right into his face, right all over him.

end of the trigger warning part

"What the hell are you doing here?"

But perhaps, digestive problems could have been postponed.

When you found officer Miller standing by the kitchen entrance.

Officer Miller.

You were not sure whether it was the alcohol or the bizarre nature of this situation, but there was an urge to laugh over this phrase.

How absurd, you thought, that of all people, your mother would decide to date a police officer? The more you thought about this, the more you reassured yourself that he, truly, was not her usual type.

Whether it was a good or bad thing depended on the following twenty minutes.

The obtrusive boy gave you one last, nightmarish smile, before he followed your mother's vise out of the kitchen. You could not shake off the feeling his intrusive actions had left on you -- the eerie look on his face, the smile of winner. For awakening the fear.

You wished for this situation to disappear, cursing yourself for ever having such ideas.

After a while, the house fell into silence. The sirens outside the front door started to disappear, along with the heavy steps and chatters. You could not even think of the consequences that would follow this dreadful idea.

The urge to throw up arrived again.

And the kitchen sink turned out to be the only available option. So, naturally, within a second, every liquid your body had absorbed tonight, ended up exactly there.

There was no point in asking if this situation could have gotten any worse.

Because it could.

In the middle of cleansing your organs, whilst your hands were gripping the edges of the kitchen sink, you heard the slam of the front entrance, before a set of footsteps headed towards you.

It really could get worse.

Hair disheveled, mind on a rollercoaster and balance slowly disappearing into the night. Your already skilled friends knew how to throw a party -- just did not give you the manual of processing one. For a moment, you wondered whether your cheeks were splashed by the water, or perhaps, if those were tears, running down your neck.

Nothing about this night you wished to treasure. And you knew that what was about to follow -- was right behind.

Literally.

The pat on your shoulder startled you, almost hitting your forehead against the kitchen cabinet above. Slowly, turning off the faucet, you took a deep breath, trying to keep your existence in one place -- in all senses.

Knowing your current state -- Joel chose to be careful with the physical closeness, moving his hand away as soon as the room felt quiet again. Letting you turn away on your own, he stepped back, remaining focused, just in case your balance would decide to betray you.

"Get some more water," he mumbled, hands on his hips, as he watched you jump up on the cabinet. "That ain't smart, doin' this, y'know."

"Do I look like someone who makes smart decisions?" you hissed, wiping away the drops on your chin. Perhaps, the liquid courage was awaking, you thought.

Sigh escaped through his lips, now formed into thin line.

"Where's your mom?" he asked -- stepping into his police officer demeanor, frowning.

You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders, leaving him more confused than before.

"You don't know?" you looked up, mockery tone now swallowing your voice. "I'm surprised, considering you know more about her whereabouts than I do."

The sentence left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

The frown has disappeared, as he stood there, noticing the shift in your attitude.

"Does she know?" he asked, after a moment.

The look in his face almost made you roll your eyes. It was the typical look of someone who was about to offer you a lecture no one had asked for. Considering your experience with your mother's temporary better halfs, Joel was just passing through. None of your mother's relationships passed the three months mark. He was about to be gone in a blink of an eye.

"Look, I am trying to help you--"

Now, there it was.

The sentence, all of them had practiced. The sweet-caring tone of his voice, the pitiful look in his eyes -- all of them were the same.

Or perhaps.

You could not bet on him.

"Okay," you mumbled, chuckling again. "Good for you."

Joel's frustration started to arise. You did not make it easy on him.

He shook his head, trying to maintain his patience.

"Listen, smart ass," he stepped closer, as the frown arrived again. Although, this time with disaffection. "An ounce of gratitude would not hurt you."

Bitting your lip, you got off the kitchen counter, now standing face to face with Joel. He was much taller, with broad shoulders -- he was the epitome of someone who tried to play the good cop.

"Okay, Joel," you whispered, deadly sarcastic.

It was a risky situation; you were well aware. But the events of this evening emptied the rest of your decency.

"Thank you for being such generous police officer, even though we both know your true intentions," you smiled and curtsied.

Now there it was.

The thin ice had been broken and Joel's patience ran over the edge.

"Excuse me?" he asked, offended.

"Excuse me," you whispered. "I've got a house to clean. So why don't you go ahead and give my mother a call? She'll be delighted."

Part of you knew that being this harsh could come back and bite you in the ass. Perhaps it was the defense mechanism -- your mother had never brought an exemplary man into your life. And if they happened to resemble one and you chose to believe it, they vanished into the thin air before you knew it.

You could not settle with the thought of Joel being an exception.

For your own good -- for the high hopes you would be willing to give him.

Joel stared at you for a little, without uttering a word. Which, you chose as an opportunity to leave this conversation for good.

But it took one step in your condition, for you to fall on your knees.

Howls of pain escaped through your lips.

And two steady hands pulled you back before you managed to smack your face against the cold, kitchen tiles.

"Fuck!"

Curse words were flying left and right, though Joel had decided to ignore that. He could have paid you back -- which you were kind of expecting. Instead, with one swift move, you were back on your feet, with Joel being the one responsible for your balance.

The world around became slightly dizzy. And, for a moment, it felt as though your limbs were made out of Jell-O. The funny bubbling in your stomach made you laugh.

"I think I am gonna throw up."

Was the last thing you whispered, before leaning against the floor, letting the remaining bits of alcohol depart on the tiles.

It was Joel who, once again, caught you in the last minute.

"You really are a fuckin´ pain in the ass, kid."

It really, really, could get worse.

#joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #the last of us au #au #pedro pascal x platonic reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x platonic reader #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 6 months ago

Text

Part VIII

Word count: 3700+

Warnings: mentions of tormenting, burning, swearing

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part VII | Part IX

"Tie her up to the chair."

Killian's cold voice bounced off the stone walls of dungeons. He hated this place. He felt like vomiting from the smell of urine, blood and death. He didn't have to come down here ever since his father died and how grateful he was for that. However, today he had a job to do here. Someone dared to try to kill a member of his family. It was unforgivable. He wouldn't let it go so easily and make the person pay for it.

He marched down the narrow hallway toward an open cell door. His eyes stopped at the door without grid at the end of the corridor, making the scars on his body itch. He couldn't even count how many days he spent locked there. Or his brothers.

He suppressed the urge to burn this place down and focused on the task at hand. Tied up in the chair sat a lesser faerie with brown skin that looked like fallen leaves, small horns on top of head and black bead eyes. These faeries were harmless and devoid of any significant magical powers. There was no need to use faebane on her.

She hissed at him to which he raised a brow. He had never seen her in the Forest House before. He stopped in front of her with his legs slightly apart and hands behind his back. He had a hard time to control himself. If he could, he would kill her right away and wouldn't waste time with tormenting her. Unfortunately, they needed all information she had because this had to be planned by someone else. Someone enough powerful to get her in.

"Let's start straight away, shall we. You answer my questions and you may live a day or two longer. If you don't answer, well.. I will have a lot of fun with you," he mused and allowed the fire in his veins to reach his eyes, playing with small flames between his long fingers.

Faerie spat on the floor too close to his shoes for his liking. "I won't tell you anything," she laughed.

"Yes, you will," he smirked, pushing off of the wall and stepping closer. Female in the chair frowned in concentration. Before he could put even a finger on her, she flared up like a torch with ear-splitting roar.

Killian tried to put out the fire, but this flames didn't obey him at all. He watched helplessly as she turned into a pile of ashes in a matter of seconds. What the fuck was that?

One of the guards came running with a bucket of water.

"It's too late, idiot," Killian grunted turning to the exit. "Clean it up."

The acrid smell of burnt flesh followed him long after he left the dungeons.

Waking up was like trying to get through too thick layer of ice. At least you finally could breathe even though your throat was sore, the sharp pain shooting in all directions every time you swallowed. You were shivering with terrible cold so much your teeth chattered.

"It's okay. I'm here," a deep voice spoke lowly as a warm, big hand squeezed yours, the other one gently landed on your forehead. The warmth spread to your body in a second. It felt so good that you moaned.

Your eyelids fluttered as you pushed them open. At first you saw nothing but light and shadows dancing around. As things came into focus you recognized your room and Eris leaning over you.

His red hair were messy as if he ran his hands through them at least hundred times, dark circles under worried eyes. He was still wearing the same clothes as at the party, now splashed with droplets of blood.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," he smiled kindly at you. "How do you feel?"

You blinked. How did you feel? You took a moment to check up with your body. You were tired, limbs heavy, but otherwise you were fine.

"I'm just little bit cold," you rasped and frowned.

"It's okay. Your throat will be sensitive for a while. The cold will eventually disappear, too." He helped you to sit up and put the mug with tea to your lips. You took a sip, the hot liquid warmed you from inside.

"What happened to me?"

Eris's features hardened, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flared up with anger so fierce you jerked.

"Someone tried to poison you," he said after he got his anger under the control.

Everything even your mind silenced for a moment. "Why?"

He shrugged and putting the mug down he looked to the side to the window. "That bitch killed herself before Killian got a single word out of her."

You swallowed heavily and frowned in pain.

"But don't worry. We checked all the staff in the castle and tightened security. It will not happen again."

He cleared his throat and turned back to you. He gave you a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. His hand again found yours as if he needed a physical reminder that you were still alive.

"Lay down. You need to rest. I'll stay here with you."

"I'm sorry.." Your lower lip quivered.

"What?" he looked at you confused.

"I'm so sorry. I ruined the party you prepared-"

He silenced you with one long finger pressed to your lips. "Don't. Don't ever say anything like that. It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong. I should have taken better care of you. If I hadn't momentarily lost you in a crowd, it wouldn't have happened. I'm the only one to be blamed for this outcome."

You shook your head, silver lining your eyes. He took a deep breathe and straightened.

"Let's change topic to something less.. traumatic," he smiled cheerfully and again it didn't reach his eyes. "You didn't even have a chance to open your present. Do you want to do it now?"

You sobbed quietly, but nodded anyway. Eris stood up, went to your vanity and took the small box. Mattress dipped down as he sat on its edge and handed you the present. His hand slightly trembled.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he muttered sadly and kissed the crown of your head.

With trembling fingers you untied the ribbon and opened it. On red velvet pillow rested a necklace with silver pendant of crescent moon with a star in the middle. In the center of the star a stone in the same colour as Eris's eyes flashed in the light. You gasped, tears rolling down your cheeks. I've never got a present yet something so beautiful.

"I saw you watching the night sky and wanted to give you something that would represent your home Court because you brought nothing with you from there. At least nothing nice."

"It's also a reminder of the place my.. happiness is coming from," he added almost inaudibly.

"It's beautiful," you sobbed and reached up for him. He hesitated for a moment, but then leaned in, allowing you to pull him down into a hug. As his head rested over your heart, he let out a contented sigh, squeezing you so firmly it almost hurt. "Thank you. It's the most beautiful gift I've ever got."

"No.. Thank you for staying here.. with me."

After that Eris urged you to take rest and you managed to persuade him to lay down, too, and rest with you.

Even with your fast healing it took a few days until you stopped shivering and were able to stand up from bed. Eris spent most of the time with you as your personal heater, but he couldn't postpone his High Lord duties for too long. When he had to leave, his place took Killian who seemed to feel miserable for what happened to you. It took you three hours to convince him to let it go and his trademark grin finally returned.

Except of the two of them only a healer was allowed to enter your chambers and you dearly missed Irene and Ellen who personally overlooked preparations of every your meal and brought it to you, leaving it in the sitting room.

When you grew enough strong to stand on your own, Eris and Killian returned to their duties and your dear friends were allowed to again take care of you. Their gloomy, worried expressions turned into tears of relief as soon as they stepped into your room. They ran to you and hugging you, swore to never leave your side again.

However after your close encounter with the death, something changed in you and you started to look for ways to get some time alone. Though it was quite a challenge. Eris really didn't lie about the tighter security. Irene and Ellen were practically glued to your side most of the day and guards stood even in the hallways and gardens now.

It was hard to escape them, but years spent in the shadows of Hewn City taught you how to stay unseen and unheard.

When you managed to get away, you looked for remote corners of extensive gardens and grounds around the castle. Grateful for moments spent in silence, you just wandered aimlessly around in the brisk air and enjoyed the bright colours of autumn.

Once you found a hidden path on the edge of the forest that seemingly led to the hills behind the castle. After following it for a while you got to ruins of something that at first glance looked like a temple. Fallen pillars and pieces of sandstone covered with moss and greenery lay scattered on the ground around, remains of marble statues peak from undergrowth. Without thinking about the possible dangers you wandered through the ruins, wondering to what god or goddess this temple used to be dedicated to. Your kind had excessively long lives, yet no one remembered the names of gods your ancestors worshipped. Maybe you could try to look for some information in the library when you would return back.

It was fascinating to watch falling leaves dancing through rays of light at this historic site. It filled your heart with similarly warm feeling you felt every time Eris was around. You stretched out your arms and danced with them, feeling light and laughing merrily for the first time since you were poisoned. You were so enchanted by looking up at that magical beauty that you hadn't even noticed you were surrounded.

A low growl caused your steps faltered and made you look down. A dog like creature blocked your way, showing off its sharp canines. You tried to carefully back out with raised hands, hoping it would let you go when you heard a snarl coming from behind you. You slowly looked over your shoulder just to find another few of them behind you.

You were surrounded by twelve of gray and sleek like smoke hounds that growled and slowly crept toward you enclosing the circle. There was no place you could escape to or climbed at. With racing heart you were counting your last moments in this world when a sound of whistle bounced off the stones. The hounds with pricked ears stilled and then barking dashed running toward the sound.

Relieved they were gone, you fell on your knees and covered your face with trembling hands. "Thank the Mother," you breathed out shakily in a tiny voice.

"Did you miss me, guys? Hm? Did you miss me?" A males voice spoke to them in baby talk.

Your face snapped up in shock. Your eyes met with Eris's and for a moment you gaped at each other. His face turned bright red like a tomato and he pinched the root of his nose, groaning.

"You.. heard it, didn't you."

"I think.. yes, I did."

"Fuck," he swore under his breath. "There.. nobody comes up here. Usually."

"They are yours?" You pointed to the scary creatures.

The hounds were jumping at him like overexcited puppies, asking for his attention.

"Well, yes, they are my smokehounds. This place is enchanted so no one can get to them. How did you break through?" He looked behind you. "And where are your maids? They should keep an eye on you, you know."

"I-I ran away," your shoulders slumped.

He came closer and sat down next you, bumping his shoulder lightly to yours while hounds gave you a questioning look.

"Something happened?" he asked kindly.

"No, not at all. They are great and I like them so much. I just.. sometimes I need a moment or two for myself."

He sighed heavily.

"I understand that, but I'll have to check the security nonetheless. At least guards should know-"

"It isn't their fault," you quickly said, looking at him, panicking that you caused problems for those people. "They are doing their jobs conscientiously."

"Well, apparently not when you manage to sneak out so easily," he raised a brow, amused. He wouldn't hurt them, that was clear.

You bit on your lower lip. "They are quite scary, aren't they," you tried to change topic and to your surprise it worked.

"They are the best hounds in Prythian, of course, they are scary."

"I've never heard about them," you admitted.

"How could you?" Eris snorted. "They are so highly prized that it's forbidden to give or sold them beyond the borders."

"Why? What's so special about them? Except of being scary."

"They are magical," he teased you and again lightly bumped your shoulder. You laughed with him. "That wasn't joke though. They have their own magic. They are extremely fast and can sniff out their prey no matter where it hides. Even on the other side of Prythian. They are beautiful creatures, don't you think?"

You weren't sure what to say. They really were nice hounds and their reaction to Eris was cute, but their strange eyes and the intelligence in them gave you chills. If Eris didn't appear so suddenly, they wouldn't hesitate to kill you.

"Do you want to meet them?"

You breathed in sharply. "I-.."

"Come! They won't hurt you, I promise." He helped you to stand up. Playful flames danced in his amber eyes as he took your hand and gently squeezed it, smiling like a small boy who was about to show you his biggest treasure.

Eris took out small silver whistle from his pocket and whistled long tone. The hounds lined up and sitting down waited for next command.

"See? I trained them myself. This is Egon," he started with the closest hound. "He comes from a bloodline that our family owns for generations. Birdie loves birds, preferably for lunch. Pilot usually takes the lead and Kama loves snuggles. She is like a mother of the whole pack. Ivory has the smoothest fur. Badger is a brawler and causes the most of the troubles. Takeo here is a real warrior. He once even engaged in fight with naga. Saved my ass, honestly. I was still too young and stupid back then. Greystone is.. simply Greystone. Ketch loves to play fetch. Lightening is the fastest of them. Patience is obviously the most patient one and Scotch ends any fight Badger starts."

Eris named hounds one by one, scratching every hound between ears as he introduced them. He was completely relaxed, unguarded. You'd never thought that grown male over 500 could be so carefree, boyish and playful. You tried to pay attention to his words, but his expression captivated you and in the end you couldn't take your eyes off of him.

"Good guys," he praised them and took out a bag of dog treats, giving one to each of the hounds.

"And now listen carefully." The hounds stilled, all eyes on him. "This is my wife, Y/N. You must not hurt her. Do you hear me? She is important." The hounds eyed you for a moment and sniffed the air. Then they barked once as if in agreement. You had to scoff at the absurdity of this dog's army. If you hadn't witnessed it, you wouldn't believe something like this is possible.

Eris laughed out at your reaction. Then as if he got some exciting idea, his lips twisted into wolfish grin. "Do you want to touch them?"

"I'm not sure..," you stuttered and took a step back, but his hand didn't allow you to get too far.

"It's fine. Kama, come here." One of the hounds separated from the pack and came closer, panting.

"Go on," Eris challenged you.

You couldn't and didn't want to tell him no. Slowly you crouched down until you were on a same eye-level with the strange creature. Hound's icy coloured eyes watched you, calculating. It was nerve wrecking. You slowly reached out but didn't touch her yet. The hound called Kama sniffed your fingers curiously and then snuggled to your hand. You hesitantly petted her. Kama stepped closer resting head on your skirt. Before you knew, you were surrounded by twelve hounds that pushed and snarled at each other just to get scratched between ears by you. You giggled petting as many heads as you could reach in that chaos.

Eris was watching you with an affection and a wide smile on his lips. He seemed to be mesmerized by the picture of you surrounded by his pets. After a while he searched his pockets and took out old looking ball. The hounds were immediately at his legs, jumping up to get to the ball. He threw it into the ruins and they dashed after it.

"I always have one with me just in case," he blushed. He took a step towards the ruins and you followed him.

"What is this place?"

Eris shrugged. "I'm not sure, but it looks like temple, don't you think? I found it by accident when I got lost as a child. Ever since then, I like to come here when I need to think or just to be alone. That's why I keep my hounds here, too."

"It's magical."

Eris just nodded. "I started to feel some kind of ancient energy here when I got older. I guess that's what attracts me to this place so much. But since I've became a High Lord, I feel that energy even more intensively. It literally pulses through the ground under our feet. I wish you could feel it, too. It's like..," he shook his head and sighed. "There aren't words that could describe that feeling."

You could feel the magic that he spoke about. You didn't know if it was the exactly same thing as he felt, but it was like walking in a stream of fresh mountain water. It flowed through ground and the remaining stone, vibrating and pulling you deeper to the ruins. Hand in hand you followed it, occasionally disturbed by the hounds with their ball.

You took turns throwing the ball to them, wandering through the ruins. Words weren't important. It was pleasantly spent time and exactly what you needed the most. Eris wasn't trying to pull you to conversation, seemingly enjoying the silence and your company as much as you did. As sun started to set to the horizont he sighed heavily.

"We should head back. It's getting late."

He apparently didn't want to go back nor did you. You loved to spend time with him in general, but this afternoon was even more precious to you. Eris was himself here. No masks, no pretending, no holding back. You could see his real self and hated the idea it should be again hidden somewhere where you couldn't even catch a glimpse of it. You wished this moment would never end.

Maybe that was the reason why you dared to step to him and embrace him, resting your face on his chest. He stiffened, even his heart fell out of its rhythm. But when he finally moved, his arms squeezed you so firmly you couldn't move even if you wanted to. His head fell forward, resting on top of yours. As if it was meant to be like this all the time, it felt so right that it drew a moan from the both of you in the same moment. His fingers entwined with your hair, holding your head from behind and tugging you even closer. Meanwhile your hand rubbed up and down his back in a lazy circles.

When you at last pulled away enough to look into each other's eyes, he breathed in shakily.

"There's something I-," his mouth moved without a sound. It seemed that he desperately needed to tell you whatever he had on tip of his tongue, but instead he only pressed his lips together, jaw tightening and shook his head. "No, that's nothing."

"What is it?" You pressed him, wanting to hear it. He only shook his head again.

"Maybe some other time."

His lips pulled into a sad smile. Taking your hand he led you down the secret path to the gardens. Near the closest castle gates he halted, remembering something important and turned to you. He was about to speak when a servant dashed from the castle, running to you.

"Your Lordship, I'm so sorry to disturb you, but they are looking for you. It's urgent." He came closer and whispered something to Eris who frowned.

"My apologies, but I have to go now. Go straight inside, no more walks today." And he was gone. Sighing you followed after him and went looking for your maids.

The very next day in the morning Irene and Ellen burst into Eris's office, the tears staining their faces.

"My Lord! She is gone," they sobbed.

"What? Who?" frowning he looked up from the documents, confused.

"Y/N! We went out for a walk as every morning."

"We just stopped to pick up some of her favourite flowers for bouquet to her room and she was gone. We looked everywhere, but no one seems to catch even glimpse of her." They cried one over the other.

Pale Eris was at once on his legs, hand already on handle. "Show me where it happened! Quickly!"

On the way out he almost knocked down Killian who was about to open the doors. The papers he held flew into the air, floating to the ground all around them, but nobody cared about it at the moment.

"Y/N is gone! I want every man out looking for her," he shouted at surprised Killian and dashed off with maids at his heels.

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midnight1nk · 28 days ago

Text

If you all were familiar with my analysis of the flareglow mystery, then you would also know how batshit crazy I was over the username changing on the steam page when it happened a few weeks ago. That's right, we're at it AGAIN! Ink Chasing Wild Goosechases 2: Electric Boogaloo ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Am I serious about this? Yes.

Would this be just as pointless as flareglow? Oh yeah, for sure—

Mystery of the SMG43 Steam Username

⚠️ DISCLAIMER IN INTRO POST ⚠️

CONTEXT

For the new year 2025, I had to start with a theory, obviously. The only unfortunate part was that it had to be flareglow *war flashbacks ensue* but it can't be posted without its twinning mystery of the SMG4 Steam page. Well actually, it's the "Not SMG3. Stop looking deep" Steam page as it currently says, quite a mouthful.

If you somehow didn't know about what's going on with steam, I might as well copy+paste from the quick overview I did (og link):

⭐️ the steam account the Team had (y'know with the GMod models), the username originally was "Glitch Productions" since the SMG4 show is under their company ⭐️ then that username was suddenly changed to "SMG3" with no explanation and no new thing added to the workshop

⭐️ now naturally, the fans were like "was it a hack?" or "was it a glitch from Steam itself?" or "is this a troll?" Basically no one knew, merely speculated (and certainly no one gave us any answers) ⭐️ As for what I thought, it seemed really weird to just change the username. Much more could've been done to the account and yet nothing else happened, which is why I thought the username change must've been done intentionally by the Team (especially bc of the flareglow mystery happening right around the same time as this). ⭐️ THAT is when Cube finally came out with that tweet saying that the Steam thing "didn't mean anything significant" and around the same time, the Steam username changed again to "Not SMG3. Stop looking too deep"

⭐️ Again, nothing new was added to the workshop or profile. The only thing that changed was the username. ⭐️UPDATES⭐️ as of today, there haven't been any changes to the username (I was really hoping that they did, we'll talk about it soon)

Very curious, indeed. ...we DON'T talk about Ben trolling. let's not.

"But what does that mean for us?"

As much as flareglow is a hit-and-miss, there is a big chance that the Team has made these changes intentionally.

REASONING (+ REBUTTAL)

Before we can go over the theories (patience friends), we have to knock out the logical explanations for this:

Nothing Significant

That's it. What Cube said, it didn't mean anything significant. It can be so stupid that it could literally just be the Team wanting to see the fandom notice. For the sillies. Which is basically...

Just a Troll

Whoever changed the username, whether it was the Team or a hacker, they just wanted to make a harmless joke. It's pretty well known that the Team likes to troll with us every now and then.

Looking directly at Ben rn

I mean, we did get word from the Team addressing it, right? Case closed, pack it up. Right?

...And here's where it all comes crashing down:

Out of all the platforms, Steam was chosen. We are all familiar with how the Team likes to tease us for future arcs, one way or another. The most well-known is the banner changing in YT and other socials, but not Steam. The only other time Steam was involved that I could think of was during the Western Spaghetti arc, the train ARG map.

This is CUBE we're talking about. This is the same guy who likes to troll us, aside from Ben. Remember back when the PV website had the "That's all folks!" gif before changing it for WOTFI '24 with Ringmaster 4? Cube tweeted "I used the same website host don’t read into it too much". And THEN when it changed again with "4" being unmasked as Mr Puzzles, all Cube responded was "🥰". Cube, Ben, the whole Team is aware that we pay attention to these kinds of things. The PV website brought attention to WOTFI, it's only natural that the Team wanted us to pay attention to Steam for a reason. Not to bring flareglow into this HOWEVER, don't you find it curious that Cube questioned flareglow before the official comment but didn't do it for Steam? Not to mention the wording being completely off in the official. "doesn't mean anything significant" sounds very much like "don't worry about it :)", even if it turns out to be something dumb. It would've been so easy to say "it's just a troll".

The fact that the username chosen isn't the issue, it's why it was chosen to begin with. Even if you don't consider SMG3's internal fear of never being remembered or loved (4's "pathetic copy"), their names are almost identical from one number away. It seems pretty harmless. But how the hell did the jump go from "Glitch Productions" to "SMG3"? It could've been "SMG4" and have the fans second-guessing. OR use any of the other character names like SMG1 and 2. Now, the counter-rebuttal could be that "it fits 3's character", some fans have commented that "it's Youtube Arc all over again". Fair enough, I thought it could be a sweet callback. BUT (countercounter-rebuttal) it still didn't make sense. If 3 wanted to be discreet about it with a smoother transition from "Glitch Productions", he could've changed it to "Snitch Productions" (also a good callback). And if you think they don't remember that, the Team placed a poster of the logo in 3's room.

There's no clear motive. Like I said in number 3, there's no motive as to why 3 would change it. Well, if it was him. Bringing back to the PV website example, there was a conundrum on why Ringmaster 4 would be asking fans for WOTFI challenges when the Crew and 4 himself had no idea about Puzzle Park. I've predicted before that someone (in this case Mr Puzzles) was impersonating as Ringmaster 4 to confuse the fans and reusing his website for a new purpose while the real 4 wouldn't have any idea. Steam would be the same way; someone with access could easily change the username at will and decide to impersonate 3. And who else had access in the past? *cough cough* ARG map *cough cough*

The timing of these changes. Besides the "SMG3" username change, there's the second username change, claiming that it's "Not SMG3". In hindsight, that doesn't seem like a big deal but the whole thing has been going on for over 2 WEEKS. In their universe, if 3 was joking around and assuming that 4 regained control of the page, the question is why didn't 4 change it back to the OG username? In ours, the Team already knows that the fans noticed the change so why don't THEY change it back?

(BONUS: if I wasn't clear before, it can't be a hacker) If their Steam account was hacked, the first thing they wouldn't think to do would be to change the username. You would have to think like a criminal to understand what I mean. Strike big and fast, leave nothing to chance. Even if this "hacker" wanted to troll around, there would be no reason to change it to "SMG3". I would've expected a keymash or something inappropriate. And again, the Team could've addressed this in a more serious tone and brought the OG username back.

Logic Chess babyyyyy (and I'm eating the pieces)

THEORY TIME

This is it! Before I go on though, I want to state that we're gonna treat flareglow and steam as TWO separate mysteries due to the uncertainty that still lingers with the Spotify situation. Spotify simply sucks. (also let's not bring the nightmare of a song in here.)

Now, the moment you're all waiting for, cue the intro:

Each one will be based on a single element I nitpicked from the whole mystery. It'll be up to you whether or not a few relate to each other, and ofc if you believe any of it. They're simply my "interpretations". At the end would give my overall theory (but I don't think I need to).

"Nothing Significant"

Let's go in the opposite direction Cube has told us. The Team planned to bring attention (and it worked) for a reason, likely for a future arc. Though the username was the only thing that changed on the page, a new item/addon can drop in the workshop as the Team did for the ARG Map. As of the time I'm writing this, nothing has... yet.

It doesn't matter who was responsible for this in the SMG4 universe, SMG3 is involved in the situation voluntarily or by force.

Who's Really Behind the Screen?

First off, we would need to know who had access to the Steam page, and the channel in general if needed. By the roster we got, it would be 4, 3, and Mr Puzzles.

4 wouldn't make sense right away due to lack of current motive, so he's off the murder board... for now

3 might be taking care 4's account while our blue meme lord isn't around, similar to how 3 has during the IGBP arc (most notably the "Announcement..." video). As to why 4 isn't around, it's still too early to call. Either (1) 4's taking a vacation or (2) 4's in danger.

Then if it's not 3, that leaves Mr Puzzles. "But Mr Puzzles is in solitary confinement" Then answer me how Mr Puzzles was able to upload the ARG map without having to access it through 4's PC for Western Spaghetti. Or setting up the live stream for IGBP. Oh, he'll find a way. Besides, we thought Marty would be in jail forever and yet here we are.

Let's talk about motive: out of all three, Puzzles is the only one who currently has a motive. And I mean CURRENTLY. The year just started after all. If any of them get pushed over the edge, pressing the right buttons, 4 and 3 can get one too.

Aside from this, I see the two strange usernames as a sort of conversation:

These were made by two different characters in a dire hostage situation. Person 1, the victim, made the "SMG3" username to call for help to 3 or the victim being 3 himself through Steam to not bring TOO much attention but enough to get someone to notice. Person 2, noticing this later, quickly deflected and changed it to "Not SMG3" and told anyone who saw it to "Stop looking too deep". Almost like a warning.

These are two characters controlling one body AKA possession. Just like number one, Person 1 is calling out for help and Person 2 is trying to damage control and deny it. Except the host character is denying that anything's wrong with them and excuses it like they're sick or something.

Again, these two are how I interpreted but they're not the only ones.

Timing

So... about that hunch. Yeah, it was entirely based on the timing of these changes happened. I found it strange that just as the Team was coming from their break and getting back to work, both flareglow and steam mysteries occurred. And after the comment they left on the New Year's special, something was up according to past Ink.

So, thinking back to how the second username said "stop looking too deep", I kept track of the days the usernames stayed up online. I thought that the answer didn't have to be complicated at all. No ARG, no secret decoding. Basic math. If including the end date in the calculation:

"SMG3" = 3 days

"Not SMG3. Stop looking too deep" = 19 days (as of today)

And this could lead to two things:

(to get this out of the way) it could be a series of numbers we could use for a future password. Similarly how typing "carnival" from the associated episode at the time unlocked the PV website with Ringmaster 4. And the WOTFI website is still up soooooo.....

and now my hunch *sigh* the numbers could be a date for a future arc/event. It was already strange that it dropped days before the first episode of 2025, it then became stranger when the second username is still up to this day. Using the first username, the 3 days would translate to the 3rd month (March) and naturally, the second username, it would translate to the day. If you had known me, then you would've known how I exploded when I realized what big event also happened in March. When the world was never the same again. That's right: It's Gotta Be Perfect (18th of March). Yes, my hunch was goop!4 all along and the date would've been solid evidence that it was gonna come true. Big surprise coming from me. And I said, WOULD'VE because as you can see, we passed those 18 days. Yep, my hunch was just as it was, a load of shit 😔 Still, not all is lost, it could still lead to a date. March has 31 days so if the username changes anytime between now and Day 31, then this would still make it entirely possible.

The Final Theory

Here we are: what I believe what's going to happen in the future of the show. Having all the speculations in one pile made me realize that Cube may be right all along.

Why would it be anything significant when we already knew the answer?

If any of you were veteran followers of mine, first off thanks for sticking with me and my insane ramblings, and two, you might recall one of my first theories. The true first, in fact.

Made before WOTFI 2024, I theorized that the Puzzlevision Arc would come full circle, based on past arcs and hidden details, and it'll all end with an IGBP sequel (link to OG). Though it's dated, a lot of it still stands and in fact, there's even more evidence to support it. WOTFI 2025 arc, The Mario PC Virus, Mario reacts to the Best 2024 Memes. It all keeps coming back.

In the PV arc, Mr Puzzles did indeed launch his streaming service Puzzlevision. And ever wondered what happened to it? 🤔

"Take it from us! The food here is a must, In addition with your ticket, you get PuzzleVision+"

[Mind-controlled Crew // WOTFI 2024]

I suppose it's time for a name change:

PUZZLEVISION+ : NOW AIRING

And that means, goop!4 is still real 🎉 Only this time, Mr Puzzles would destroy the Crew without hesitation. Death, torture, and trauma? It's good entertainment after all. And for that, he would have to be calculated in his plans.

For PV+, he would have to get rid of Mario somehow for always ruining his plans

Western Spaghetti would also get a sequel, but he would have to get rid of Tari to drive Meggy fully insane (the betrayal from WOTFI).

and last but not least, IGBP. Mr Puzzles and 4: narrative foils, two sides of the same coin. Where it all started, it ends here. But if he wants to ensure his chances, Puzzles would have to get rid of 3, the one who saved 4 the first time. (See where I'm going with this?)

We already knew goop!4 and Mr Puzzles' return will eventually happen, the hints are all there, so there shouldn't be any surprise when it does. Nothing significant. But of course, our Crew would get through this, to quote Boopkins from IGBP:

“Love wins! Love always wins!”

[’It’s Gotta Be Perfect’ // timestamp 28:56]

Indeed, love has unironically the power the Crew needed to beat the countless battles they've encountered. Even if it comes with a price, love always remains.

And this also means we might get WOTFI Heist 2 WOOHOO

But hey, that’s just a theory…

AN SMG4 MINI-THEORY

🎶Thanks for dropping by🎶

Now if you excuse me, I'm gonna strangle the Team rn /silly

#smg4 #smg4 theory #Goop!SMG4 #ink rambles #dude it's been such a long time since I said the “theory” line #anyway *dunks this into the trash bin*#also first day back to class i'm tired af

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homelanderbutbig · 8 months ago

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I Love You Too (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2248 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Beginnings of a relationship.

When you and Homelander officially became a couple.

Homelander has had this event burned into his brain, how exactly he wanted it to go. It would be like a scene straight out of the movies. You would be whisked away to a secluded beach by a horse-drawn carriage, where a private band would be playing your favourite song. You would walk along the rose petal covered sand to his waiting arms, where he would confess his love for you. You would return his feelings, and ask him to be your boyfriend. Of course he would graciously say yes, as if this wasn't all a part of his master plan. Lastly, you would kiss him as doves fly above your heads, and the starry sky is filled with fireworks.

He's been plotting like a madman all week, doing his damndest to set this up. A fairytale beginning to a relationship with you, as is befitting of a man of his impeccable standards.

And yet, just like everything else in his life, nothing ever goes as he plans. The people he's placed his faith in to get this together for him are not living up to his expectations. He's spending more and more time trying to fix their mistakes, to the point where it's consuming his every waking thought. Every failure keeps eating away at his resolution, to the point where he doesn't know if he should even go through with it anymore. If it isn't perfect, would you even accept his passionate admissions?

He's been avoiding you all day. It's a reality that's pretty hard to miss, considering he's the tallest man you've ever known. As the face of Vought's superhero team, the absence of his presence is odd. Or at least, it's odd that he seems to solely be eluding you. You happened to ask some of your co-workers who confirmed that Homelander was in fact in the Tower today, only furthering your suspicions. At least something serious didn't happen to him, but it doesn't make you worry any less that something's wrong.

When your shift ends in the evening, you do as you normally would and take the elevator up to his penthouse. You weren't certain that he would be there, but you're relieved to see him sitting on his couch in the living room. Regardless, he isn't his normal cheery self. He is a bundle of nerves taken the form of a man; his body language is so tense it's almost as if he hopes you'll leave by ignoring you. But you aren't that easy to deter.

"Hey Homelander, I didn't see you today. I was worried," you remark while you hop up onto the couch, taking your seat on the cushion next to him. He still won't acknowledge you, instead looking down at his fidgeting thumbs. His eyes are red and puffy; evidently he's been crying alone, only furthering your concern that there's something significant bothering him.

"You look like you have something on your mind," you say, tilting your head up at him. You place a hand on his thigh, as is customary when you need to coax the worries out of him. "It must be pretty important if you didn't want to talk to me about it. You know you can tell me anything, I won't judge you."

"I-I…" he starts, but quickly cuts himself off. His breathing stutters as he attempts to steady his composure. This was not how he wanted this moment to happen, with him grovelling at your feet and you holding the power over him. He is the world's strongest supe; he is the one who should be in control, not you, a measly human.

"I'm here for you, take your time," you reassure him, grasping his index and middle finger with your hand. Those two big fingers are all that will fit in your palm, but you still squeeze with all your might, making sure that he feels your encouragement.

Glancing down at you, Homelander feels a small spark setting his heart aflame. Your eyes, shining so brightly, remind him of why he's even in this current position. Why he's been fretting in secret all week. That boost of confidence has returned, as it initially did when he first wanted to even plan all this.

This is his only chance.

"I… I-I… I l-love you…" he finally blurts out, immediately shutting his eyes tight as the weight of his words hits him like a ton of bricks. The regret is instantaneous, his self-consciousness wasting no time at eating away his bravado. He can't believe he actually said it. He's just exposed the only weakness an invincible supe like him has, his desire for your acceptance.

The silence in the penthouse is deafening. And to make matters worse, you haven't said 'I love you' back. You aren't saying anything. Why aren't you saying anything? All he wants right now is to get up and fly away, far far away, but he can't. He can't do anything but sit and let his anxiety overtake his body, freezing him solid.

This was not the problem you were expecting was plaguing Homelander's mind. He got himself this worked up… over you? But then you start to really think about it. How close you've gotten to him over these last few weeks, and how your friendship has blossomed into something much more. He makes you happy by just grinning down at you when you visit him. It brightens up your day talking to him, seeing his canines poke out when he smiles, and hearing his heartfelt laughs as he listens to your every word. You can't help but think about him even when he's gone. The way that, despite your immense height difference, you've never felt more in sync with anyone like you do with him. It's as if he completes you, and makes you whole. He fills a part of you that's always felt empty.

You know you feel the same way he does. You know what you have to do.

Carefully, you maneuver yourself to kneel on top of his lap so your face is directly in front of his, completely catching him off-guard. He wasn't expecting this sudden seizure of control from you, but he raises his large hands to your back to keep you from falling off. At least now he's mentally back down to earth, focusing on your every move.

You are so close that you can see the worry etched into every nook and cranny of his face. His blue eyes are wide and twitching subtly, his eyebrows are pinched together stiffly, and his lips are quivering from what he's hoping will happen next.

"I… I love you too", you state matter-of-factly, unable to hide your smile at how his childlike innocence is peering straight back at you. At how nonchalantly you've shaken him straight to his core with four simple words.

And with your final devious chess move, you lean forward to kiss him.

You expected this to be a short and sweet smooch to affirm the beginning of your relationship. However, the second Homelander feels your lips he cannot help but push for more, so desperate for your affection. He's nearly moaning from the flood of intense emotions churning inside him, the bubble irrevocably bursting from the moment that he's been waiting for all night. You love him too, how can he not react so strongly? His kiss is forceful, almost like he's trying to smother you with his love, just so there's nothing else you'll ever think about but him.

You struggle to articulate even a basic sentence against his mouth, desperately swatting at his chest to get his attention. You lack the strength to hurt him, but luckily he still notices your light thumps against his suit and reluctantly pulls back.

Your face is flushed and breathing haggard, having been left flustered from how you were unable to fight against him proving his devotion. Not only are his lips twice the size of yours, but you also couldn't back away with his immovable hands keeping you in place. Just another little reminder of the disparity between Homelander and the rest of humanity; you truly are utterly powerless compared to the eight foot tall indestructible superhero you're currently seated on.

His jaw becomes rigid as he stares at your expression, until he looks away when he can no longer take in the fear he perceives. Tears are once again welling up in his eyes, his ears are ringing loudly, and his heart is freefalling down into the pit of his stomach. He's fucked up. He's ruined the moment. He's shown you the monster that lurks within himself, the one that can never be satiated.

But despite it all, despite his inner turmoil, despite the voices in his head telling him your relationship is over before it even got started… he feels you place a hand on his cheek.

Your demeanour is the opposite of Homelander's. What you see in front of you is a man fighting to keep the tears from falling, so broken from a deficiency of love. A man who could never stop those he cherished from abandoning him when he gave them his heart on a silver platter. What he sees in front of him is the only person in the world who cares enough to stay.

"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere. That kiss was… was just a bit too much for me," you explain sympathetically, using your fingers to wipe away the tears that dare stain his beautiful face. You can sense the tension ease ever so slightly with each touch to his cheeks as he revels in the feeling of your soft skin. He can't say he's felt someone touch him so sweetly like that in a long time.

"Do you wanna kiss me again?" you ask, repositioning both of your hands to stroke along his jawline. Always chasing after your affections, he leans closer towards you and gives a very hesitant nod, apprehensively swallowing hard from the thought of what he should be anticipating.

"Let's do it more like this," you whisper as you move forward to kiss him. This time you take the lead, purposefully going slow and delicate. He follows your pace instantly, eyes fluttering closed while he sinks into your lips like you hold all the power in the universe.

Homelander's never been kissed like this before, without a proverbial carrot being dangled in his front of his face. Whenever there's a scrap of romance on the line he always must face a thousand trials, go through a series of tests that he must pass without any errors lest it be withheld from him. But not now. Your kiss provides him with the love and care he's fought his whole life for, the tenderness he's always dreamed of experiencing. And you are reciprocating his wants, his needs right back.

Lifting your hands up to his hair you start combing through his undercut, giving him the little scratches that you know make him feel good. A whimper builds from deep in his throat as you run your nails along his scalp, and it doesn't take long for his whines to evolve into flat-out purring.

Eventually, he breaks the kiss to bury his head into the crook of your neck, savouring the way you scratch his hair. His deep voice rumbles through your body as he nuzzles himself further into you, emitting content hums while he melts into your warmth. If there's a heaven, Homelander thinks he's found it.

He wraps his arms around your back, spreading his fingers along your shoulders as he pulls you closer. He embraces you firmly, but not enough that you feel immobile. He's learned his lesson not to make you feel like you can't escape from his grasp, he wants you to be comfortable with him.

"You know, you don't need to do some grand display to show me that you love me," you comment softly. "You do it every day, just by being yourself. And that's enough. You will always be enough."

Your words are like honey to his ears, almost enough to make him start crying again. When he's with you, he feels a level of trust that he can't put into words. You understand him better than anyone else ever could. He's safe with you, as you are with him.

"I-I… love… you," he mumbles quietly, still having a bit of trouble getting that sentence out. It's been such a long time since he's said that, and truly meant it.

"I love you too," you chuckle, kissing the top of his head.

"I… love you," he replies, feeling confidence build up within himself once more. This phrase is starting to not be so hard to say, each time you say it back.

"I love you too," you respond, beaming when you sense a shy grin forming on your shoulder.

The two of you repeat this back and forth for a while, until your words blend together into one, and you fall asleep in each other's arms. This might not have been the way Homelander wanted this evening to go, but somehow… it feels right. In its own special way, it turned out better than he could have ever imagined. Because despite the tears and anxiety, from this moment on, he no longer has to cast his love out to an neverending abyss of hate. Now, he has someone to answer his call.

He has you.

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing

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offtorivendell · 4 months ago

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Truth-Teller, Gwydion and Illyrian Runes... or are they actually Wyrdmarks?

This post was written for @azrielappreciationweek Day 7 - Free

Disclaimer: as always, this is just a theory that I think is fun and it makes no claim of being canon. It's definitely entering crack theory territory. This post also isn't Azriel specific - it's more about the dagger he has used for centuries and how it may tie into the Maasverse, or Prythian's plot, as a whole than Azriel himself. I know it's Azriel Appreciation Week, but this is his dagger, at least currently, so I feel like it's okay. It also rambles a bit, sorry.

Spoilers: there are big, huge, massive Maasverse spoilers ahead, so please beware.

Other posts about Azriel and/or Truth-Teller you might find relevant:

Why is Azriel so different? On Dusk, Hel and the Valg

What if Azriel - or his Shadows - are Made Beings?

Azriel could be Koschei’s heir; a crack theory

Shadows, siphons and fog; has something happened in Velaris?

Powerful Heirlooms and the Four Treasures of the Tuatha de Danann

Does Truth-Teller portend a future relationship between Azriel and Elain Archeron? Especially the first section, about Fragarach inspiring TT.

The possible significance of Azriel and Elain Archeron, the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, the paired blades Gwydion and Truth-Teller, and thin places; a theory - in particular the section about the two Made blades.

Love it or hate it - though personally, I love it for many reasons - we all know about the "Truth-Teller scene" in ACOWAR. While I do think it will end up being incredibly crucial and symbolic for Azriel and Elain Archeron as a couple (you may disagree of course), I also think there is a good chance that its importance to the overall plot was intentionally highlighted by its inclusion in the ACOTAR colouring book, which is what I hope to discuss here (plot, not romance, though as this is romantasy I do think the couple will be reflected in the plot/vice versa).

Here is the passage again, to refresh your memory:

Viviane stepped in, offering a Winter Court fashion that was far less scandalous: leather pants, but paired with a thigh-length blue surcoat, white fur trimming the collar. In the heat, it’d be miserable, but Elain was thankful enough that she didn’t complain when we again emerged from the covered wagon and found our companions waiting. She refused the knife Cassian handed her, though. Went white as death at the sight of it. Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. “This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.” His wings had healed—though long, thin scars now raked down them. Still not strong enough, Madja had warned him, to fly today. The argument with Rhys this morning had been swift and brutal: Azriel insisted he could fly—fight with the legions, as they’d planned. Rhys refused. Cassian refused. Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he’d chain Azriel to a tree. And Azriel … It was only when Mor had entered the tent and begged him—begged him with tears in her eyes—that he relented. Agreed to be eyes and ears and nothing else. And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming … Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. “It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.” “I—I don’t know how to use it—” “I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I stepped closer. Elain weighed my words … and slowly closed her fingers around the blade. Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade— Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife. Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife. Paint that when we get home. Busybody. - ACOWAR, chapter 69

I have previously theorised that Truth-Teller may have pierced the veil of Prythian's world in order to let Elain shadow walk through the murky realm/void to save Nesta and Cassian at the end of ACOWAR - which of course parallels Azriel's threat to "slip into shadow and fight anyway" - but it also ties into the power that Truth-Teller and Gwydion/the Starsword can activate together: instead of opening a portal to somewhere, as a few of us had previously theorised about Truth-Teller alone, we learnt in HOFAS that the dagger and sword will open a portal to nowhere.

A black hole... or a Void?

@wingedblooms has previously suggested that the woman on the cover of HOFAS, who had runes - or were they really Wyrdmarks? - down her arms, may be Wyrd, and I agree. We would both especially love it if Wyrd was the secret language of the universe - the language spoken by shadow, wind and stone, or even what Singers used to cast spells - because how much would that make sense? It would also tie TOG in with a tidy bow, given the importance of Wyrd, Wyrdmarks, Wyrdkeys and Wyrdgates to Aelin's story.

But it could get wrapped up even tidier. I hope.

The markings on Truth-Teller's sheath

Take a much closer look at the "Illyrian runes" on Truth-Teller's scabbard, the runes that SJM made sure existed in print, in May 2017 (the colouring book was published the same day that ACOWAR came out, on the 2nd of May).

But back to the runes.

Do you see what I see?!

They are so similar to the runes on HOFAS' cover that it cannot be coincidental? I acknowledge that they're not identical, but they pass the vibe check.

A. I've previously discussed the possibility of the first rune on the HOFAS cover being derived from the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, and that it might have been indicating the two Made blades, Gwydion and Truth-Teller, coming together to create a portal to nowhere. @wingedblooms has also brilliantly suggested that it could be depicting the three mountains of the Night Court, or even the three sister peaks. But do you see the similarity with the top rune(s) on Truth-Teller's scabbard? The dot and two ^ type markings come together differently, but imo the components are still there.

B. This portion is the weakest link for sure, not least because there are more runes on the woman's arm than Truth-Teller's sheath - and I'm no artist so my opinion definitely comes with a huge heaping of salt (if anyone wants to weigh in then please do!) - but I can see similarities in the elements of certain runes. If I put my clown hat on then the spiral could be referring to a vortex/portal, and the marking half hidden by the O could be depicting a ship... you know, like those names after the Archeron sisters.

C. The two opposing triangles on Truth-Teller could be referencing the diamond on the woman's forearm and the crescent moon shape half hidden by Azriel's thumb could potentially be linked with the crescent moon shape above the diamond. Could the diamond on each of her forearms be suggesting siphons, like those worn by Azriel and Cassian? And is the crescent moon referring to the Mother, or Wyrd? SJM paralleled siphons and invoking stones were in ACOSF, was she hinting that the Illyrians and the priestesses all serve Wyrd in the end?

If I'm correct - a big "if" - the difference in runes, or Wyrdmarks, could be down to one of a few potential reasons (though the following list is not exhaustive):

It was always intentional so we wouldn't piece it together too easily.

The almost seven year gap between ACOWAR and the colouring book coming out in 2017, and HOFAS in 2024. Things change.

The in-universe time difference between Wyrd's birth/creation and Truth-Teller's forging. Did the wyrdmarks "evolve," so to speak?

The Wyrdmarks are not actually identical; perhaps they only look similar because they have similar or even complementary meanings?

I'm actually completely wrong and need to remove my clown makeup right now. 🤡

It would make sense that Truth-Teller's wyrdmarks were not identical to those we would see on Wyrd (assuming it is actually Her on HOFAS' cover). One of those things is a goddess, a force who created their entire universe, and the other is a dagger that can help open a portal to the Void and ferry the bearer through. Truth-Teller's scabbard might tell a story, it might hold a warning, or even contain a spell or the instructions for activating its magic etc; are they a spell to contain the power of the blade, as Bryce hinted at in HOFAS, or something else?

As if their sheaths had kept their power contained, the naked metal now throbbed against her palm, up her arms, tugging toward each other so violently it took all her strength to keep them apart. - HOFAS, chapter 48

It's just a pity that - unless I missed it - we weren't told about any markings on the Starsword, though that's assuming that its scabbard¹ was the original (or that Truth-Teller's is the original, of course - maybe it was given a new sheath, one with a very specific message, after Silene returned to Prythian). All we know is that both blades were Made by the Cauldron, with their obsidian² (wyrdstone?) hilts and black Iridium blades that can devour light (though Gwydion's blade can sparkle) and appear muted in darkness, I assume because there is no sunlight to charge their magic.

¹ @ladynightcourt3 has previously suggested that Truth-Teller may have been blessed by the God of Truth, who also blessed Damaris - the Sword of Truth, first wielded by Gavin Havilliard and currently claimed by Dorian Havilliard - which also has Wyrdmarks on its scabbard and was used in the Valg king Erawan's death. She's also reminded me that the Asterion blades in TOG also have markings, and are described as being made of a dark metal imbued with starlight... sounds familiar!

² @emmitaaa4 reminded me that wyrdstone can cause headaches in those who carry it - and who is known to rub his temples so much that Elain gifted him headache powder? Azriel.

I have spoken before about the possibility of the obsidian hilts either being possessed by some sort of Void based being, or that the material may help the Made blades attract a prince of Hel by design (here and here). Imagine if the Iridium³ blades come from a meteorite originating in Hel. Could the Made blades be secret wyrdkeys thanks to their hilts?

³ The element iridium's name is derived from "Iris," which means rainbow. Could this be where the meteorite that went into forging Gwydion and Truth-Teller have fallen... in the Rainbow of Velaris? What does this mean for Velaris' history, or the future of the Made blades? Will Feyre, the protector of the Rainbow, become involved?

What might this mean for Prythian?

Let's revisit the Truth-Teller scene, and pay close attention to Elain's clothes: Winter Court attire. Too warm, but Elain didn't complain... is that because she suspected she may have to brave the cold, harsh environment in the space between before the day was done? My next suggestion is unlikely, but could her face have turned crimson because she didn't know how to ask for warmer clothes without explaining that she'd Seen that she'd need them, especially if she knew that she was going to be sent away and she'd have to work from the shadows, as uaual? This could even tie in with my theory that the Archeron sisters will "sail" (for lack of a better term, sorry I know it's silly) the bat brothers by Singing them across the Void, possibly to Hel, as Nesta wanted insulated leathers in ACOSF. @elrieldreamer and I have previously discussed the fact that the serpents (dragons?) on HOFAS' cover look like they could be passing through Wyrdgates, which could also circle into the "sailing through the void" idea I mentioned in my post about The Weaver's Song, because Illyrian armour is known to feature scales. So isn't it handy that Emerie can source fleece-lined leathers!

“I was about to write to you before Bellius interrupted me. I asked about making leathers with fleece inside.” Emerie leaned her forearms on the immaculate counter. “It can be done, but it’s not cheap.” “Then it’s beyond my means, but thank you for finding out anyway.” “I could order it and let you pay it off as you’re able.” - ACOSF, chapter 25

Then there's the blade-like object that appears to be pointing down onto the eight-pointed star above the woman's head; could it be indicating Truth-Teller or Gwydion, or even Damaris - the Sword of Truth - from TOG?

The eight-pointed star obviously holds relevance to Nesta, given the tattoos that she and Cassian shared for much of ACOSF and Bryce's parting remarks in HOFAS, and we know the Starborn used it as their symbol, but why? Many don't realise that it may also have been the symbol on 'The Elain' ship that Papa Archeron commissioned among the three named for each of his daughters. Could it be a seafaring compass rose/rose of the winds, as Wingedblooms has previously discussed? Is it also related to Ishtar, another amazing theory shared by @wingedblooms' and @merymoonbeam? Or could it actually be the Chaos⁴ star, and truly be a symbol of Wyrd as Chaos, the Mother - or dam - to all?

⁴ I hope to post this theory soon.

I cannot move past the fact that, in addition to The Elain flying an eight-pointed star with nothing on either side (referencing the Void?), The Nesta was flying a dragon with two suns, and The Feyre was flying two crescent moons and diamonds. It has to mean something, right?

I still find it really interesting that one of the eyes of the woman on HOFAS' cover - which seems to be all about depicting gate travel and world walking - appears to be bleeding, when Gwyn remarked in ACOSF that reading Merrill's theories about multiple worlds made her eyes bleed.

Gwyn frowned. “Lots of things. Merrill’s brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms—different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can’t even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself.” Nesta’s brows rose. “Really?” “Some philosophers believe there are eleven worlds like that. And some believe there are as many as twenty-six, the last one being Time itself, which …” Gwyn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas.” Nesta chuckled. “I can imagine. But she’s researching something else now?” “Yes, thank the Cauldron. She’s writing a comprehensive history of the Valkyries.” - ACOSF, chapter 13

Now, Gwyn was obviously being flippant while attempting to demonstrate the extent of Merrill's brilliance, but who do we know who has peered across one world so far, who may be set up as a worldwalker with a strong affinity to any thin places? Elain Archeron, the sister whose ship flew the eight pointed star sail for all to see. A Seer. Will the Seer's eyes bleed when she looks too far, or past wards of "mist and shadow" designed to keep her out?

“Firebird by day,” Rhys mused, “woman by night … So she’s held captive by this sorcerer-lord?” Elain shook her head. “I don’t know. I hear her—her screaming. With rage. Utter rage …” She shuddered. Mor leaned forward. “Do you know why the other queens cursed her—sold her to him?” Elain studied the table. “No. No—that is all mist and shadow.” Rhys blew out a breath. “Can you sense where she is?” “There is … a lake. Deep in—in the continent, I think. Hidden amongst mountains and ancient forests.” Elain’s throat bobbed. “He keeps them all at the lake.” “Other women like her?” “Yes—and no. Their feathers are white as snow. They glide across the water—while she rages through the skies above it.” - ACOWAR, chapter 33

Its over-large teeth clacked faintly. “Thrice now, we have met. Thrice now, you have hunted for me. This time, you sent the trembling fawn to find me. I did not expect to see those doe-eyes peering at me from across the world.” - ACOWAR, chapter 58

Alpha and omega. Ask and answer (and Azriel told Elain that Truth-Teller would "serve" - a synonym to "answer" - her well). Made (or Make) and Unmade (or Unmake). Matter and antimatter. Gwydion can kill the unkillable, while Truth-Teller slew an almost unstoppable king. They Sing⁵ to each other - is it a spell, or are they communicating in Wyrd, the secret language of the universe > Chaos > eight pointed star? - and to those who bear enough Starborn magic to hear it. Azriel learnt that he can charge a Starborn fae like Bryce in HOFAS, there are three Archeron sisters who share significant parallels with Bryce and Theia... and wouldn't you know it, Azriel has two brothers. I could always be wrong, but this all seems fated to me.

⁵ I know I'm not alone in speculating whether Elain heard Truth-Teller Singing to her like kin, as @wingedblooms, @emmitaaa4, @psychologynerd and @ladynightcourt3 all share this theory at least (I've also wondered if she can hear Azriel's siphons singing, but that's another theory). Is this why Elain's eyes widened when Azriel offered Truth-Teller? Did it Sing to her? Is she a Singer, as @silverlinedeyes, @wingedblooms and I suspect? Was this in addition to (or instead of) her Seeing herself using it to kill the king? If true, this could parallel the scene earlier on in HOFAS where Elain's eyes widened at "the shadowsinger's display" just before Azriel winnowed her to Windhaven; was Elain listening to his shadows and/or Truth-Teller such that she could activate the blades (or her own) hypothetical shadow walking magic later on?

Anyway, sorry for rambling on a fair bit there, if you made it this far thank you for reading my nonsense! I am so excited to learn what SJM has been planning, because just like Koschei I think she's been playing the long game and setting all of these pieces up for years, even if it was just in case.

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in1-nutshell · 5 months ago

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Hi, can you please write a sequel to Susan's story. I thought and it occurred to me that it should go on like this: After the day described before, a week passes and little interesting happens during all this time. Unless, of course, you count the day when Susan assembled a detector from all sorts of junk that, in her opinion, should capture energy anomalies. To the annoyance of Autobots and children, these anomalies are Autobot life signals. All day long, Susan walked around the city tracking the Autobots, who barely managed to escape from the annoying schoolgirl. But it all ended when the Raf used equipment at the base to send a strong energy pulse that caused the detector to explode right in Susan's face. But after this excess, everything went back to normal. As the new week begins on Monday, Susan arrives at school handing out invitations to all her classmates to come to her house to watch the meteor shower in her backyard. For her, this is such a rare and significant event that she put on her special astronomer hat. And as you might guess, all of her classmates either lied that they were busy, or pretended to be interested but weren't really going to come, or outright refused or laughed in her face. The only ones who really want to come are Jack and the Raf (Despite Miko's warnings that this party is just a sophisticated trap) They thought it would be possible to go to this party at least out of pity (Jack especially saw this as an opportunity to apologize to Susan for the broken camera) But despite their wishes, they could not come because they had been helping the Autobots with a very important mission all evening. Which brings us to the backyard of the Farmfield house, lined with folding chairs and decorated with homemade decorations. Where Susan is sitting and waiting for someone to come. She waits and waits, but nothing. After a while, the sliding door opens with a sharp movement and Susan's mother comes out of the house. (A little clarification: After Susan's grandfather died, her parents moved back to house in Jasper to "take care" of their daughter. Although in fact they only moved because their business went bankrupt and they need a place to live) A woman looks around the backyard, looking at the decorations with disdain.

Mom: What is this all about, Susan? The woman asked with irritation in her voice.

Susan: Oh, it's all for my little party. One of the rarest meteor showers is going to happen today, and I thought it would be fun to share this rare phenomenon with someone. And I think if you and Dad join in, that would be it…

The girl happily tried to explain her idea until her mother unceremoniously interrupted her.

Mom: Susan, not me, not your father, and no one else in the whole world is interested in some stupid space-flying rocks.

The woman said with growing irritation in her voice.

Susan:Well, some of my classmates agreed to come, so they're interested.

The girl said with hope in her voice.

Mom: Ha, where are they?

She asked with mockery in her voice

Susan: Maybe… Maybe they're just late.

She said clinging to the last shred of hope

Mom: Or maybe they just lied to you and you, being an empty-headed fool, took their word for it?

Saying this, every word is laced with poison

SUSAN: But… But they promised

Susan said sniffling, tears in her eyes

Mom: Oh my God, are you crying!? Stop it!

The woman shouted .

Susan: I'm sorry, Mom.

Susan muttered, trying to wipe away her tears

Mom: You know, it's because of your excessive sensitivity and your stupid hobbies that you can't make friends. You're just like your grandfather, a weirdo who will be laughed at for the rest of your miserable life.

Susan: I'm sorry

Susan mumbled even more softly than last time, still crying no matter how hard she tried to stop.

Mom: You know what, I don't care, live your miserable life any way you want.

The woman muttered at the end, turning around and walking back into the house. On the way there, she knocked over a couple of chairs and tore a couple of ornaments from the trees.

Mom:And take away all this garbage!

She shouted as she entered the house and slammed the door behind her.

Leaving Susan to sit alone, feeling like she's the loneliest person in the universe.

I'm sorry if this is too much, I just got carried away.

And I'm sorry if I've already sent this request, my Internet is buggy.

I teared up a bit reading this.

Poor Susan!

Susan will be okay, I promise!

Hope you enjoy!

Jack, Miko, and Raf vs Susan Farmfield part 2

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Human reader

TFP

Susan was still the trio enemy.

…Well, more Miko’s than Jack and Raf.

Jack didn’t see much harm with Susan.

She couldn’t even hurt a fly.

The only thing he would count as Susan hurting someone is having them sit in a room with her for 24 hours talking about conspiracy theories.

Raf honestly felt sorry for her.

He had her as a science partner once and it was fun!

He even got a couple of cool stickers from her.

Raf just hated that she had to look into places that could expose the bots.

Miko straight up hated her.

She saw the other girl as her prime nemesis, like the Autobots saw the Decepticons as their nemesis.

She was DETERMINED to make sure that Susan never got a hold of anything related to the bots or anything on them.

At school… Jack, Miko, and Raf are walking through the hallway. They spot Susan getting her books from her locker. A couple of new band aids cover parts of her face. Raf: “Susan? You, okay?” Susan jumps a bit, but smiles seeing it was the trio. Susan: “Oh yeah! I’m fine!” Jack: “What about those band aids from?” Susan: “Well, I was testing out a new invention I made last weekend. It can detect strange or unusual energy pulses. I hit a really big one the other night and it kinda exploded on my face.” Miko: “Well it was put out of its misery then.” Jack: “Miko.” He nudges her ribs a bit. The comment flies over her head. Susan: “But it did teach me to widen the range, but still back to square one. See you guys later!” Susan walks off. Jack and Raf turn to a smug Miko. Jack: “Is that why you told Raf to fire the energy pulse?” Miko: “Maybe, maybe not.” Raf: “Miko! That could have hurt her!” Miko: “So what? She’s the enemy.”

It was later that week when the trio found Susan passing something around the class.

It was an invitation to see a meteor shower from her backyard.

Jack and Raf winced as they saw students laugh and taunt in Susan’s face for making the ‘dumb party’ in the first place.

Other just made excuse not to go.

If there was one thing the trio, yes including Miko, could respect was that Susan was as stubborn as they came and followed through plans till the end.

Even if they blew up in her face.

Raf was the first person to tell Susan that he wanted to go.

The young boy had never seen Susan speechless and so happy at the same time.

Jack followed as well, mainly because he felt he owed Susan a solid after Arcee crushed her polaroid camera a couple weeks ago.

Miko reluctantly agreed, keep your friends close and your enemies closer right?

When the trio told the bots this, there were mixed reactions.

Arcee was curious on why the girl wanted to invite others to her home to watch some meteors.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Bumblebee was worried that it could be a trap, or Susan was going to do something to them.

Bulkhead did not want them going to Susan’s house. Point blank.

Optimus and Ratchet had mixed feelings about this human, but they both agreed to keep on optic out for her.

It was the night of the meteor shower when a couple of Decepticons showed up in a sector near an energon vein.

It was all servos and hands on deck.

The bots would go in the retrieve the energon while the kids would help keep visual and have the groundbrigde ready.

All three of them completely forgetting that they had plans that night.

Susan waiting patiently with a tray of homemade cupcakes and snacks in a lawn chair. Maybe everyone was running late. Or they forgot last minute, and they were getting ready. Her mother comes outside. Mother: “And what is all of… this?” Susan: “It’s for the Meteor shower party. You know, the one I told you about… like 9 times.” Mother: “Don’t you get smart with me missy!” She sneers at the décor and snacks. Mother: “And why on Earth would you waste all this food and paper for a party for yourself?” Susan: “No, I gave out invitations. They’ll be coming.” Mother: “Susan, if there’s one thing, I do know about you is that you have no friends. Just like your disgrace of a grandfather.” Susan narrowing her eyebrows. Mother: “Don’t give me that look! He had no friends because he drove them all away with his stories and lies!” Susan: “They were tru—” Mother: “SHUT IT!” Susan clamps her mouth and feels a familiar sting in her eyes. Mother: “Quite your crying kid! You don’t cry! Just quite it!” Susan: “What? Quite what?” Mother: “EVERYTHING! You think your going to get anywhere in this world by holding onto that weird little hobby of yours? Do you really think anyone will like you if they hear you spouting this nonsense? Look at yourself Stacy!” Susan: “Its Susan.” Mother: “Whatever! Just clean all of this junk up by tomorrow morning or I swear you will never see your telescope again!” SLAM! The lights in the house turned off. Susan slowly knelt to the ground letting out soft sobs while holding herself tightly. Maybe they were late… Maybe they got stuck in traffic… Maybe they… They… Following school day… The trio is walking down the hall. Raf: “I still feel bad that we didn’t go.” Jack: “I’m sure she’ll understand. We just had things to do.” Miko: “More important things than a meteor shower.” The stop when they see Susan again. She looks… different… Susan spots the trio and freezes a bit before slowly walking past them. Miko raises an eyebrow. Miko: “That was weird.” Raf: “She’s upset Miko.” Miko: “Please, Susan Farmfield never gets upset.” Jack looking at Susan going into the classroom with a defeated look on her face. Jack: “You sure about that?” Miko: “She’s just doing one of those sympathy tricks. Trust me the enemy will go back to normal when she sees her plan isn’t working.”

Since the party, Susan started having second thought about everything she had worked for.

Don’t get her wrong she still believed that there were aliens and unknown things that needed to be discovered.

But… what if part of what her mother was saying was right?

No, she came to far to start second guessing herself now.

Who needs friends anyway?

Susan Farmfield was going to find those aliens.

For her Grampa!

Susan was walking near one of the forested areas with her new energy detector. BING! BING! The machine had detected something. Something at the bottom of the gorge. Carefully Susan climbs to the bottom and gasps. It was a pod of some sort… Definitely alien origin. Susan pats the frost glass. Susan: “Hello?” The glass open startling the girl and she falls backwards and stares at the giant coming out of the pod. Groaning, a large bot sits up, stretches a bit before looking around and spots Susan. Susan waves awkwardly. The bot slowly waves back. Susan: “I don’t mean any harm. My name is Susan. Do you have a name?” The bot grumbles a bit. Susan: “What? Iroh eef?” The bot clears his vents a bit before giving a small smile. Ironhide: “The names Ironhide, kid.”

#transformers x reader #maccadam #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #human buddy #susan farmfield

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callmedaleelah · 6 months ago

Text

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— so i pay the price of what i lost ; yes it is right that you can handle anything, but you can’t handle everything all at once

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language, long written chapter

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

Winter break felt like a blur of constant assignments, stress, and messages from your mother. You found yourself buried in work, avoiding the outside world—especially your phone, which you knew was filled only with your mom’s relentless reminders to study harder, do better, and aim higher. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s contacts had been pushed to the bottom of your recent conversations, untouched since that day in the gym.

You haven’t seen Yamaguchi or Tsukishima since that winter class you skipped to watch their game. That day feels like it happened in a different life—before the semester started to suffocate you, before your every waking moment was consumed by endless biochemistry coursework. You don’t have time to think about anything else anymore, not when every day feels like a battle to keep up with the expectations of your professors and the relentless academic pace.

Classes in the second semester are intense, perhaps even more than you expected. One of your courses, Organic Chemistry II, is particularly demanding. The subject matter dives deep into reaction mechanisms, synthesis pathways, and the stereochemistry of complex molecules. There’s also Molecular Biology, where you’re expected to learn and apply the intricate processes of DNA replication, transcription, and translation. Your third major course, Biophysical Chemistry, focuses on the thermodynamics of biological systems—another subject that stretches your mind to its limit.

It’s only the second week of your new semester in biochemistry, but it feels like you’ve been dragging yourself through months. Everything seems heavier this time—every lecture, every lab session, every assignment. The moment you open your textbooks and class notes, you can feel your brain protesting. There’s an exhaustion that hangs in the air, a feeling like you’re constantly one step behind even when you manage to complete your work on time.

Now, standing outside the lecture hall for Organic Chemistry II, you realized nothing much had changed. The same heavy textbooks, the same tight deadlines, the same competition between your classmates as they all tried to one-up each other. The new semester had brought a new intensity. You were still trying to keep up with your classmates—some of them seemed almost unnaturally gifted, answering the professors’ most complex questions with ease, while you constantly second-guessed yourself, even when you knew the answer.

Professor Saito, a man with a greying beard and an air of calm authority, strode into the room with his usual collected demeanor. His reputation preceded him—tough, no-nonsense, and known for pushing his students to think critically. Today was no different. He picked up a piece of chalk and began scribbling a chemical equation across the board.

Without glancing back, he posed his first question to the room. “Can anyone explain the significance of this reaction in the context of anaerobic respiration in yeast?”

The classroom, filled with second-year students, was eerily silent. Your eyes traced the chemical formula on the board—glucose breaking down into ethanol and carbon dioxide. The answer floated on the surface of your mind, but your heart pounded in your chest as self-doubt crept in. You scanned the room, hoping that one of the top students would break the silence and offer the answer instead. But they remained still, unfazed, as if this question was beneath them.

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of the quiet hanging over you. It was a simple question, one you knew the answer to, but something held you back. You hated this feeling—knowing, yet hesitating, paralyzed by the fear of saying something wrong. The silence stretched on, and finally, despite the knots of anxiety in your stomach, you slowly raised your hand.

Professor Saito turned to face you, his gaze resting on you with a slight lift of his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Your voice wavered as you spoke. “It’s… the fermentation of glucose into ethanol and carbon dioxide,” you said quietly, swallowing back the stammer in your throat. “Yeast uses this anaerobic process to generate energy in the form of ATP when oxygen isn’t available.”

Professor Saito nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. “Correct. And why is this process significant in industrial applications?”

You took a deep breath. “It’s used in brewing to produce alcohol and in baking for the carbon dioxide that helps dough rise.”

He considered your answer for a moment before nodding again. “Yes. Good. Remember, however, that the ATP yield here is significantly lower than in aerobic respiration. That’s the key difference.”

Relief washed over you, and you allowed yourself to relax—just a little. But before you could even savor that small victory, another voice broke the quiet.

“Professor, could you explain the exact mechanism for the stereoselective alkylation of an enolate in asymmetric synthesis?” The voice belonged to Renji, one of the top students in the class. His question was sharp and cutting, a deliberate challenge. “And maybe elaborate on the difference between kinetic and thermodynamic control in that context?”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the room, punctuated by a few suppressed giggles. You stiffened in your seat. The question was far beyond the scope of what you’d covered in class, meant to impress—or worse, embarrass—the professor. Renji’s tone dripped with arrogance, and the way he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, told you he already knew the answer.

Professor Saito regarded him for a moment, his gaze steady. He began to respond calmly, “In asymmetric synthesis, the stereoselectivity of the alkylation depends on—”

Before he could finish, another voice interrupted. “What about stereoelectronic effects when using Evans' oxazolidinone in highly hindered substrates?” Yumi, another top-tier student, chimed in with a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She leaned forward slightly, her question laden with the same smug intent—to derail the lesson, to show off her own knowledge.

The air in the room became stifling. You could feel it—the discomfort rippling through the other students, the growing tension as Renji and Yumi sought to outwit the professor rather than learn from him. They weren’t asking to deepen their understanding. No, they were playing a different game, one of one-upmanship and arrogance.

Your stomach twisted with unease as you watched the scene unfold. Professor Saito, usually unflappable, seemed to falter for just a moment. You caught a glimpse of weariness in his eyes as he straightened up, preparing to answer yet another convoluted question. He had always been patient with his students, no matter how difficult the questions, but there was something in the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly that made your heart ache for him.

You glanced around the room. Some students were fidgeting uncomfortably, others quietly whispering to their neighbors. The whole room had been hijacked by these few who cared more about showing off than learning, and the rest of you were left feeling small, inconsequential. You clenched your fists under the desk, wishing you could say something, do something to stop it, but the words stayed lodged in your throat. What could you say? What could you do?

Professor Saito began explaining the stereoelectronic effects, his voice steady, but you could sense his weariness growing. The air felt oppressive, like the weight of these students’ arrogance had smothered any genuine learning atmosphere. You shifted in your seat, feeling anxiety gnawing at your insides, hating the smug smiles that played on Renji and Yumi’s lips.

Before you could think further, you raised your hand signaling to interrupt the class. Professor Saito caught your motion and stop his explanation. “I’m sorry, Professor, may i speak?” Your voice came out a little shaky but louder than you expected, you can’t stop yourself right now. Every eyes are on you when the professor nodded. You land your gaze to Yumi—her smug faltered as she turned toward your seat. “I don’t see any stereoselective alkylation of enolates in asymmetric synthesis in our syllabus for this entire semester. So, if you’re going to interrupt the class with questions, at least stick to the topic we’re actually supposed to be learning.”

And now you turned to Renji’s seat, his face hardening as the room went deathly quiet. You could feel the eyes of the other students on you, and though your heart pounded in your ears, you pressed on. “And if you’re feeling that generously smart, maybe you should come up there and be the professor yourself. But what do you actually get from trying to make others—let alone the professor—feel small by throwing out questions just to outsmart them?”

Yumi’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of shock. Renji shifted in his seat, his face hardening, but he remained silent. You could feel the tension swirling in the room, but it wasn’t directed at you anymore—it was directed at the arrogance that had poisoned the air.

Professor Saito stood there for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He cleared his throat, and the room snapped back to attention.

The room goes quiet, tension crackling in the air. You don’t usually speak up like this, but something about the arrogance in the room pushed you past your breaking point. The student sneers at you, but you don’t flinch. You’ve had enough of people trying to make others feel small just to inflate their own egos.

Professor Saito gives you a small nod of appreciation before continuing his lecture, the class quiet now except for the sound of his chalk against the board.

That evening, you’re back at your desk, struggling to finish another assignment. The words blur together on the screen, and despite your best efforts, you keep having to re-read the same paragraph over and over. You’re exhausted. There’s no other word for it. Even though you’ve tried to catch up on sleep, it never feels like enough. And there’s always another deadline looming, another mountain of work to climb.

Your phone buzzes next to you, but you don’t pick it up. It’s probably your mom again, asking why you haven’t called or berating you for not keeping up with her expectations. You’ve been avoiding her texts and calls lately because you can’t deal with the added pressure. She doesn’t understand how hard this is, how much you’re trying to juggle. Or maybe she does, and just doesn’t care. Either way, you don’t have the energy to explain yourself to her right now.

By the time you finish the assignment and hit submit, it’s nearly 2 AM. You slump back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Every muscle in your body aches, and there’s a tightness in your chest that hasn’t gone away for days. You feel like you’re sinking deeper into a hole you can’t climb out of.

The thought of opening your phone again fills you with dread, but you do it anyway, more out of habit than anything else. When you do, you see an email from Professor Saito.

Subject: Checking In

I hope this message finds you well. I noticed that you submitted your most recent assignment late last night. While I am aware of the pressures you and many other students are under, I wanted to reach out personally.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed how diligently you’ve participated in my class. I’ve seen how you’ve quietly answered questions, even when you seemed uncertain of yourself. I also noticed how you stepped in during that difficult class discussion the other day and helped refocus the conversation. You have a sharp mind, and I hope you know that.

That said, I am concerned about you. I can tell that you’re pushing yourself hard, and while I appreciate your effort, I also want to remind you that your well-being comes first. I know what it’s like to feel the weight of academic pressure, and I want to encourage you to take care of yourself, too.

If you ever feel overwhelmed or need to talk, please know that my office door is always open to you. You are a valued member of my class, and I believe in your potential.

Take care of yourself, and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.

Warm regards, Professor Saito

As you read the email, you feel a lump form in your throat. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear those words until now. For so long, you’ve felt like you were just going through the motions, never sure if you were really doing anything right. But here, someone was telling you that you mattered—that your efforts weren’t invisible.

You close the email and stare at the screen for a long moment. Then, without thinking, you bury your face in your hands. The tears come quickly, a mix of exhaustion, relief, and gratitude. You hadn’t expected this—this kindness, this small bit of recognition in a sea of doubt.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr

sorry for posting this late, i’ve been super busy with karate practice all weekend—i’ve got a belt test coming up soon, so the training’s been extra intense. i’m exhausted, and my legs hurt so bad i can barely walk, but gotta stay strong and push through! 😣

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john-get-the-salt · 2 years ago

Text

Winter Cold (w/spencer reid)

Imagine: A run-of-the-mill winter cold becomes the thing that finally reveals your secret to the team.

Contains: sick reader and sick Spencer taking care of each other, usual bau team shenanigans, a setting where Morgan and Emily are on the team together because that was peak time (imo)

Warnings: None

Snow, thick sweaters, warm drinks-there were countless reasons why you adored the Winter season.

Spending a Sunday morning curled up under a blanket with a hot chocolate in hand while it snowed outside was your love language.

Your body, however, did not thrive under such conditions. You had a terrible immune system so you were extremely susceptible to getting sick. Every winter you had at least one or two boughts of whatever nasty illness was going around that season, be it the flu, strep, etc.

So as winter came around and you got sick like usual, nothing should have been different. Except this year something was different. This winter you had Spencer Reid.

Suddenly you had someone to bring you ginger ale and saltines when your stomach was upset, to make you soup and tea when your throat hurt, to make sure you kept up with your meds and always carried around cough drops for you.

Spencer and yourself had started out as awkward co-workers before slowly becoming friends, which eventually blossomed into something romantic. You told him you loved him about 2 months in after a scare during a case, and he had returned the sentiment when it felt right.

You'd just recently celebrated your 6th month anniversary and everything was going so well except for one teeny tiny minuscule detail....the team didn't know.

You had hoped to gently ease them into the news, but any hope of that got dashed rather quickly on one particular winters day.

•

It was early January and you were fighting off your annual post-Christmas cold. All of the traveling and visiting family had caught up to you and you were suffering the consequences. Your pockets were constantly stuffed full of tissues and you had a permanent stash of cough drops in your desk at the office.

Spencer, the fantastic boyfriend he was, had been taking exceptionally good care of you. You found it slightly annoying that the genius himself hardly ever got sick but you couldn't find yourself mad for long when he was constantly doting on you.

He never fussed about keeping you on track with your antibiotics, never complained when you asked him for a refill of tea, or another box of tissues, etc. But one thing he absolutely loathed was the fact that you wouldn't let him kiss you. On the cheek you allowed, along with the forehead or chin or pretty much anywhere else that wasn't your lips.

You were determined not to pass along the illness to him, so no matter how much he pleaded for just a quick peck you refused. Which, mind you, was no easy feat.

You stood firm on your ‘no lip to lip contact’ rule for about 3 days which was as long as your self control could hold out before you caved and let your boyfriend give you a firm kiss.

The two of you thought it was fine, no harm done, until 2 days later Spencer woke up with a racketing cough.

As you awoke that morning to a coughing Spencer in bed beside you, you sighed. "Don't tell me I finally you got sick too."

He merely groaned in response, and you pulled yourself out of bed so you could start coffee and fetch medicine for the both of you.

"I knew this was going to happen, I just knew you would get sick," you chided as if you hadn't played a significant role in the passing of said illness.

Spencer took the cold medicine you handed him without a roll of his eyes. "It's really nothing, just a runny nose and a bit of a cough."

"Work is going to be hell today. The team has been giving me grief about coughing, just imagine the ruckus when both of us are hacking our lungs up."

"Well," Spencer leaned down to plant a kiss on your warm cheek. "I consider it an honor to have the ability to kiss you-and then catch your cold. No one else on the team has that, so they can deal. And hey, now that we're both sick we can kiss as much as we want."

You giggled, annoyance vanishing as you leaned down and kissed your boyfriend. He attempted to wrap his arms around you and pull you back into bed but you slapped his hands away.

"As much as I love you and your kisses we do still have to work, Supervisory Special Agent Reid."

He sighed dreamily, a dopey smile on his face, "I love it when you talk FBI to me."

His smile quickly dropped as you whacked him over the head with a pillow.

•

Just as you predicted, the team had groaned as it quickly became apparent that Spencer had caught whatever cold was going around the building.

You and Spence arrived to work together, as you always did, on your very best behavior. After learning you both lived in the same apartment building not long after you joined the team, you started carpooling to work every single day. You had those car rides to thank for your friendship and eventual relationship, though the team did not know that.

But what the team did know, was that you and Spencer could not stop coughing. To make matters worse it was a paperwork day without a case in sight, so the team was stuck listening to the two of you. You apologized profusely, nursing a steaming cup of tea and a bag of cough drops. But it got to the point where everybody-minus you and Spence- voted to seclude you both in the conference room. They insisted it was for your own good, but you were pretty sure they had just gotten tired of listening to the sniffling and coughing.

So you two spent the day sitting in the conference room, talking and attempting to get paperwork done while members of the team popped their head in every so often to check-in and replenish your tea and tissues.

Before you knew it, the day was nearly over. There were still 2 hours left yet to the surprise of no one Spence had finished his paperwork already. Thankfully, he hung around and kept you company while you tried to finish yours.

"I really should have seen this cold coming. You know according to researchers, as many as 80 million bacteria can be exchanged in just one 10 second kiss," Spencer rattled off.

You nodded and hummed, as you always did when your boyfriend rattled off some rare knowledge he likely learned from a book he read once 6 years. You were pretty engrossed in the current paperwork you were filling out, so the insinuation of what Spencer was saying and the environment in which he was saying it didn't really catch up to you until it was too late.

"What are you trying to say pretty boy? You two locking lips?"

Finally remembering where you two currently were, work, you looked up from your papers. Spencer sat frozen in his chair beside you as Morgan and Emily stood in the doorway of the conference room with teasing looks on their faces.

"Uhm...."

All it took was the slight hesitation for Emily's joking smile to drop and her eyebrows to shoot so far up their nearly disappeared into her bangs.

"No way!"

"My man!" Morgan exclaimed, clapping as he walked into the room.

Emily followed, practically skipping towards you. "Wait til we tell the rest of the team. Damn, I owe Rossi $50 though. I thought it'd take til Valentines day."

Your jaw dropped as the shock of your friends knowing began to fade and was replaced with confusion.

"You guys bet on us? On whether or not we were together?"

"Oh no, we knew you two lovebirds were gonna get together. We bet on when you were gonna get together and then tell us." Derek clarified. "I bet Garcia $100 you two would wait until Summer to break the news.

Spencer, despite the situation, laughed. "Well, this isn't quite the way we imagined telling the team, but I guess this is it."

Thinking, you glanced at your two friends, who looked as happy as clams.

"We’ll wait to tell the rest of the team if you cut us into the winnings."

"Deal."

#imagine #criminal minds #drabble #criminal minds imagine #fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #x reader #spencer reid x reader #bau

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