#quality writing is not dead I promise you that

[galactic-dragoness]

Again, I do not watch HOTD, but judging by the tumblr reviews, I genuinely love that the overall consensus of the most recent episode is that all these characters are fighting for their lives and trying not to die - while Matt Smith's character is doing a buzzfeed unsolved in a giant crappy castle

[junkissed]

late night talking

member — minghao x f reader genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ? word count — 2.1k synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am. warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much

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you're ugly when you're drunk.

“hao?”

your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.

he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.

he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.

“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.

“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words. 

you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.

he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.

“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.

distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not. 

he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times. 

“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.

“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now. 

you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.

you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being. 

you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.

you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.

if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it. 

of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself. 

of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.

the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.

you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.

but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.

“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”

your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.

“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him. 

“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.

“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.

he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”

“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”

“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”

“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.

“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”

“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”

he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”

“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”

“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.

you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.

“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.

he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.

“why are you like this to me?”

but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”

you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”

for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”

“i don't deserve it.”

he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”

“you don't deserve me.”

he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”

“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”

he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”

you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply. 

“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.

your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.

he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest. 

every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.

he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.

you're cute when you're drunk.

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[silentmoths]

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you. 

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.” 

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you. 

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead. 

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

-

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’ 

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb. 

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived. 

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on. 

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up. 

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?” 

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear. 

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him. 

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny. 

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array. 

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.” 

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing? 

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore. 

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!” 

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life. 

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.” 

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.” 

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack. 

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him. 

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it. 

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

-

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day. 

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips. 

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage. 

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive? 

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

-

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you. 

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired. 

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.” 

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated. 

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles. 

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so. 

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?” 

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing. 

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly. 

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles. 

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.” 

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him. 

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch. 

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens. 

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him. 

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it. 

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.) 

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play. 

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots. 

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now. 

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you. 

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…” 

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear. 

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand. 

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.” 

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter. 

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates) 

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass. 

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard. 

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you. 

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you. 

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful. 

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?” 

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.” 

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[rubysunnday]

wanting was enough

requested by @omgbrcat: If you're willing to write for Nikolai, I'm ready to read.

a/n: they asked for fluffy... this is not fluffy like at all and for that i am sorry (i promise to write nik fluff to make up for it) ty ryn for your help

summary: Y/N has loved Nikolai since the day she met him. But now, as the blood begins to run, she has to come to terms with the fact that he'll never be hers.

The room was filled with people she knew, yet Y/N had never felt more alone or more broken.

Nikolai and Alina were engaged and Y/N found herself grieving for something she'd never had. It was an odd thing to feel a part of a group whilst also feeling a million miles away from everyone and everything.

She'd loved Nikolai since the day they'd met in the middle of Kerch, surrounded by people who wanted them dead. From there, friendship had been easy and when she'd sheepishly revealed her Grisha abilities to him - he'd enlisted Tamar and Tolya to teach her how to use them and control them.

Yet, despite the practice, her heartrender talents were still weak and, in Y/N's mind, pathetic. She understood that years of neglect and no practice would do that to someone, but it didn't help. Her confidence was non-existent and when she was surrounded by far more talented Grisha and a living Saint such as Alina, Y/N felt tiny.

Seeing Nikolai and Alina holding hands stung more than it should have. She was used to Nikolai being affectionate with people - affection was how he showed his love. But this was different. Y/N had hardly seen him since they'd gotten back to the palace and something had clearly changed between them.

Either that or it was all in Y/N's mind. She was spending a lot of time inside her head at the minute, doubting herself, doubting her abilities and her place in Nikolai's crew.

She could hear Nikolai's heartbeat from across the room - it's sound familiar and comforting to her in a way it shouldn't have been. Not anymore.

He wasn't hers and never could be hers.

She wasn't sure when friendship had turned to wanting and longing but it had. And she was trying her best to deal with it. To accept that he would never be hers.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Y/N turned and tried not to look startled at Nikolai's sudden appearance by her side. She hadn't even registered him walking over to her. Nikolai grinned crookedly at her and Y/N felt her heart swoop and glide like a bird in the breeze.

"Just wondering what your mother's definition of a big party is when this is a small one," Y/N replied, picking up a glass from a nearby tray and drinking its contents in one swoop.

Nikolai laughed, readjusting his weight from one foot to the other, his right shoulder brushing against Y/N's left. "She likes a party, what can I say. Anything under sixty people and it's intimate."

"I don't even know sixty people," Y/N replied. "I don't think I even know ten."

"It's never about the quantity of friends, it's about the quality," Nikolai replied. "A small, close friend group is better than a distant large one." He nudged her arm with his elbow. "I considered you one of my close friends."

Y/N forced herself to grin at him and tried to ignore how much the words stung at her heart. "Oh," she pointed over at Vasily as he stood up on the dais next to his father, "I think your brother is about to make a speech. You should probably go stand next to your mother and pretend to be interested."

Getting Nikolai to laugh was easy for Y/N, but even though she'd done it many times before, the sound still sent fire coursing through her veins. It wasn't the guarded laugh of a privateer. Or the forced laughter of a prince. It was just Nikolai's laugh.

"I'll be back," he warned, pointing a finger at her. "We need to discuss what you mean by pretending - I always find my brother fascinating."

"Of course you do." Y/N nodded. "I believe that, one hundred percent."

She watched as Nikolai disappeared into the crowd, appearing at his mother's side, ever the doting son. Y/N was impressed with herself that she'd managed to avoid bringing up the engagement. She hadn't had a chance to even mention it to Nikolai - it didn't seem appropriate. But she needed to know if it was genuine or just for show. She need to know for her own mind. How else would she ever be able to move on and accept she was stuck wanting for forever.

Vasily's speech started and Y/N zoned out entirely. He was a weasel of a human and represented everything wrong with Ravka in so many ways. He never had anything interesting or important to say.

It was only because she wasn't listening to Vasily that Y/N noticed the room gradually getting darker. The sun seemingly disappearing and then reappearing only to disappear once again.

She tilted her head back and, as she did so, two shapeless shadows smashed through the glass of the skylight, slamming into the ground and taking two of the first army guards out with them. One of the shadows grabbed Vasily and, in a blink of an eye, ripped him apart.

The screaming started instantly. Y/N's eyes focused on the shadows and she realised with cold horror that they were Kirigan's Nichevo'ya. At once, she began looking for Alina, who was safely on the other side of the room with Tamar and Adrik.

The Nichevo'ya shot towards her and Y/N dodged out the way, turning and running away - because what else could she do? They had no heartbeats and, even if they did, she wouldn't be able to take them down. She wasn't strong enough.

"Y/N!"

Nikolai snatched her hand and pulled her to his side as a table flew across the room, a body following in its path. Y/N gripped Nikolai's jacket for a moment before she let go and forced herself to take a step back, to create space between them.

"Down to the tunnels!" Nikolai yelled, raising his voice to be heard over the screaming. He began to move backwards, his hand still on Y/N's arm. "Regroup there!"

As Adrik and Nadia distracted the Nichevo'ya as best they could, the small party that had gathered behind Nikolai began to follow their now king and had down to the tunnels beneath the palace.

Y/N brought up the rear of the group, keeping one eye over her shoulder incase the Nichevo'ya decided to follow after them. But they seemed content to feast on those left behind in the ballroom.

She was so focused on making sure the Nichevo'ya weren't following, that Y/N didn't even notice cracks in the walls beginning to form and then splinter up and around.

Only when she saw the first piece of wall fall did she even realise what was happening. She turned around and there was no one behind her - they'd all made it through to the tunnels, including Nikolai, leaving her alone out in the corridor.

For a moment, she wondered if anyone would miss her if she disappeared.

Another piece of wall fell and, as it did, a Nichevo'ya began to appear from around a corner, it's shape constantly changing as the shadows withered and curled.

Y/N brought her hands together, searching for a heartbeat to control, but there was none. Of course there wasn't. They were made of nothing.

The cracks had reached the ceiling and more rubble fell down, smashing against the floor all around her. A particularly large piece fell away and Y/N threw herself back, barely avoiding its impact as she scrabbled across the tiled floor, trying to get to the tunnel entrance.

Her body wasn't cooperating, fear of the Nichevo'ya striking through her and rendering her almost useless. She tried not to look up at the skull like face forming in the shadows, but it was impossible to look away as it loomed over her. Almost as if she'd been hypnotised by them.

"Y/N!"

Hands came around her waist and they yanked her up and onto her feet. The roof was falling down around them now, large chunks of stone smashing into pieces on the tiles, the small bits flying back up into the air. Y/N felt something whizz past her cheek, leaving a stinging line behind.

Everything was a blur. As the rest of the ceiling came away, the Nichevo'ya launched forward, its tendrils snaking towards Y/N. They sliced down her arm and, as they made contact, Y/N brought her left hand to her right and felt something within the mass of black.

Focusing on that and that alone, Y/N forced it to slow down, to stop. Sensing danger, the tendrils came away, retreating back into the shadows. As they did, the ceiling gave way. Whoever had grabbed her from behind pushed her into the tunnels and then darkness obscured her vision.

"Y/N, look at me."

Hands rested on both her cheeks. A thumb stroked up and down her cheek bone. As her eyes began to adjust to the dark light of the tunnels, and the panic and fear began to fade, Nikolai came into view, his eyes full of concern.

"You good?" He asked softly, his eyes darting to her arm for a moment before coming back to her face.

"Sorry," Y/N said, blinking furiously. "I froze. I didn't mean to, I should've -"

"Hey, there's plenty of things we all should have done," Nikolai said gently, his thumb pressing lightly against her skin as he moved it up and down. "The Nichevo'ya do weird things to people. But we're safe, we made it into the tunnels."

Nikolai's words did little to reassure her. Instead, they made Y/N panic even more. She moved back from him and got to her feet, leaving Nikolai crouched in front of an empty space.

"You need to go see what's going on," Y/N said, putting more distance between them. "You are the king now."

A hundred different emotions filtered across Nikolai's face. His eyes seemed to grow slightly harder and his back straightened. As he went to speak, a guard appeared at his side and began to lead him away and down into the tunnels, leaving Y/N alone once more.

Y/N took a deep breath in and swore softly as she felt her arm burning and stinging for the first time. She looked down and saw a gash running from her shoulder down to her elbow.

Y/N winced as she tentatively pulled back the fabric from her arm, trying to see it better. The edges were bright red and blood was running down and to her wrist, dripping off her fingers.

She didn't feel fine but, for now, she pushed her pain and exhaustion aside, pushing herself off the wall she'd come to lean on.

The tunnels were organised chaos. Bodies lay against the walls, covered with blankets, flags, sacks - whatever people could find. Y/N walked, rather stumbled, down them, searching for her friends, hoping they were still alive and in one piece.

It wasn't long before she found them. Adrik was groaning in pain, swearing as quietly as he could as David examined his arm, his hands gently pulling away the shredded fabric from the gaping wounds on his arm and hand.

Y/N picked up her pace and rushed over to them, kneeling down beside David. "What happened?"

"Fucking Nichevo'ya," Adrik panted. He groaned, closing his eyes tightly as David pressed on the skin around the wound.

"Y/N," Nadia said, her arms around her brother, "can you do anything?"

"I'm not a healer," Y/N warned, her hand gently replacing David's as she took Adrik's arm.

"I don't care," Adrik said, groaning. "Just do something."

Y/N nodded. She took a deep breath in, trying to ignore the throbbing in her own arm. Her hands shook slightly.

David put a hand on her uninjured shoulder and squeezed it gently. "You can do it," he said quietly.

Y/N focused on Adrik's arm, on the skin and the blood thrumming through his veins and spilling out onto the floor. She could feel her energy seeping out through her body as she worked on Adrik's arm, trying to slow the bleeding and heal what she could.

As she did, she felt the pain in her arm gradually growing. It was hard to tell if the room was tilted or if she herself was tilting.

"Y/N," Tamar said softly. Y/N wasn't sure when she'd appeared. "Your arm."

"It's fine," Y/N said. She took a deep breath in as the pain got worse, her arm throbbing and burning.

Then, suddenly, it wasn't fine. Y/N felt the all to familiar feeling of nausea building up in her throat, her heart beat increased as her body ran out of energy.

Y/N swayed and she fell sideways and into David, the Durast doing his best to catch her.

Tamar was instantly at her side, her hand gripping Y/N's tightly. She pressed her fingers to her pulse point and Y/N felt the all too familiar feeling of someone else controlling her heartbeat.

"Adrik," Y/N muttered, slumping further back into David's chest, his arms wrapping around her.

"Nadia's got him," Tamar said, reaching her spare hand out to stroke Y/N's cheek. "You should've said something. Your arm is not fine."

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the tears burning. She didn't know if they were from the pain or because of how useless she felt. "I'm fine," Y/N said, trying to sit up.

Both David and Tamar pushed her back down - neither one having to use much force at all.

"Nikolai!"

Y/N felt panic rise within her as Tamar summoned the now king over to them. Tamar glanced down at her, her eyebrows raised slightly, and Y/N realised her heart had also sped up.

Fucking heartrenders.

"What's wrong?" Nikolai asked, walking over to them.

He didn't see Y/N until he moved around David and saw her lying against him, blood pooling on the floor from the wound on her arm, Tamar's hand still on her wrist.

"Y/N, saints," Nikolai said, instantly dropping to his knees beside her.

Y/N vaguely realised that he'd shed his blazer and rolled his shirt sleeves up. His hands hovered over her arm, shaking every so slightly.

"She's losing too much blood," Tamar said quietly, trying her best to not alarm Y/N, who was gradually getting paler.

Nikolai nodded. "There's a healer down the tunnel with the courtiers."

Tamar, sensing Nikolai's hesitation, let go of Y/N's hand and stood up. "I'll go get them. See if you can find a bed or somewhere to lay her down."

Y/N didn't realise Nikolai had moved closer to her and slipped his arms around her back and under her legs until he lifted her up into his arms, adjusting his shoulder so that her head came to rest against it.

"David, stay with Adrik and Nadia," Nikolai said, taking a step back. "Tamar will be back soon."

Y/N was in too much pain to even try to fight Nikolai as he carried her through the tunnels. Through her half closed eyes, she could see the stares coming their way - the judgement and disgust all aimed at her.

But she didn't care. Because Nikolai was holding her close and, for a moment, she felt as if everything was ok. Nikolai was hers and only hers.

Everything faded away, leaving her floating around, relishing each touch, each way Nikolai's bare arms brushed against her.

"Y/N!"

She jumped slightly, her eyes slowly opening, taking their time to focus. Nikolai was knelt beside her, his hands cradling hers. Y/N realised that he was no longer carrying her and that she was lying down in a quieter part of the tunnels.

As her eyes focused, she noticed that Nikolai's eyes were red, his skin starting to go blotchy. Y/N moved her head slightly and saw Tamar kneeling behind her, one hand on her chest, the other on Nikolai's arm.

"Your heart stopped," Nikolai said quietly, when he noticed her confused gaze. "You went still and I..." Nikolai's voice cracked and he trailed off.

Tamar squeezed his arm as she stood up, leaving the two alone. The healer, who Y/N had only just noticed, also gave them some privacy, moving on to his next patient. Y/N glanced down at her arm and saw that it had stopped bleeding, the edges of the wound closer than they had been.

"I'm sorry," Y/N whispered, not sure what to say to Nikolai.

Nikolai raised his head, his eyes shining with tears. "Whatever for?"

Y/N didn't know. "I -"

"This is not your fault," Nikolai said, somehow moving closer. "None of this is."

One hand let go of hers, moving up to the side of her head. He began to brush back her hair with the pad of his thumb, the movement repetitive and calming enough it almost sent Y/N to sleep.

"Is Adrik ok?" Y/N asked, the memory of his ruined arm coming back at her with force.

Nikolai hesitated for a second. "He lost the arm," he said gently. "But he's alive, because of you."

"I could've done more," Y/N protested, tears leaking out the corners of her eyes. "If I'd been stronger or better -"

"The outcome would not have changed," Nikolai insisted, his thumb wiping away her tears. "Even the healer couldn't do anything more. What you did do, saved his life, Y/N."

Y/N nodded once, more tears spilling onto her cheeks. "Is this not improper?" She asked as Nikolai reached over to her other cheek, wiping the tears away again.

"What?" He asked, staring at her in disbelief.

"You're engaged," she said, her voice breaking on the last word as a sob broke through.

It took a second but understanding dawned on Nikolai's face and he let out a heavy breath, tinged with sadness.

"Oh, Y/N," he whispered. "You could've -"

"I couldn't, Nik," she said hoarsely. "I had to presume that it was just me - you had your eyes set on every other woman about and I -"

"No, stop that right now," Nikolai said, leaning close. "I... I have loved you since the moment I met you. I just assumed you loved Sturmhond, not Nikolai."

"I love you," Y/N said, her voice strong. "I love whoever you chose to be. Whether it's prince or pirate -"

"Privateer."

" - king or pauper," Y/N finished, her voice quiet as whatever energy had come disappeared. "I love whoever you chose to be. I just love you, Nikolai."

Nikolai nodded, tears running down his cheeks. He leant forward, resting his head against Y/N's chest and her fingers began to running through his hair and down to the nape of his neck.

She knew he was listening to her heart beating. She was doing exactly the same. The sound familiar and comforting for all the right reasons.

[brighttears]

Finally

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description except female sex organs and having hair, no use of y/n

Summary: After losing contact with your lover Joel and his brother for five years, Tommy finds you and brings you into Jackson. You reunite with Joel but it doesn't take long for him to project his insecurity onto you. You talk to Tommy about it until Joel comes and finds you. You have make up sex/five years overdue sex, and end with a shower that eases some feelings out of you as you relax in your new home with Joel

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: (18+, MINORS DNI) PIV unprotected sex, creampie, mating press, slight hair pulling, slight edging, dirty talk, Joel has a big ol weiner, pet names (baby, babygirl, good girl, sweet girl, darling, my love), you and Joel have an argument, ‘slut’ used derogatorily, accused cheating, brief drinking, kind of insecure!Joel, Tess doesn’t exist

A/n: this is the longest it’s ever taken me to post anything lol (and also the longest thing i’ve written i think?). the quality will not correlate I was messing around with like four other ideas this is the just the only one that got somewhere, also been having way less time to write and that will probably continue 3: also finally did smut (for the one person who has said they want me to lol love u)

—

Riding up to the gates of Jackson, you feel like a teenager on their first day of high school, distractingly nervous but drifted forward by hopeful butterflies. You grip the leather reins and look to Tommy riding beside you, he grants you a reassuring grin. In front of you, the gates, made of lines of thick logs with a large rusty lock, start to groan open. Tommy slips through before you and you follow him into a different world—a ghost and dream, lit up by string lights, appearing warm despite the winter, healthy and alive. Your focus, however, concentrates on the faces, many of which are looking back at your new one. Flicking from one to the next, your heart rises and falls with every one that isn’t Joel’s. Tommy’s promise has your senses perked up like an animal. 

Ahead of you on the road, you double take a man with his back to you. Despite this and his hair being too gray, his posture and step are unmistakable. 

“Joel,” you utter, soft, a reaction rather than a call out; it croaks out of your throat, dusty from all its time stuck there. Awakened, his name erupts from you then, “Joel,” 

The man stops dead, then whirls around, and you stop breathing because it is him. Unable to look away, you stumble off of your horse and begin to walk towards him. It’s silent, almost frighteningly so, even if it’s just in your head, because it makes it feel like a dream, like if you so much as blink he’ll be gone or you’ll be awake. 

Joel mirrors you, then jogs, you feel hot tears behind your eyes, and then you collide, grabbing at each other like you’re making up for every lost embrace from the past five years apart. He makes a sound, holding you with his cheek on the side of your head. You shake once with a cry, a mixture of shock that keeps your eyes wide open, though blind, actualization flowing through you and into your fingers digging into his thick coat and tangling in his hair, dregs of sorrow and resentment against time finally detaching like leeches, and love, powerfully swirling around everything inside of you. 

Then you hear his voice for the first time, “Oh, baby,” and your eyes squeeze shut and you start to cry, and he holds you tighter. You can’t stop it, fueled by relief in the intense familiarity of the pressure of his arms, his scent, his voice, the way he breathes. 

Once you’re breathing properly, Joel pulls away, holding your waist. He looks you over, making sure you’re real and here, and when you are, he slips a hand under your jaw and pulls your wet face into a kiss. For a moment your lips are simply pressed, frozen, overwhelmed, and then they move, and you kiss starved, revived. The feeling of sanctuary rekindling floods you, your face quivering with tears, and you have to pull apart for a breath. 

And Joel is still here, and you hold his face in your hands because he’s so beautiful and he’s finally here. You take in each other’s new features—wrinkles, grays, scars. You slide your thumb over his cheek, feeling his rough skin, and then you meet in the stars in each other’s blown out pupils. 

Simultaneously, you start to giggle, giddy, and then you guffaw, holding each other, and Joel pulls you back in. Tightly, he sways you like a doll, and you feel his laughter through his body like against a speaker playing heavy base. Being in his arms feels like life being unpaused. 

“Tommy!” He cries over your shoulder, still laughing, “Where the fuck did’you find ‘er?” Still held tightly against him, you can’t hear Tommy’s response, but then Joel repeats “Oh, baby.” and leans his head down to loudly kiss the side of your face.

You pull away and admire him. No image that you’d drawn up in your imagination compares to Joel in the flesh. Running your hand through his longer, silvered hair, you realize just how much you were missing out on. 

“I found you.” You whisper. 

He chuckles with a wide smile, “You found me.” And then takes you back to him, “I missed you so much, baby.” 

“I missed you to death.” You mumble into him. 

Tommy’s voice sounds nearby, chuckling “Don’t smother ‘er to death, we just got ‘er back!” You part and turn to look at him with a rawly genuine grin. A sincere smile curves back. You thank him through your eyes and he nods. Joel strides past you to hug his brother, long and meaningful. 

Then he turns to you, hand still on Tommy’s shoulder, and looks you up and down. “Come on, you must be freezin’, I’ll take you up to the house.”

“The house?” You question as he guides you back up the road.

“The house.” He confirms with an amiable smirk, hugging you to his side by an arm wrapped around you. 

—

“I know, I know!” Joel enthuses as he closes the door behind you, watching you turn in a circle, mouth agape, taking in the house, which is actually fully intact, walls and furniture alike, basically clean. It smells like Joel and his jacket hangs on the pegboard on the wall next to the door. An acoustic guitar leans against the couch, which has a blanket hung over the back, there’s a mug out on the table, probably still half full and cold—this is Joel’s house. 

“Look, look,” he calls and rushes to the kitchen sink. He turns the handle and water flows out in a powerful stream, and you stride over, mouth still open in astonishment. You put your hand under the faucet and feel the water heating up. 

“Hot water!?” You cry, and you both burst out laughing again in joyful gratitude. You stop suddenly and Joel turns off the faucet. “Does this mean… shower?” Joel gives you a dramatic frown, raising his brows and shrugging, then nods his head to the stairs. Tugging at his arm, you cry out his name, thrilled. He takes off and you race him up the steps. 

“I can get’chou some clean clothes easy—how long you been wearing those?” 

“Disturbingly long.” 

Joel laughs. “You meet Tommy’s wife yet?” He looks back at you shaking your head as he opens his bedroom door, “Well, she’ll take care a ya’.” He steps into the middle of the room and turns back to you and you magnetize, holding each other by your arms. “Man, when I first got here I just kept thinkin’ how much you’d love this place.” 

The image of that almost makes you blush and your heart swells, knowing that he was still yours while you were gone, playing house with an imaginary you. “Damn straight I do. Fuck, you’ve just been livin’ it up.” Looking over his face, you’re beginning to relearn it. 

“Well, I am now.” His expression shifts from excitement into contentment and he murmurs, “I missed you so much, baby,” 

Fitting together comfortably, you join for a kiss. 

The calm of the room allows you to experience your feelings wholly, inside and out; thus, a shared heat is overt and you strip your jackets, not parting lips and hurriedly reattaching your bodies. 

“Shit,” you breathe out, craving him and finally being satisfied at the same time as his warm, powerful hands move over you, sliding up and down your sides, your back, up your forearm as your hand brushes over his face and into his hair and with your other you squeeze his thick bicep. He walks you into the wall, clutching your middle to him with an arm wrapped around you. His other hand drags from your face down your neck, flush against your skin as he continues slowly lowering it further, past your collarbone. Your chest expanding in a deep breath lifts it into his hand and Joel swears, then repeats in a murmur, “I missed you so much baby.” You respond with a whimper and wetter kiss, pulling him ever closer, and he swears again, the hand on your back clenching the fabric of your shirt. Then he moves it to the underside of your leg, between your thigh and your ass, and lifts, holding your thigh next to his leg with your foot dangling, toes curling in your boot. Truth is, no one has touched you since Joel, save for yourself, so he’s driving you crazy right now.

Your mouths together compose a natural melody, one motion rolling into the next, constantly finding and looking for more and you’re obsessed again with his flavor. If this lasted forever you wouldn’t even notice. But, just as he moans into your lips, Joel suddenly pulls back and holds you away by your waist.

You rest your hands on his forearms. “Joel?” You inquire, catching your breath, and then slide a hand over his cheek and under his chin to lift his head, looking for some kind of communication from his expression. He meets your eyes for only a second before he lets go of you completely, turning away and walking to the other side of the room. 

You stay where you are, granting him space. “Joel? What’s wrong?” He turns to you but his head is bowed. “…Joel?” Anxiety scratches at your heart and you wipe your mouth. 

Sighing heavily, he slowly rubs his hand over his face before finally speaking up, “Look… before we… go any further, I gotta ask…” he leans his hand on the short dresser and when he looks up his expression is unexpectedly serious. “Is there someone else?”

It takes you a couple seconds to put it together, but you ask anyway, just to make sure, “…What do you mean?”

Instantly, he replies, “You know what I mean.” Firmer this time, he repeats, “Is there someone else?” Confounded, you’re tongue tied, and he takes it as confirmation of his suspicions. “There is, isn’t there?” He almost sneers.

The atmosphere has shifted dramatically; just a few minutes ago he was laughing brightly with you, and about thirty seconds ago he was caressing you, amorous and loving.

“Are you joking?” Joel’s face says ‘what do you think?’ and you screw your own face up. “Are you asking me if I have some secret partner?” You ask once again just to be sure. He says nothing, only looks on unrelentingly and puts his hands on his hips, bent knee sticking out. You laugh coldly. “Holy shit.”

Near monotone, he asks, “Why’s that funny?”

“I just—wasn’t expecting this, at all, I mean this is just… do you realize how much of a jackass you’re being right now?” You pause, he says nothing. “Well, I’m not having a fucking affair. Okay? Jesus.” 

Joel huffs, keeping stoney eye contact, and grinds his teeth. You let him brew in the silence. Still, after all this time, you can read him like a book—he has convinced himself that you found someone better while he was gone and have come back only to blow sand in his eyes, and then you’re going to run off to your new, superior lover, leaving him on his ass in the mud. And although he doesn’t want it to be true, he always puts so much faith into awful assumptions, and he hates being wrong. 

You sigh in understanding but speak to him sternly, “Joel, you are making this shit up in your head and just putting it on me. That’s not fair. Don’t do this. There’s no reason to do this.”

Defensively, he suddenly raises his voice, “I jus’ wanna make sure I’m not steppin’ on any toes.” With a bite, he finishes, “I’m jus’ sayin’, if there is someone else, now’s the time to leave.” 

Your expression turns unsympathetic, brow pinched and mouth parted in amazement, and then you counter venomously, “I don’t know who you think I am. I don’t know what kind of twisted version of me you’ve created in your head. Are you trying to call me a fucking slut? That’s the kind of narrative you've thought up? That’s what you’ve been thinking about while I’ve been gone—me betraying you?”

Joel’s eyes are closed and his head is shaking before you even finish, pinching his brow with two fingers, “No, no,”

You cut right back in, “Alright, well that’s what it fucking sounds like to me so I am going to leave now—not to run off to some paramour,” you spit, “but because you’re being a fucking asshole and need to run this one back through before you talk to me again.” 

“W–wait,” He tries, but you’ve already spun on your heel, snatching up your jacket, and rush out with heavy footsteps. You don’t bother closing his front door behind you and don’t look back, not hearing anything either. 

You don’t know this town yet, but you keep the same pace you left Joel’s with and just follow the road, packed white with hard snow. The sharp air makes your eyes water and you swipe your hands at them blurring your vision. Your breaths, fast with your fiery heartbeat, blow steamy clouds like puffs of white smoke. 

You stop the first passerby you see, “There’s a bar here, right?” Your tongue hasn’t fully cooled yet and you try not to sound harsh. You’re almost out of breath. 

“Yeah,” the tall woman’s voice is mousy and she tucks stray black hair into her hat, then turns and points, “just follow this road, you’ll come to Main Street, it’ll be on your right.” As she turns her head back to you she adds, “It’s called the Tispy Bison.”

“Thank you.” you nod, do your best to smile, and continue on.

—

A rush of warm air blows out through the door swinging open and your nose starts to run as you step into the Tipsy Bison. It appears very ‘American’ themed, with its warm, inoffensively red walls, everything country–style wood, and taxidermy wall mounts. Crowning bright soda fridges are neon red Coca–Cola logos. A few lively groups are scattered about, talking and laughing. Blinking into the reality of the massive dining hall, you wipe your nose with your sleeve; it’s so much like the world before and for some reason it intimidates you. As you scan the room, you spot Tommy at the bar and remember you’re thirsty.

He smiles when he notices you approaching but it fades and he furrows his brow as he regards your expression. You slip into the chair next to him and he turns his torso to face you, one arm resting over the back of his seat, the other on the bar with a beer in his hand.

A gravelly voice from behind the bar asks, “What can I get ya?” and you turn to a friendly looking woman with thick, coily hair and dark teeth.

“Surprise me.”

“Gotcha. Comin’ right up.” She smiles and moves away. 

Turning your attention back to Tommy, his brow is still furrowed, as it is most of the time, really, and he bites his lip. “Trouble in paradise?”

You turn forward to rest your elbows on the bar and slide your head through your hands, pulling your cheeks, then resting them on the sides of your head. “Your brother’s being a little shit.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, he’s pretty good at that. What’e’do?”

During the time you’d been with Joel, you became close with his brother, too. Tommy has always been easy to talk to and you pick right up where you left off. It’s nice to have someone to talk candidly to about Joel, and you’re sure he feels the same. 

“Same kind of shit he always does—assume the worst in everyone and stick them with it for no fucking reason.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty classic Joel.” He sips his beer and smacks his lips. “You know he does really love you, though.”

“No, I know, I mean, I can tell even with this,” you remove your hands from your head and turn to him, “he’s accusing me of having ‘someone else’,” you air quote as you confide, “like I’m having a fucking affair. Came outta nowhere.” Looking to the side to blow out a breath, your eyes automatically flick around your surroundings.

“He’s just insecure.”

“I know. It’s not like I’m cutting him off or anything, and I want to stay in Jackson, I just told him to… cool off, in so many words. You know I love him too, I just had to fucking leave.” 

Just then, the voice sounds again beside you, “Here’s that surprise for ya.” She places a short, ribbed glass in front of you, a blood orange drink on the rocks. 

“Thank you.” You immediately take a swig and it’s bittersweet and smooth. 

As you do, Tommy says, “Yeah, good call. He just needs to get checked sometimes, y’know? He’ll figure it out. He’s just… yeah, he’s insecure.”

Looking down into your drink, you add, “He hates himself.” and spin the glass over the smooth bar. “That’s his worst quality. That’s the only thing I would change about him.”

Tommy sighs. “I think what makes it worse for him is how much he loves you.” He shakes his head, “He just gets so damn scared. He has no idea how strong he is, how good he is… I think we see a real different version of him than he does.” You nod. There’s a beat of silence before he continues, “It’s just… loss, y’know? It’s like he just wants’t’ beat it to the punch. He always feels like he’s doin’ sum’n wrong. Always thinkin’ it’s his fault.” 

You nod again. “You said it: he sees a real different version of himself than we do. I just wish I could…” you suck your teeth and turn to him, “I keep trying to talk him out of it, you know? Do you think that works?”

He looks down to think for a while, then looks back at you and concludes, “I think… it’s gotta be him.” 

You nod, “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

To lighten the mood, Tommy smiles, “Well, don’tchou worry, he’ll be crawlin’ back t’you with his tail between his legs any second now.” You ‘psh’, looking ahead and admiring the warm-toned colored bottles shelved on the wall. Then he adds, “You’ll never lose ‘im, you know.”

You sip your drink and roll his words around with it, full, mellow, but strongly bittersweet. You and Joel had been separated for a long time, wherein all you had was faith, and you gripped that rope tight and never let go, just like he would for you, just like he did for Tommy. Joel has yet to let you down—he’s fucked up many times, but he’s never let you down, because he puts his heart into everything he does; it’s maybe his most admirable and most troubling trait. He loves so hard it hurts, sometimes not just him. You’ll never run out of patience though, because he’s your Joel, and you love him to death. He hit you like a bullet, quick and good, and he’s lodged somewhere inside of you, unretrievable. 

“Speak a the devil.” Tommy’s voice breaks you out of reflection, looking past you, and you turn to see Joel, halfway in the doorway, devastating eyes and all. For a moment you just watch him, awkward in the doorway, admiring his presence, but you keep a straight, neutral face. You look back at Tommy as you take a last swig of your drink and he smiles with understanding eyes. 

Hopping down from your stool and strolling towards Joel, you have to bite hard back a smile, though you’re still pissed. Catching him doing the same, you briefly question why you have to do this dance instead of just leaping back into each other, mixing into your color and staying like that in his bed, which must be so soft and comfortable and warm with him in it. He is so god damn beautiful and it’s been so long that your hands twist nervously behind your back and you feel yourself blushing, so you turn your head down as you near him. You have good reason to show him you’re upset, though—the dance is important. 

“Can we talk?” He asks you, voice entirely soft. 

You look up at him, pause, and then nod. Joel turns back outside slowly and does more than he needs to to hold the door for you.

Winter is near its end but you’ve arrived just in time for a cold snap; the wind has picked up significantly in the short time you’ve been inside, icey and sharp, and you bend your head down against it and hug yourself. Joel starts to put his arm around you but pulls away, glancing at you with awkward steps towards his house. 

“Hold me.” You answer, so he does, arm around your shoulders, curving himself around you as the wind whips. The man is a living furnace, you can feel it even like this. 

—

It’s silent until you’re back in Joel’s house, too cold and windy for any kind of conversation. Adjusting to the indoors, you both blow out sighs, and Joel impulsively helps you out of your coat and hangs it on the peg next to his on the wall by the door. Then he just stands awkwardly; he’s never been good at this. What’s important, though, is that he’s trying. Waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts, you lean against a wall with your hands behind your back. After a moment, he looks around, sucking his teeth, and then moves ungainly to sit in a chair at the table. You follow and sit across from him. More silence, he fiddles with his hands on the table in front of him and grinds his teeth. Under the table, you run a finger back and forth over the wood’s grooves on its apron. 

“Okay,” he starts, then pauses, keeping his gaze on his hands. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounds rehearsed, like he said ‘I’m sorry’ in his head twenty times before he spoke it. “I was wrong. I didn’t mean t’… I mean I’d be pissed too, if you said sum’n like that to me. I know that’s not you. I was jus’… scared,” he wills the word out, looking off to some spot on the floor, “You’re right, I,” he pauses, then motions his hand up in circles next to his head, “I jus’, made this whole story up in my head. I mean we haven’t even talked about, y’know, what’s happened in the past five years. I have no idea what you did or didn’t do, and it’s not my business unless you want it to be. I jus’, I don’t know,” he shifts back in his chair and fiddles with his hands again, “I was just afraid that y’d… forgott’n about me or found someone better or, uhh…y–y–”

Watching him start to fumble over his words, you decide that now is an ok time to cut in, starting quiet and gentle, “I didn’t.” Joel looks at you as you speak, his brow furrowed up. “I never forgot about you. I thought about you every day. I was scared, too, I didn’t know anything about how you were doing or where you were, I didn’t know if I was ever gonna see you again, but I just lived like I would. I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t, I wasn’t able to. And there’s no one better, Joel,” you slide your hand over the table to take one of his. He unclasps them to fold it in and watches his thumb stroke over your hand. “You are the only one. What I feel for you can’t be touched. Even if I tried, I don’t think I could be with anyone else. But I didn’t try. All I did was miss you.”

At that, Joel takes your hand with both of his, taking a deep breath, and then leans in to place soft kisses over your knuckles, peering up at you as he does. A bolt in your core throbs heat into the rest of your body and you feel slightly dizzy. Again, you haven't had any kind of touch like this since the last time you were with Joel, so you’re starving for it, but above all, for Joel. His lips are gentle, his hands are warm and burly folded around yours. 

You slip your hand out of his and get up from the table. He watches you walk to his side to fix your level of separation and he stands and joins you back into an embrace. 

You sink into each other, bodies and minds fusing as if you were never apart. You match temperatures so all you feel is the pressure of his hands sliding up your back, under your shirt. In his hold, your back is arched and your hips are met; there’s barely any space between your bodies at all. You hold onto his face, running your hands over it, messing up his hair, focusing on his lips, letting him do the work on your body. Joel places a hand on the front of your thigh and starts slowly dragging it up. You twitch under it, desire like a lightning storm around under his touch. You nearly jerk into it and he finally slides his broad hand flush between your thighs. Your head falls back and he doesn’t miss a beat, moving his lips on your neck, and it forces a moan out of you. 

“You like that?” He says into your skin, barely out of a kiss, nose pressed against it. 

“Yes,” you whine, “please, oh my god.”

You feel Joel smile into your neck and he nips it. “Jump up.” You do, his hands out and ready to catch your thighs. This was a regular trick of yours and apparently your bodies haven’t forgotten it. As he starts for the stairs, you lean yourself over his shoulder. The placement of his hands are in both the best and worst spot, splayed just barely over every area you want him to touch. You hold onto his neck as he brings you upstairs and laugh when he kicks his bedroom door open, making it bang loudly against the wall. Once you drop back down to the ground, you connect your mouths again and immediately start to strip. While you struggle with the buttons on his shirt he undoes his belt and jeans and then yours. You rip his flannel off of him, annoyed at it, and then slide your hands under his shirt. You feel over his chest, around his back, and up his sides, relishing in it, and he chuckles into your lips before helping you pull it off. He wastes no time on your shirt, loving that you’re braless, caressing your chest, and then pulls you in, pressing your bare fronts together. You moan in the satisfaction of feeling him like this again. His calloused hands run smoothly up your back and on their way down pass briefly under your waistband. You raise him by slipping your hand all the way into his jeans, cupping his hardening cock. He swears into your mouth as you find hold of it. It electrifies you further, having forgotten about this part of him. Quickening breaths deepen the rise and fall of your chest against his.

He pulls his lips from yours and his voice is gruff when he says, “You’re killin’ me darlin’.”

The tone and the way he’s hardening in your hands is driving you wildly lustful and you tell him frankly, voice pitched high, “I want you so bad Joel I love your cock I need you to fuck me,” all of this wet into his lips. 

Immediately, Joel tugs down your pants, but when they’re at your knees, he pulls away to look at you and he says “Boots.” You both laugh breathily and sit down on the edge of his bed—your pants still halfway down—undoing your laces hastily. He finishes first and then helps you untie the laces of your other shoe, both of you chuckling with heavy breaths. You kick them off and then Joel moves in front of you, taking hold of the cuffs of your jeans to pull them off. Once they are, in one swift motion, he opens your legs up with his in between them, and, still standing but leaning over you on the bed, he slips his hand back between your legs. He places it flush against you through your underwear, which would be embarrassingly dirty, but who fucking cares? They’ll be gone soon anyway. Joel’s mouth opens amorously, watching your eyes as you let out a long, embarrassingly pornographic moan at the raw enough contact. He slides down deeper, the heel of his hand pressing lightly and thrillingly on your clit and you gasp into another moan. He grins and then leans his head down to your neck, dragging his tongue up its full length.

“Fuck,” you drawl involuntarily as a shiver runs through you and you hook your arms under his to claw his back. When Joel slides his hand back up between your legs, wetness seeps from your slit. Joel chuckles erotically, his breath over the line of his saliva on your neck making it worse and your legs open wider. The heat under his hand matches that in your chest and your breaths are more desperate in want of him.

Fed up of him taking it so slow, you slide your hands under him and push him up, holding onto his biceps to pull you up with him as he stands, and lick into his mouth. Your other hand goes straight into his pants and under his briefs, teasing him like he had you. When he moans into your mouth you squeeze only slightly and then slowly move your hand up until your thumb comes to the spot just before the underside of his tip. You begin working it like that, teasing him wet and sensitive in your hand. 

Joel pulls his face away from yours, eyes closed, and breathes out “Shit.” He squeezes the arm reached down and moves his hips into your hand. You keep at it, biting your lip watching him. “Ah, oh, fuck,” he mumbles, almost sluring his words, and warns, “If you don’t stop I’m gonna cum,” when you do stop, he groans. 

Bringing your hand away from him, you settle it on his belly and wrap your other arm around his neck to nuzzle your face into it and mumble, “I missed your cock so much, I miss feeling it, I wanna see you cum,”

“Fuck.” Joel states, then commands, “Lay back on the bed.” You do as you’re told, propping yourself up with your forearms behind you on the bed and watch him drop his pants. Finally naked, his cock bounces to flip onto his stomach, reaching just under his belly button; dark curls hide everything else. Your sigh is almost a moan just looking at him, like a meaty roman sculpture of the exemplary man. His brow shadows sultry eyes and, like an animal in heat, you open your legs, peering up at him needily.

He slowly crawls over you and whispers, “Move up for me darlin’,” nodding his head to the side for you to lay properly on the bed, head on his pillow. He reaches past you to click on the bedside lamp and then sits up on his knees, admiring you under the golden–yellow light. He places a large hand on your stomach, adding pressure as he slivers it up to fondle your chest.

You appreciate the sentiment, but you have plenty of time for slow, worship sex, and right now, “Joel please I need you to fuck me,”

Smirking, he growls, “Since you asked so nice,” and lowers himself onto you, kissing sluggishly. He doesn’t bother to remove his face from against yours to take your underwear off, just tugs at them until they find their way to slip off. Then, as he positions himself, your thigh slides over his—it’s small, but something about it makes you sigh sensually.

“You ready for me baby?” Joel asks, hovering his lips over yours.

You could come up with some clever remark but now is not the time, so you simply whine, “Yes, Joel, please, I need you,”

“Yeah?” He says, low and lazy, and then moans softly as he eases his thick length into you. Deep satisfaction flows through you as he fills you up, humming and moaning. Your foreheads press together as you adjust, both your mouths wide open, and Joel’s fist clutches the sheets next to your head. He brings himself back out slowly until only his tip is inside you, and then his free hand clutches your side as if to hold you in place as he reinserts himself and begins thrusting, now only barely pulling any length out before plunging back in. Your lungs jump and clumsy moans pour out of you as the force of it rocks your hips. 

Joel licks your cheek and then, grabbing hold of your hips to keep himself inside you, pulls himself to sit on his knees. Stretching your arms up, you bear yourself to him, and his mouth has yet to close. He bites his lip before starting to fuck you again, both harder and faster, holding your lower back completely off of the bed. 

“Only me, huh?” He says, breaths bumping as he drives himself into you, “I’m the only one that touches you?”

“Yes,” you moan out. 

“You touched yourself, though did’n you?” You answer in the same way, “You thought about me while you did, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” you sound, high pitched as he starts to fuck you harder. 

“Did it feel this good?”

“No,” your drawn out answer catches with the force of his hips pounding against you. 

Joel’s head falls back as he speeds up and you already feel yourself start to constrict around him. 

“Shit,” he looks back down at you, hums aggressively, and slows his pace dramatically. “No baby, not yet, not yet.” As he pulls out fully, precum flicks onto your stomach and he drops your hips. Back down on top of you, your body weighs into the bed under his and your mouths bond again.

Joel can’t keep his cock out of you for long, though, keeping up messy kisses, each rolling into the next in a flux, he shoves his hand down to slip back into you and fucks a quick tempo that makes the bed creak. One of his hands stays planted on the bed next to your head and the other goes back to hold your hip, pulling you into him with each of his thrusts. Angled slightly up inside of you, he hits a spot that produces a guttural moan from you, and while your mouth is wide open with it, Joel doesn’t quit biting and licking at your lips. 

Your body reacts without you, your hand slithering over him—up his arms, his torso, his back, one landing to grip his hair and the other reaching at his hip. The way he bucks into you now hinders your ability to kiss but your faces rub and touch, sharing the same hot air, moaning over each other. 

After one loud, long moan, Joel pulls out of you again in a swift motion, moaning through pants. 

“Joel why the fuck do you keep stopping,” you slap your palms on his chest in frustration, legs still spread under him. 

“Well I js’ don’t wanna cum too fast,” he answers innocently.

“Joel I have been waiting five years…” he starts to chuckle and you smile, “for you to cum.” You slap his chest again and then decide to take this matter into your own hands, pushing him up to get yourself on top. You straddle him, his cock resting stiff and shining on his stomach. Back up at his face, you look into dark eyes, his lips parted with heavy breaths, and you slide your fingers through his hair, gripping a bunch, silver strands highlighted in the light. Keeping eye contact, Joel’s fingers trail lightly down either of your sides as you sit up, sliding his joystick into your hold, and he hums as you sit down on it. After adjusting to his throbbing size, you come up and back down slowly a few times, and then begin swinging your hips to fuck him. A loud, long moan cracks out of him and he closes his eyes and seizes your hips. You release his hair and instead hold into his thick, veiny forearms like handlebars as you accelerate. He moans, long and loud again, and, keeping up a beat with your hips, you lay down on him, pressing your body against his, and eat the moans from his mouth. He adjusts his hold by wrapping an arm around the middle of your back to hold you down and squeezing your ass with the other as if to help your hips along. To keep yourself stabilized enough to keep your mouths together—you could barely call it kissing anymore, just sliding tongues and lips however you can—you plant your hands on the bed with your arms like you would doing a pushup. 

Even though you’re on top, Joel is in control now, holding you to fuck up into you.

He angles his head down so that your foreheads stay pressed but he can speak, “Fuck babygirl you feel so good, so fuckin’ tight, I fill you up so good, huh? Pussy’s just for me to cum in, huh? All fr’ me? All mine? Can you tell me you’re all mine?” His words and breaths catch with the rhythm of the surging flux of your bodies rolling together. You feel his muscles jolting in his lower abdomen as he drives in and out and those in his arm twitching against your back with the force of it. The way he fills you is carnally satisfying and overdue and you never want it to stop.

“Yes, yes, all yours, all for you, my pussy’s all for you—fuuck—yours, my pussy belongs to you,”

“Thas’ right, babygirl, you belong to me.” He takes your bottom lip with his teeth and pulls your mouth back to roll his tongue into and unfurls his arm around you to grasp a bundle of hair. 

Suddenly, he maneuvers you to flump your back on the bed, bringing himself back on top, and immediately stuffs himself back into you. He grips your hips again to fuck you like he was before, controlling you like a doll, and you grab onto his wrists.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he continues, fucking with an immediately brutal pace, hitting you somewhere deep and perfect but he’s talking over you too much to be able to tell him you’re going to cum, “I was so spolied, I didn’ realize how spoiled I was with this lil’ pussy,” he bumps you hard and rough a couple times to emphasize, “perfect lil’ pussy on my perfect lil’ girl, my sweet girl, so good to me,” Joel tilts forward, keeping himself securely deep between your legs, and releases one of your hips—which you would not be surprised to be bruised exactly in the form of his fingers—to stroke his hand over your cheek, and then gently hooks his thumb in your mouth, pulling your lip out to the side. “Now I get t’ fuck you every fuckin’ night, cause you’re all mine n’ I’m all yours, gonna make you cum every fuckin’ night,” your hips inadvertently lurch against him and you bark a moan and his thumb trails out of your mouth as your head leans back onto the bed. You haven’t had your body move like this in awhile, an animal in and of itself, innately greedy for its mate. Joel sounds almost excited when he says, “Ooh, oh, you gonna cum babygirl?” He sits back on his calves rather than standing on his knees and readjusts his hold on your hips, hands digging into the flesh defining your waist to your hips, and pulls you into his rough, uncoordinated thrusts, driving the entirety of his shaft into you so deep that you feel pressure pushing up in your stomach with each rocking tug. He pants out moans, watching you attentively as your face screws up while you reach your personal crescendo. 

The only time you feel this desperate for something is when you’re about to die—such a blind need, a moment stretched out that you will to continue until you are satiated, and oh does Joel deliver. 

“Go on babygirl, go on n’ cum for me, cum around my cock, be a good girl an’ show me you’re mine, I wanna make you cum, baby cum for me, cum for me,” 

His pleading encouragement is more than enough to pierce the balloon swelling in your stomach, already being bumped rapturously by his manhood. One of your hands is thrown back, grasping at the sheets, the other remaining around his wrist. Your eyes roll back in your head, you suck in a breath and there is a moment of silence, save for the creaking bed, before you break it with a ridiculous, long moan, perceiving only the bursts of ecstasy from Joel’s messy pace, which he quickens with breathy moans. Your contractions around him are dramatic, essentially sucking his dick inside of you like instinct. He pulls you against him and is mostly still besides his hips, which rapidly lurch, drawing out your orgasm to overlap with his. He falls silent again, mouth open and his brow furrowed, eyes also nearly rolled back in his head, as he mechanically glides short in and outs, nearly all of him buried inside of you, pulling back an inch at a time at most as he uses your trembling, sheathlike pussy to stroke out his cum. Then, as his hips jerk forward, leaning into you, and then jerk in again, moans squeeze out of his throat, and he finishes pressed into you. 

Panting, you stay pressed and gaze at each other, more or less astonished. 

“God damn.” Joel is the first to comment.

You laugh, out of breath, feeling him ooze inside of you. “We really get to do that every night.”

“My god I’m in heaven.” He half jokes with a smile, then relaxes your position with a huff, letting his softening length fall out and rest over you. Joel runs his hands up and down your body in two broad strokes, looking you over, then smirks and chuckles breathily. Then he slaps your thighs and simply offers, “Shower?” and laughs as your face lights up.

“Fuck I almost forgot about that!” You grin with wide, excited eyes, and follow him off the bed, squeezing your legs together a little, still filled with his cum, as you walk to the bathroom attached to Joel’s room. You admire the back of him as he turns the squeaky knobs. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve gotten this kind of full view of him; as many times as you’ve been naked with each other, it’s almost always had to have been somewhat ducked and rushed. His back is casually muscular and he has ever so slight love handles. A knee bent outwards shows off a round ass. 

Hearing the water start to spray, you can’t help a giggle, eager, and he twists to you with a smirking grin and laughs. 

“Oh man,” he chuckles as he turns his back, meticulously adjusting the temperature, then twists his head again, looking at you expectantly, “Well come on, then,” and you patter over. He gently takes your hand to lead you into the square stall, and moves behind you to slide the glass door shut. 

There is no need for him to walk you through the process of taking a shower, but he slowly guides you under the spray anyway, and you gasp as it hits you, still heating up, not used to the sensation. You hadn't realized that it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten how a shower feels and it disturbs you slightly, feeling a little feral versus Joel’s domesticated cleanliness, but his light, absent minded smile eases the thoughts out as he walks in a few slow steps, backing you up to join you under the showerhead’s broad spray. He leans his head back, closes his eyes under the water, and lets go of you to smooth his hair back as the water soaks it. When he opens his eyes again, he smiles at you and smoothes his hands over your wet face. 

“Turn around,” he nods, and you do. He stops touching you, leaving you unnerved for only a moment until his hands come back over your upper back, cool soap gliding them over your skin. He squeezes your shoulders lightly and it makes you sigh, then slides his hands over your shoulders, up and down each arm individually, adding more slight, relaxing pressure, and then his hands follow the personal downward design of your body as he shifts his body against your back. Stubble tickles your neck and you giggle as he nudges in to place innocent kisses over your neck while he washes your chest, then slipping soapy hands down your sides to your waist, hips, and what he can reach of your thighs. Humming out a deep sigh, you feel dazed and limp under the hot, deeply relaxing water. Joel embraces you from behind, just resting his face in your neck, standing still with his arms around you. 

Suddenly, you’re hit with the urge to cry. This is the safest you’ve felt in a long, long time. Not only are you in Jackson, a secure compound where you can go see a friend for a drink and take a hot shower with the promise of fresh clothes, but your love is finally with you, solid and warm, holding you with strong arms and gentle lips. You can’t hold it back, and when Joel feels it he removes himself and turns you around. “What’s wrong babygirl?” concern contorts his face. 

Smiling as much as your crying allows, you answer, “Nothing.” 

Understanding, Joel pouts his lips in an emotional smile and pulls you back in, hooking his arms under yours to support your weight, and your arms follow up around his neck. “I know.” You let it go and weep quietly against him. “It’s alright baby. I got’chou. You’re alright, darlin’.” He reassures you. After a couple minutes, you calm, suddenly very tired, barely opening your eyes when Joel pulls away. “Oh, baby,” he chuckles, “don’t go to sleep in the shower. Lemme finish you up real quick, then you can go to bed n’ I’ll get you some new clothes from Maria.”

“No,” you murmur, “don’t leave me.”

“Alright, alright,” he pulls you back in, “I’ll stay with you. I’ll never leave you.” He sighs serenely into the crook of your neck. “You can just borrow some’m my clothes, n’ I’ll talk to Maria in the mornin’. Okay?” You nod. “Alright, baby,” he readjusts his embrace around you, “let’s just get into bed, we can give you a proper shower later. Plenty a time. You can take a shower every day if you want, a hot shower every day. An’ I’ll stay with you every night. Jus’ like like this.” Joel’s hands rub up and down your body, “Warm like this. Every day will be warm jus’ like this now, my love.”

[wrtingsoftheunknown]

Vincent Sinclair HC

Vincent Sinclair hc SFW and NSFW

I’ve haven’t  been seeing my boy get repped recently so I have to do it myself. My first time writing something on here or towards this character ,I promise I will get better y'al,l I made this super quickly not proofread oops.

SFW

-While he can be insecure about his face he definitely has an ego from being the favorite child and having perfected his craft.

Lester drags him out to go for a ride around town or force him to come to his place for some quality brother time (Bo joins every now and then but wants peace and quiet dammit )

‘I know a lot of people have him learn sign language but I think he either writes what he wants to say, speaks as best as he can, or gestures, ( he was born in the south to parents that I don't think cared about communicating with him too much but he could have picked it up later in life maybe in his teen years or middle school era)

More sadistic than Bo when it comes to killing, he doesn't care if they are dead or alive when working on them and takes satisfaction in the result of his work

He prefers to work in silence but you can catch him humming now and then some country song or a guilty pleasure pop song from the 80’s( I see you Vince)

I think he partakes in multiple forms of art besides wax work.We see he’s able to paint, draw, but he also  takes pictures, , sews, writes, makes videos, anything artistic he’s learning and keeping up with new techniques.

Since he takes video of the killings at times I think they sell them as snuff films to make extra cash on top of stealing and selling victims stuff. (At least that’s what I thought when I first watched the film anyone else or just me)

Rarely happens but will keep victims that interest him like Bo ,but dispose of them when they get boring  or no longer match up the ideal version of them in his head.

-Does want a lifelong partner, the white wedding and picket fence, kids,  but knows it might be difficult with the line of work he does.

- He can talk but only does when it’s important or to emphasize something. He does have a southern draw like Bo and I imagine his voice to sound similar but raspier, maybe deeper/ quieter from not using it as much.

-like I said earlier you have to really catch his attention and be able to hold it for more than a week, if that happens then he’s obsessed and protective maybe a little too over protective.

Does indeed have a hair care routine I believe this full throttle and no one can can tell me otherwise I'm not listening.

NSFW

I don't know if he’s a virgin, I don't think he is something is telling me he isn't, but i’m not sure

He has no problem with nudity, bodies are seen as art, there's not as much of a sexual connotation with them as with Bo and Lester .

He wants to be in love with the person he is intimate with, he wants to be worship and worship his muse.

Drawings  of his partner naked as well as in the midst of a passionate night, he might tease them all night to make sure the sketch is as life like and accurate as possible

Good size and thick that's all I gotta say

Praise kink hard core, hearing his partner call him a good boy or how he makes them feel so good he will crumble

He starts slow and sensual, enjoys the control he has and having someone at his power.

I think he will edge you and leave you high and dry when you act out but he always caves by the end of the day and gives you what you need.

Can last a long time surprisingly

Mainly a giver but someone please for the love of god give this man the nastiest had he’s ever received will make the prettiest noises 

Is down to try anything new and more open about sex than you would think.

When he’s horny he comes up behind his partner and starts caressing every inch he can reach, while resting his chin on their shoulder acting as innocent as he can.

[mx-pastelwriting]

I Don’t Smoke

(Post-War) Cooper Howard x GN! Reader

Summary: Cooper couldn't keep his promise even when reminded of you.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Reader Dies, Held at gunpoint, Feral Cooper, Angst, Sad, Mention of body decay

A/N: Little bit inspired by the song I Don't Smoke by Mitski. Yes, I cried writing this.

The Wasteland a dangerous place, holding no hand to those who took its challenge. Its sandy beaches and dry heat a home to many creatures. Safety being a thing of the past, many growing with the rough life, some dying to catch up.

Cooper Howard having two hundred years to grow in the wasteland, starting off to survive, now only shooting for the thrill, with caps being an afterthought. Yet everything changed, laying his sore eyes on you.

Remembering the days by the pool, lying up in each other's arms watching the sunset, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke coming straight from his whiskey lips. Times like those made it harder for Cooper to be around others, with his trigger finger twitching at the smell.

Letting out your cries and loving words from that day traveling with your ghoul husband, protecting each other in different ways against the wasteland. Though he made a promise not to hurt anyone without reason, which meant no more bounties, his cowboy days were over; trading it all for you.

"Here," you say, handing over a bowl of soup, it being all you could manage on the road. Gently taking it from you before sipping on the hot broth and chewing on pieces of meat.

"Good?" he nodded in response, giving reassurance to the quality of the quick meal, serving yourself thereafter. As the night went on with the kicked-out fire leaving a lingering smell, laying comfortably in Cooper's arms, ready for sleep to take you.

This being a cheap version of your life before, you couldn't ask for your old house back, but that wasn't what was missing. "Coop, do you have any cigarettes?" Your question made him laugh.

"Darling, I haven't had one of those in two hundred years." His answer surprises you, but the moment is cut short by the noise of rattling from the dry bushes. Staying close to Cooper as he stood ready to shoot.

Happing all too fast for him as you were snatched up in a raider's arms, both of you being held at gunpoint by the two.

"Fucking been tracking you for days," Cooper's captor says out of breath, watching as the man removes his hat, letting Cooper's face glow in the stomped-out firelight.

"The famous fucking ghoul bounty hunter" specking again, making you lock eyes with Cooper, knowing his past being as honest as he could without scaring you off.

"Pretty price on your head," your captor says, tightening his grip on you. "Yeah, and if you come with us, we'll let them go," the other says, leaning close to Cooper.

Wishing things had gone a little differently, but the wasteland gives no mercy, not even to the ones who play the game well.

Cooper watched as your body hit the floor, shot by the raider. Having hesitated moments before looking into your scared eyes, fear bubbled deep down in himself, afraid of you seeing his ways of destruction. Returning the same mercy to the two men taking their bullets as you couldn't.

Cradling your dead body, letting out cries of disbelief with every breath asking for your forgiveness. Rocking softly, you slowly head close to his chest as tears run down his scarred face—the same face you loved with no question. Even when he saw a different man in every broken mirror, you were there to kiss the doubt away. Never will he have that again.

As the sunrise came, shining its light on your body, allowing Cooper to see the full damage, causing more apologies and tears to spill. All of the blood staining his face and worn leather clothes glistened in the light.

Staying with you all night, whispering to you, retelling all the memories you made together, hoping you would make new ones. Regret filled his worn voice, continuing to tell of his sorrows in all of the nights, leaving you to sleep in a cold bed, working through the night on movies that mean so little now.

Cooper's body moved, aching with hunger. Growls involuntarily escaped his mind, urging him to cry out. Worn clothing ripped over time, dragging along the floor as he circled a broken shed, his head snapping around to the sound of voices, following it with stumbling feet seeing two men chatting away.

Stepping closer, smelling a familiar scent, seeing as one of them smoked a cigarette, blowing the smoke against the breeze breathing right into his face. The thick smell brought back forgotten memories—memories that calmed his vicious hunger.

Remembering your face and eyes lit up at the mere sight of him, the smile that grew on your face making an urge to find you as if you were somewhere in the wastelands once again looking for him. Quickly, the memory of your last moments played, bringing back the hunger, leaving no mercy for the two men.

After finishing, Copper stumbled back into the broken-down shed, looking over at the bed where a decaying body was tucked into the bed. Breaking his first promise, hoping you'd understand having gone feral after losing you. When his sanity started to slip away, he promised to keep another; never to leave your decaying body.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @emoguardian @danveration @writtenbyhollywood

[fioiswriting]

The sea and the fire

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” - R.F Kuang

Rating : will be explicit 18+ later, MDNI Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader later TW : mention of blood, mention of murder. TW will be added as the story progresses. Words count : 4361 AN : Hello everyone! I'm back from the deads hehe. Sorry, I've been busy with a lot of things lately, I've had a couple of exams and I'm also in the process of writing my (second) master's thesis. Sooo anyway, I've written the first chapter of my new fanfic. Yes, it is YET ANOTHER story that involves niece!reader x Aemond and it is adapted from an RP with my girlfriend. If you're tired of this trope, if you're uncomfortable with this dynamic, I suggest you find another fanfic (there are plenty of masterpieces on tumblr anyway!! 💕). It's been on my mind for a long time, and I finally found the time to finish this first chapter. I don't know yet how many chapters there will be or how often I'll post, but I hope you like it! 💕 As always, be nice, I know there are probably some inconsistencies, but we're here to have fun, right? (BTW, I've been bingewatching Vikings and I know the fandom is kinda dead, but I want to write some x readers now)

Also, English is not my first (nor second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes!!

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 1 : Silk Street

War of heart - Ruelle 🎶

The streets of King's Landing had the peculiar quality of being both enticing and repelling; like a unique, curious spectacle that you discovered with every hesitant step you took. The smell of fresh fish mingled with that of fire and sewers, tickling your nose with unfamiliar smells. It was new to you, these smells, these sounds too; the hammering of the blacksmith's tools on the metal, the shouts of the merchants, the rolling of the cartwheels on the cobblestones of the winding streets. It was different from what you were used to; the steady rocking of the waves, the calm of the rain, the ups and downs of the tides. The only turbulence in your daily life were the storms you were so fond of, and the thunder, the lightning, the wind that shook the stones and lifted the waves had an untameable yet terribly soothing aspect. 

Unlike King's Landing. 

If it wasn't the natural elements that threatened to unleash their wrath here in King's Landing, it was the unpredictability of the people in the streets, the danger lurking around every corner, the risk of disappearing forever into the shadows of a forgotten alley.

Apart from the hustle and bustle of the forbidden streets you were discovering for the first time after so many years - and the adrenaline rush of breaking the restriction on venturing there - King's Landing was, objectively speaking, a deadly bore. 

But it was still less boring than going round in circles in the castle. 

You knew it was the dream of every lady in the Seven Kingdoms to live within the walls of the Red Keep, for it had been yours for a long time. Back when you lived in your childhood bedroom - the one on the second floor - you had no trouble imagining yourself spending your life in the gardens of the Red Keep, with your husband, enjoying the strawberry cakes and the books in the great library.

After all, you and Aemond were inseparable. 

But in the meantime, fate had decided otherwise, and the mild climate of King's Landing, where you were born, where you celebrated your first words and your first steps, had been replaced by the vagaries of Dragonstone's weather. It was the sea, the storm and the rain that raised you, and it was with your feet in the water, on the shingle, that you grew up. 

Living in King's Landing now was different from anything you'd ever imagined before. 

King's Landing tasted bland. Boring.  

Your mother had promised that the stay would be temporary, a few weeks at most, just to settle some business with Alicent and Viserys - your grandfather. The aim was to find a way to keep the peace between your families, but you weren't an idiot. You knew that the rift between your families was growing wider and wider.

And that one of the only ways to prevent a total, irreparable rupture was a promise of marriage. 

Then again, wasn't it your duty to be sold into marriage, to strengthen the bonds, to carry the family's shaky balance on your shoulders?

You already missed Dragonstone. You missed the sea. You missed walking on cold water.

King's Landing was like a golden prison you couldn't leave because everything around it was too dangerous.

And you were bored. You had been reading. You had been embroidering. You had wandered far and wide through the gardens. You'd listened kindly and attentively to Helaena talk about her insects, and you'd spent several afternoons sharing court gossip with Baela and Rhaena.

You spent much of your time avoiding your uncle. Or watching him from afar.

For he had changed terribly; for better or worse, you weren't sure. You only kept the memories of your shared childhood, somewhere in your heart, like a buried secret, like a triple-locked treasure you'd sworn never to open again. 

The memories were painful. They created a lump in your throat, they kept you awake at night, they made your tears flow.  

And that was why you locked them away and threw away the key that kept them locked. 

You decided you weren't that child anymore - you stopped being that child when you went your separate ways, when you went back to Dragonstone and he stayed here. Now he wasn't the little boy you left either: he had become this cold, tall, ruthless young man. He had that cunning little smile, that air of self-assurance he wore with his head held high and his chin up.

Boredom drove you to follow Aegon into the city. He suggested it and suddenly all sense of reason left your body. Weren't you the most reasonable of your siblings, the most prudent, the most intelligent? An inexplicable feeling had urged you to accept, like two hands behind your back pushing you towards him, like a voice in your head encouraging you to abandon your model daughter's appearance: the call of transgression. Curiosity. The desire to be bold. The danger. For once you were making a decision, your own decision, without your parents or brothers knowing. You were the master of your actions, and in a way, it was an act of rebellion that gave you a feeling of freedom, that awakened a sense of excitement in you.

Ser Erryk protested, of course, when he realised your little ploy, but you had already vanished before he could stop you. You laughed as you followed Aegon, his mischievous smile at the corner of his lips as he led you through the secret passage that allowed you to sneak out of the castle, your hand in the crook of his elbow so as not to lose you. 

And everything went well. You enjoyed your newfound freedom with a mixture of curiosity and fear, your body pressed against your uncle's, the hood pulled down over your forehead. You had the advantage of dark hair - the opposite of the Targaryens' emblematic features. It attracted less attention, you knew it. But your curious gaze, your round eyes that discovered the ordinary life of the lowborn must have intrigued the most observant ones, for Aegon nudged you in the ribs when he caught you looking a little too intently at the work of a craftsman. 

"You make a poor peasant," he whispered in your ear. "Well... You're obviously too pretty to be a peasant, that's for sure. But try to be more discreet." He paused. "Those men are looking at you like hungry dogs" he lowered his voice. You rolled your eyes and patted him on the shoulder. 

To tell the truth, you weren't comfortable with all those men giving you lecherous looks, but Aegon's presence was reassuring. 

He showed you the shortcuts he knew, the secrets, the curiosities of the city, and he talked to you. You wondered if he, too, had changed. You wondered if he'd gone from that stupid, mocking, annoying child to a secretly vulnerable, secretly lonely young adult. You knew about his bad habits; alcohol and sex, but this secret escapade showed you a side of him you didn't know. When had he become nice?

"Wait for me," he said as you looked around. The streets had changed, they had become busier, and suddenly you realised that you were frightened. "I'll be quick. Don't move and keep this on your head." 

You wanted to protest, to hold him back, but your uncle had already slipped away.

You were all alone in the Silk of Street.

Your heartbeat quickened. You weren't sure you'd find your way back, and Aegon had ordered you to stay there, not to move, not to talk to anyone. Fuck.

Fuck.

Had he done it on purpose? Was it a plan he'd been hatching all along, a bad joke he'd decided to play on his niece, on Rhaenyra's only daughter? Was he still the mean boy who bullied his little brother? Or did he actually have a real reason for leaving you there, all alone, in the street where brothels piled up and nobles went to satisfy their needs? 

You were angry at yourself for trusting him. You blamed yourself for being so naive. You couldn't believe he'd really set a trap for you, not after the complicity you'd shared just before. 

Or maybe he was just being Aegon; irresponsible and immature, oblivious to danger, and so stupid as to think that waiting for him here was a good idea.

You sighed. Tears tickled the corners of your eyes with fear, but you tried to chase them away, to swallow them down, to calm your racing heart. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself.

But there were these men all around you, looking at you as if they were ready to pounce. Was this how you would end up, abducted, and sold into a cheap brothel? Murdered after serving the needs of a few old men? You shuddered at the thought. 

The voices around you mingled with the tumult, blurred images drawing unidentified shapes before your eyes, and you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your cloak. 

"So? What do you say, girl?" 

A hand on your waist.

You weren't sure you understood what the man in front of you was saying. The words were bouncing around in your head without you being able to make them out, but his hungry smile was enough to reveal their nature. You froze. He was joined by another man, and you took a step back, then a second. It was as if your body refused to obey you, as if your brain stopped working, and you hated yourself for it. 

You hated yourself for being so weak. 

You had a dragon. You were a Targaryen. So why were you trembling? Why couldn't you gather your courage and run, gather your courage and plunge your dagger into someone's chest, fight and scream?

One of them, the older-looking one, closed his hand around your wrist. 

"Let me go!" You screamed, but the words caught in your throat, escaping your lips like a distorted cry. "Go away!" 

Simple commands that couldn't get through the space between your lips with the authority you wanted. 

You closed your eyes, trying to resist.

Fuck. You were going to die. You were going to be raped and then you were going to die, or be sold into sex work, or -

Something splashed in your face and suddenly you felt free. 

"Didn't you hear her? She said let me go," a hoarse voice growled. 

Your blood ran cold. 

You knew exactly who it was.

That calm but sharp tone belonged to only one person: Aemond Targaryen.

How had he found you? Why had he found you? You opened your eyes instantly, your cheeks still red with shame. You knew you'd been irresponsible, and that wasn't in your nature at all, quite the opposite. But the fact that Aemond had caught you in such a weak position bothered and annoyed you. 

It was supposed to be your secret, your act of rebellious transgression, your forbidden escapade with Aegon. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be Aemond rescuing you.

You opened your eyes. Facing you, the older man was kneeling on the pavement. He was clutching at his right side, blood trickling through his fingers to the ground. He was suffocating, blood pouring from his lips, but Aemond wiped the blade of his sword with a satisfied smile. 

The crowd had gathered to watch what was happening, a mixture of fear and curiosity on their faces, but Aemond was already hastening to chase them away in a tone that left no room for discussion:

"There's nothing to see," he thundered. "Go away. All of you. Or I'll serve you as food for Vhagar."

The crowd dispersed, frightened; women grabbing their children by the shoulders to force them to move, barefoot beggars hurrying to gather their bowl and few coins to find another place, prostitutes closing the curtains with an irritated sigh, old men almost stumbling, and soon the street was deserted.

Despite the hood that covered his face, you could see the flat line of his grin and the cold, accusing look with which he stared at you. He was furious. 

Perhaps he expected you to thank him, for Aemond approached you without a word. You looked up at him, your cheeks still red with shame. You were too proud to thank him. 

And you were still too angry, too.

Angry at his silence all these years, angry that he'd let you down when you'd stood up for him, angry at the man he'd become. 

"Are you coming or not?" he asked in his icy voice, his hand already closing around your wrist to force you forward, but you didn't move.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, frowning. You'd suddenly regained your repartee. 

You knew you had to calm things down, thank him and follow him in silence. Accept the humiliation and beg for his silence. You knew you were making things more difficult than they already were, but that was Aemond. And once again, in front of Aemond, you had a pride to uphold.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, his voice sharp. He froze, his dark eyes glaring at you as if you'd just insulted him. Suddenly you felt so small in front of him. "I should be asking you that question," he added dryly, obviously trying to keep the tone of his voice under control. "You're even more stupid than I thought."

The sentence had the effect of a slap in the face, and you felt your cheeks burning. Like a little girl caught red-handed, you lowered your head. What had been going through your mind? Why had you decided to follow Aegon in the first place?

Aemond lifted you with ease and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, as if he wanted to be sure you would follow him, as if he feared you would escape again, as if he didn't trust you. 

And in the end, perhaps he was right.

As he carried you to the Red Keep, your fists pounded on his back. Small blows that he ignored, painless on the width that was his back. 

He seemed to ignore you, perhaps more annoyed that you wouldn't stay still than anything else. But you didn't need him to play the perfect knight, not when he'd been ignoring you all this time. Not when he'd barely spoken to you on your return to King's Landing. Not when he drew a line under your childhood as if nothing had happened. 

Not when he kept harassing your brothers. 

It irritated you. He played the role of the ideal husband-to-be, impassive and calm; as if he'd always been the knight in shining armour he never was.

"You could at least let me go," you sighed, seeing that nothing seemed to disturb your uncle's icy calm. "I know how to walk. "

He had a moment's hesitation where he stopped, and then you felt him readjust your position with a flick of his shoulder. You had no trouble imagining the corners of his lips curling upwards, painting his face with his usual insolent grin, you had no trouble imagining him chuckling at your condition.

"Stop it, you are only making it harder for us," he growled in an authoritative voice. "And if you are not happy, I can always leave you here."  He paused. "I did not know you dreamed of working in a brothel."

The comment was enough to send another wave of heat up your cheeks, colouring them red, but you tried as best you could to keep your composure, as if not to betray your embarrassment in front of the prince. 

You refused to show him that his remark had affected you.

You just gritted your teeth and sighed. 

The position was becoming uncomfortable: Aemond's bony shoulder was digging into your stomach and your legs were going numb, as if thousands of little ants were crawling all over them. 

You hoped no one would see you when you got back to the castle. Your excursion into the city was supposed to be discreet; you weren't supposed to come back with a blood-stained tunic, nor hanging over your one-eyed uncle's shoulders. 

If Aemond knew anything about the impending official announcement of your betrothal, he said nothing, walking ahead of him as if you were as light as a sack of grain.

"Qybor." You whispered again, this time using High Valyrian. Uncle. You hoped the nickname would make him react. "Qybor," you repeated a little louder. "I can walk by myself now."

If the nickname had any effect on him, Aemond didn't show it. But you had no trouble imagining the stupefaction you would have read on his face had you been face to face with him. You were proud of your skills in High Valyrian: you learned faster than Jace, faster than Luke, but then again, you'd always loved books and history, languages and learning. Aemond would probably remember that, it was what brought you together as a child in the first place.

You could see the tall towers of the Red Keep in front of you, their red bricks standing out against the blue sky. From a distance, you could understand the fascination of the people. There was something great, something sumptuous about the sight of this building, and you understood why it had taken three reigns to build it. 

 But despite your pleas, Aemond had not moved an eye. You knew that if your uncle hadn't intervened, you would probably have ended up in a dark alley, or in a filthy brothel, used as a plaything by a bunch of drunken lords, or in the dirty hands of ill-intentioned men. The thought made a lump grow in your throat that you found hard to swallow. 

You were definitely naive and stupid for agreeing to follow Aegon like that. 

Still, you hadn't bothered to thank Aemond.

You had too much pride to thank him, a flaw you'd inherited from your family. 

You were stubborn, never satisfied, and always had something to say. 

But Aemond, it seemed, had as much - if not more - pride than you. 

Your engagement promised to be surprising.

"I am serious, Aemond," you added. It felt strange to call him by his first name when you hadn't addressed him that way for years. "I am a..." strong woman, you wanted to reply, but you chose another word instead, not wanting to give him the occasion to mock you: "independent woman".

As you approached the entrance - you prayed Aemond would choose one of the secret passages, you couldn't bear the humiliation of being carried off like a piece of merchandise by your presumed future husband - he stopped and set you down. His single eye searched your face, as if looking for the slightest trace of gratitude, but he knew he wouldn't find any; he knew it would have been too easy, and he knew it wouldn't have been you. 

You weren't easy. 

Pulling your arm to make you walk faster, Aemond forced you to follow him, around the ramparts, glancing around to make sure no one was following you. He pulled a little harder. "Mandianna," he began, his husky voice vibrating, the tone sending a wave of heat through your lower belly.

There was something incredibly pleasing about hearing the intonations of High Valyrian roll off your uncle's tongue. 

But that was Aemond. And it was out of the question for you to feel anything for Aemond.

Around the bend in the ramparts, out of sight, he slammed you against the wall, both hands pressed firmly against your shoulders to prevent you from fleeing. "What exactly did you think would happen when you went to Silk Street, tell me?"

You knew what he was thinking. That you were irresponsible. That your actions were unworthy of someone of your station, and even more so if you were to be his future betrothed. That he wondered if your time on Dragonstone had made you reckless and wild, that he wondered if he might need to teach you some manners before he could marry you.

His judging gaze swept you from head to toe. As if to say that though your father's legitimacy was often questioned, Aemond knew that you were indeed Rhaenyra's daughter. 

You avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on a point beside his face. You wanted to say something witty, but the young prince had robbed you of any chance of intelligent thought, and you hated this feeling.

"I didn't think you'd come looking for me, Qybor," you replied with a grin as you looked up at him. "I thought you were a busy man."

You felt his fingers tighten on your shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of your cloak and tunic underneath. Your behaviour was childish, like a petulant brat, but secretly you enjoyed seeing Aemond lose his temper. You liked to push him to his limits. You liked to see the subtle signs of his irritation; the moment when he clenched his jaw, when he straightened his neck, when his breathing quickened.

If you were to marry him, then you would be poison, ready to corrupt his soul.

He grabbed the collar of your linen tunic and pushed you a little harder against the wall. "I thought you were smarter than to follow my brother into the city." His body rigid against yours kept you pinned to the wall.

The expression on his face betrayed his inner conflict: part of him thinking that he shouldn't care about his niece's actions, about you. Part of him reminding that you were soon to be betrothed. 

And you knew that the thought of other men putting their hands on you, on his bride's body was lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach. 

Jealousy. 

Possessiveness.

Aemond was a man driven by duty. On this level, you were the same; the model son and model daughter of your respective families, charged with performing your duties to prevent the gulf that separated your families from widening. 

Both the eternal seconds of your families. 

Both the pride of your mothers. 

Suddenly he released you. His hand found your wrist again and he pulled you through the corridors of the castle. Had anyone caught you now, your hood pulled down over your forehead, your clothes hiding your appearance, they would probably have frowned and wondered if Aemond had suddenly decided to follow in his brother's footsteps, his taste for debauchery, by bringing a common girl or a cheap prostitute into his chamber.

For at that moment, you did not look like the daughter of royal blood that you were, not with your simple linen clothes, not with the thick cloak that covered your body, not with your hair tied up carelessly. You looked like a servant girl, a smallfolk girl, not like the Pearl of Dragonstone that you truly were.

Aemond's fingers burned around your wrist. You wondered if he felt it, too. If you were causing the same effect in him.

But he was impassive, always so difficult to read. He hid his feelings, buried them under a cold, mysterious shell, as if to protect himself. 

He stopped in front of the door that led to your bedroom. Fortunately, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the courage to face your parents' disappointed looks, you didn't have the courage to realise that you had betrayed their trust, even if, for a moment, you had forgotten your duty, you had forgotten the responsibilities that weighed on your shoulders, you had tasted a feeling of freedom, so new, so delicious. A foolish act of transgression. 

But you were safe and sound, and that was the most important thing.

"You'd better get changed," Aemond suggested. "It would be better if my mother didn't see you like this."

He clenched his jaw. He looked concentrated, as if he wanted to add something, as if he wanted to reprimand you but had to force himself to remain silent. An instant of silence hung between you. The urge to ask him if he was going to report your little escapade burned on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it. 

Aemond's single eye was riveted to you. Piercingly. Fierce. 

For a brief moment, a very brief moment, your uncle's ragged breathing caressed your face and your heart raced. 

He was so close.

"Why? Don't you like to see me dressed like a common girl, my prince?" you asked, teasingly. Like a common girl you could bend over in some dark and gloomy street, you thought. But Aemond was not Aegon, and you felt him hesitate, as if the words had taken him by surprise. His hand, about to find your jaw and make you swallow your insolence, had stopped halfway.

You smirk. Aemond had nothing to worry about. For the official announcement of your betrothal, you had planned to wear a dress that would honour your Velaryon origins.

"Rest assured, qybor," you continued, taking a step in his direction. 

Poison in his soul, you repeated in your head. That's what you'd be to your uncle. You took the time observe him, as if studying him, as if imagining the effect the words you were about to say would have on your uncle. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, and perhaps with something else. "Your betrothed is still intact for her wedding night," you finally whispered in his ear.

He held his breath. You knew that you would break down, brick by brick, the barriers he'd spent years building around his heart. 

You wanted him raw. 

But before you turned on your heel to enter your chamber, you summoned all the courage you had left in your body and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the prince's jaw. 

"Thank you for coming to my rescue, my prince."

And then, you were gone.

[p0rkbun]

❝LOVEGAME❞ — Amber Freeman

⤿Pairing: Amber Freeman x Reader

⤿Summary: You and Amber have fun at her house while you ask for her opinion on the photos you took. One thing leads to another, you end up taking a shot of whiskey and your body starts to feel warm but you can't tell if it's the drink or her.

⤿Content Warning(s): underage drinking, fluff, cringe writing probably, reader likes photography, amber is jealous of a camera, soft! amber?, unestablished-relationship, sexual tension? other than that it's fluff :)

⤿A/N: Is this based on lovegame by lady gaga? Maybe, the title was originally "not yet" but changed because I was listening to lovegame and realize how fitting the song was....//////// also i do not condone to underage drinking, this is for tension purposes.

navigation✧ word count: 2.1k

"What do you think of this?" You hand Amber another picture. Amber invited you to stay at her place for a bit, to have fun, she said. After a long discussion of stab movies, you two decided to watch Evil Dead whilst you ask her thoughts about your pictures you took at school.

Ever since your parents gifted you a fujifilm X100v camera on your latest birthday, you couldn't stop using it. You practically brought it everywhere and had to take a picture when there's any slight bit of a good scenery. You felt relieved and happy that you can finally photograph with proper quality because that old one you had from middle school sucked.

Amber had seen you with that godforsaken camera atleast twenty-times a week, she frequently sees you taking a photo of the sky multiple times when she was trying to find you on school grounds. Even when she found it cute, she gets a little annoyed when your attention is focused on the camera a little more than her these few days. So she decided to invite your over and have her fun with you, she didn't realize that you would actually bring the camera too.

You and Amber have a very close friendship, she was pretty much your polar-opposite but you both found it appealing. She was a little...hostile sometimes but that didn't stop you from growing some kind of feelings for her. That implies the same with Amber.

Now you're sitting on her couch, scrolling through pictures as the movie plays in the background along with Amber glancing at you often to see if you're even paying attention. You were, not really, you seem to love checking in your precious camera and barely giving any mind towards the movie or her. She would laugh at the thought of her being jealous of a stupid device, which she was.

She respects your love for photographing but now she's kinda irritated at you spending the last few days taking pictures instead of hanging out with her.

"(Y/N), that's the same picture as the last one," Amber replies, squinting at the apparently interesting looking tree to your eyes "how many times are you gonna show me the same tree in a different angle?" She utters.

"Hey! Don't be a mean, it's necessary..." You turn away from her and set the camera on your lap while switching to another photo. You gingerly sit back and lift the device for a better view.

"You know what? I won't annoy you with my camera anymore, okay? I'll just have to delete some pics and I promise i'll watch the movie with you" You hear Amber scoff at your words while she slumps in her seat. She sits with her head against the couch back, staring into the ceiling, seething with annoyance and debating whether to toss your camera out the window or not. Of course, she couldn't do it because you're most likely to kill her if she did.

She tilts her head and sees you still absorbed in your camera. She continues to stare at you until you notice the intimate look on her face. You raise your eyebrow and glance back to the small screen on your hands as you edit out your pictures.

You still feel her eyes deeply staring at your figure, you glance at her and she was still looking at you but this time with a smirk.

"What're you smiling at?" You ask. She was momentarily quiet until she answered your very so obvious question.

"You"

"Why are you smiling at me?" She laughs at the question you had thrown at her, she leans in with her head resting on her hand this time and smile sweetly.

"C'mon, i'm just waiting for you to finish. Besides, you look cute like that, when you're focused I mean" Her voice was low and sweet but you can hear some kind of sensual to it. You brushed it off and ignore her compliment, thinking she was joking.

She notices you ignoring her and decides to get up and go the kitchen, once again you payed no mind and not even a minute later, Amber comes back.

Even if you always ignore that kind of behaivour from her, there's a thought in the back of your mind that tells you she was being genuine. You always notice her longing stares, sweetly-sickening smiles and unexpected softness towards you. You didn't respond to her flirty attitude, though you had to admit, you secretly observe her from a far multiple times as well.

You two were just close friends you thought, it means nothing. You always decline the possibilites because you would not believe that. You had a small dare for yourself, to test, you look at amber's sitting figure and of course along with her gazing at you.

"Okay, what about this one?" You pick the camera and showed Amber your selfie. It was a simple selfie, you took it because why not? Well that simple selfie got Amber staring at it intensely, she observes every feature of you in the photo. She smirks and gives a low whistle.

"That's a good picture right there" she smirks, in her case, she didn't mean the quality or scenery, she was referring to you.

"Really? You seem to like staring at this picture of me very much" You joke.

"Because I do," Amber smiles and starts to play with her hair as if to tease you "You're attractive."

You squint at her and smile a bit while leaning back in your seat, the camera on your lap is now long forgotten, you finally had your attention on Amber completely. You cautiously lick your lips and maintain a stoic face.

"You're enjoying this huh?" Amber shifts at her seat and sits back in a similar position as yours "I won't lie, I am" she says with a wink, she continues to play with her hair. Her smile turns into a smirk and her look becomes seductive.

You stare at her gaze, stoically until you notice a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table along with two glasses. You eyed it and asked yourself why you hadn't notice that before.

"Is that...whiskey?" Amber smiles and grabs the bottle "Yeah, you want me to pour you a shot?" She pours herself a shot and you gingerly gaze at it.

"Amber, we're underage" you shot her a look, indicating that you two can't do this. Amber merely laughs and leans back with a glass in her hand.

"Since when do we follow the rules?" She pours into your presumed glass "We're young and having fun." She says with a smirk. You were about to sass her but your words got stuck in your throat when Amber gives you that same sensual gaze.

You eyed the glass and let out a breath of defeat "Fine, just a sip" you accept the glass, you didn't know why you did that, why did you condone to this?

You take the glass while keeping a close-eye on Amber trying to see her reaction. You cautiouslly take a small sip and let out a disgusted face "Ugh.." you hear Amber giggle.

"Yeah, it sucks. Here's a tip, chase it with a soft drink or something," She swirls her glass, making sure the whiskey stays as mixed as possible "I have some coke with me for that purpose."

You scoff, you feel like you just commited a crime or something. You take a coke and drank it, you feel a bit better but the taste of whiskey is still there. Staring back at Amber you start questioning why the hell you drank whiskey, did she have some kind of trance on you? She certainly was charming you with her eyes and it had a good affect on you.

"You know, there are other things to stare at" you remark but your voice sounded a bit flushed, your stoic composure was starting to break.

"I know but I like looking at you" She says with a soft smile "I wanted to hang out with you, you know?" She takes her shot before chasing it with coke.

"Well you are, and my attention is fully on you" you scoff while folding your arms "all because of your annoyingly charming stare."

Amber smiles "so, my staring is really affecting you" her voice laces with pride. You remain silent as she pours herself another shot and takes it but not without gazing you with a provocative expression.

Not knowing what to do, you finish your shot and chasing it down with coke. You frown and wipe your mouth, finishing that shot was purely out of nervousness and now you start to have a warm sensation in your body.

Amber chuckles at your expression, another one of her intimate smile takes over her face before it turns into the softest one she has given yet. She moves her hand to the side, as if to motion for you to move closer.

You did by what she silently requested, shuffling closer to amber's side "I had enough now" you sigh.

Amber leans in closer after she puts her arm around the back couch behind your head. She smiles at you before giving you a small kiss on the cheek. She then looks directly into your eyes that were widen and a blush appearing on your cheeks, she smirks.

"What? Did you like that?" You were completely flushed and caught off guard. You didn't expect her to do that, your warm sensation inside starts to bloom. Your attempt to compose yourself is failing and you start to fidget with your hands.

"I....don't know what game you're playing here.." you said meekly, Amber raises her eyebrows and gives you a grin.

"Game? Is that what you think?" She laughs "Well, maybe you're right. Look at you, you're red and getting all shy" She whispers in a low tone "Is it the whiskey or....is it me?" Her voice sends you a shiver down your spine, never, you had ever felt like this before. You feel as if Amber had cornered you into a wall and all you couldn't do anything. She has really taken a toll on you.

"I wanna kiss you again, do you want me to?" She whispers in a soft tone, leaning in with her face close to yours. You breathe a bit heavily before inhaling and exhaling, the warmth is really taking over you and you were sure it was caused by both the whiskey and Amber.

With half-lidded eyes, you faintly whisper.

"Yes.."

Amber closes the distance and placing her soft lips on yours. It was slow and tempting, you grab onto her shoulders as she pushes you back a bit. You broke apart and she stares at you with loving-eyes.

"How was that?" She asked. You hum and look away shyly. She grins at your shy form "Was that...your first kiss?" Amber seems to be trying to tease you.

You glance at her shyly before nodding, she cackles and pulls you closer, wrapping her arm around you "y'know, you're even cuter when you're act all shy," she purrs as she pours herself another shot "do you like this? Did you like it when i kissed you?" She takes the shot before eyeing you in a manner you're too flushed too describe.

"...I..." you mumbled and then procced to look down.

"I know that you want me baby" Amber breathes into your ear, she then kisses the side of your neck, it made you squeak and blush even more. She whispers, her voice taunting "you like that?" She gives the familiar look she has been giving you since meeting her, pure seduction in her eyes.

"Y-You!" you stutter while flustered and bit your lip.

"I'll take that as a yes," she chuckles and bites her lips as well "god..baby you're so fucking cute" she whispers as she pull you even closer, slipping you onto her lap. You feel the warmth inside of you thriving strongly.

"Do you know what the best part of this is?" You shake your head, a little lost. She travels her hands towards your hips and rest on it.

"Despite the fact that you have never done anything like this before and yet you take every bit of touch i give you makes everything even better," she bites her bottom lip and whispers "It makes you ten-times more fucking hot." she says lowly with a dark expression before she brings you into a passionate kiss, you let out a muffled whimper against her lips as you slowly start to give into her.

As your hands wander onto her hair, grasping it, the warm feeling inside finally takes over you and making you yearn for her even more than before. This game of flirting and love you two had played meets Amber's satisfaction. Even when you lost, you feel very much pleased when she has you vulnerable in her eyes.

A/N: some of this was based on a convo from me and amber in character.ai she did something that made me run laps around the house but that isn't included here. I sincerely apologize if there was any misspellings or improper grammar, I don't write often lol plus english isn't my native language 🙏 also sorry if amber is ooc. I hope you enjoyed this ♡♡♡♡ please reblog, like and comment it would be much appreaciated ♡♡♡😊

°.✧•—✦

[xerith-42]

Why Blaze is MyStreet's Most Failed Character

Blame the big bang discord for this post, I wasn't gonna write it until those fucks encouraged me.

Anyways here's an entire essay about why Blaze is the most wasted character in the entirety of MyStreet and I will literally fight Jessica and Jason Bravura with my bare hands.

To get us started on our harrowing tale of wasted potential and the best improviser Jessica ever hired, we need to go back a little. Back to Phoenix Drop High Season 2. We won't stay here long, I promise, I hate it more than you can possibly know. But the single saving grace of this absolute mess of a season is ya boi, Blaze. Introduced in the 18th episode of the season, airing on April 12, 2017, with the airing of Phoenix Drop High Season 2 Episode 18, Blaze was a character who started his brief tenure series with a bang!

Literally dude showed up and the first thing he ever did on screen as a character in a piece of media we can engage with is throw someone out of a window. We do not know this mans name yet and he's already left a lasting impression. Sure throwing people out of a window is common in werewolf culture, which I don't care what you say that's objectively funny, but it is bold to start a characters entire introduction with that. Blaze comes out of the gate swinging before he's said a single line.

And then after introducing himself he throws a dead bird at Aphmau to show off his hunting skills?? Okay so he's just that fucking weird and overly enthusiastic about things I guess! That's amazing! MyStreet always shines when it just lets it's characters be fucking weird without making a big deal out of it or talking them down for it. Dottie even says that it's romantic which is again just a great showing of Blaze's enthusiasm and lack of what might appear to be common social decorum because of said enthusiasm.

This is all punctuated and brought to a hilarious breaking point when Blaze's final showing of why he should be the new top dog at his school is when the crazy mother fucker rips his shirt off to literally flex about how he's one of the hottest guys in the school. And I'm going to be real with you, given Blaze's later characterization as a himbo, I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually care about this. He just says it because he thinks it'll boost his chances. Blaze is later shown to be a character willing to throw away his reputation for the things he cares about, but he does get a rather sincere moment with Aphmau, even if she's blushing the entire time.

It shows that Blaze is not only physically affectionate, but also weirdly comfortable with his shirt off. Because this is purely objective character analysis I will not be shoving my Blaze is autistic and has sensory problems with things touching his chest propaganda down your throats, but now that I've mentioned it once you won't stop thinking about it when this comes up.

The show admittedly fumbles the bag a little by having Blaze say in his internal monologue that he thinks Aphmau is cute and acts kind of like a tsundere, but this is Jesson writing so there's always bound to be a bit of That Shit. But in spite of that, Blaze is a character who has an instant impression that leaves a lot of room for comedy potential, and just good ol' fashion silliness. And while the werewolf plot of Season 2 is... bad, Blaze and the Werewolf Pups are stand out characters in the sense that their characterization leaves a lot of potential if they're in a different, better written story.

And even if the arc is bad, Blaze still is a quality part of it. His shallow but hilarious initial characterization gets built on in some really solid ways. Namely in how he acts as a force for good in Aphmau's life even if she doesn't realize or give him permission to do it. This entire season is about how the different men in Aphmau's life handle helping her in a crisis, and funnily enough, in a season centered around Aaron literally overthrowing Aphmau's new love interest, Blaze is the one who was consistently doing what was best for Aphmau.

Aaron fumbles the ball more than a few times, Ein is shown to be actively malicious, and Kai gets hate crimed. But Blaze, who's barely even a contender in this ship war, is constantly working to actually make things better while everyone else is pulling Aphmau away from what actively matters about her position. While Ein is manipulating her and Aaron is trying to prove that, Blaze throws caution to the wind and just does what he thinks is best to restore order.

But more important than that end conclusion is his true goal of standing up for Daniel. A wolf it is established he barely knew before this year, that Blaze is willing to throw his reputation and standing in a bull shit hierarchy because he's seeing how this hierarchy is hurting someone who doesn't deserve it. Blaze is the one who is baring his fangs and willing to throw hands when Daniel cowers away from bullies. By the end of the season Blaze has been given adequate screen time to not only show off his fun and maybe a tad out of touch side, but he's been given a real level of sincerity that's tied into the things he's enthusiastic about. He loves being a werewolf, and he extends that love to all the werewolves around him, until they start being dicks to other werewolves who are literally just sitting there.

At the center of Blaze is that inherent goofiness though. He's always cracking jokes, or the joke when he's on screen, and in a series that was originally pitched as a light hearted slice of life comedy in contrast to MCD's general misery, that sort of character is needed to keep the tone. Such is show in episode 22 when Blaze is reading a book on the Scientific Method to just learn more about science, but realizes the book is upside down.

But he actually understood it enough to properly apply the scientific method to this situation?? Iconic. It's played off as a joke of Blaze exploiting a loophole to get out of class, but even that's pretty smart honestly. Blaze may be a dumb ass but he's always willing to cheat an unfair system.

Episode 22 is basically a Blaze centric episode, which I did not expect, but now that I'm rewatching it for this post it might be the reason I love this character so dearly. It's not only the episode where Blaze manages to learn the Scientific Method upside down, but also stands up for Daniel in a really substantial way. Blaze is loud, enthusiastic, and strong, all traits that are celebrated by werewolf culture, and whether he realizes it or not, him just being around Daniel can do a lot to get bullies to back off. Everyone has seen Blaze toss a mother fucker through a window, they do not want to be on the receiving end of that.

He spends the rest of the episode trying to figure out what Ein's deal is when he hears that Ein went behind Aphmau's back on werewolf matters, landing Daniel in this situation. He hears Ein actively plotting against Daniel, but that is normal werewolf behavior. He concludes that he'll keep an eye on Ein. And this through line of "normal werewolf behavior" informs a lot of Blaze's decisions once he comes to the conclusion that Ein sucks and deserves to be undermined. He resorts to letting his actions speak louder than words and goes to violence after realizing that the wolves aren't listening to reason, they're listening to instinct.

He fights fire with fire, and while Aphmau might not approve, it's more effective than her soft rhetoric has been in getting people to be less of jackasses. This eventually lands him in hot water where he steps in for Daniel after Ein tries to get his goons to beat him up, and even if Blaze is fighting in a five v one, he still goes down swinging. And I'll say it, I think it's sweet that he calls Aaron after this happens. While it's clearly meant to be a thing of Blaze calling the last alpha because he's probably the only person who anyone will listen to, there's an important detail I think is easily overlooked.

He has Aaron's number.

He says he got it from the werewolf pups, but that means that Blaze went out of his way to make sure he could contact Aaron. He's the reason that Aaron even realizes Ein is playing all of them. Blaze is the catalyst for his undoing because unlike Aaron who's nearly imprisoned, heartbroken, and been hesitant to act in the plot as a result, Blaze doesn't actually care that much if Aphmau currently likes him because he's more worried about her physical and mental well being than whether she wants to kiss him or someone else.

How many Aphmau love interests can say that?

Can any of them say that?

Blaze can.

Blaze actually consistently shows a level of selflessness that's unfitting of how I've seen some people characterize him. He gives up his real chance to be Alpha because Daniel is so compassionate and earnest and genuinely deserves it. Blaze wants to believe in a future lead by people like Daniel and Aphmau where he might not have to keep fighting people to keep things sane. Blaze constantly gives up his pride, his power, his safety just to make sure that his friends are taken care of, or to effect real change in a school he's about to leave.

It wouldn't be long after Phoenix Drop High Season 2 ended that Blaze would make his debut in the main series My Street in the second episode of Season 5, airing only a few days after the end of Phoenix Drop High Season 2. Just like before he really shows up with a bang, literally throwing himself through the air between Lucinda and Kim just to catch a frisbee because Blaze is the most extra mother fucker ever, and then immediately proceeds to flirt with them. Iconic as ever. Short but sweet.

It's in episode 3 that it's revealed that Blaze and the werewolf pups kept Aaron company during his rehabilitation year. But from the way it's worded it sounds like Blaze was called in before anyone else by Aaron's parents. Based on the way they talked and actively planned together before, I wouldn't be surprised if Blaze was the first person who came to his mind when Aaron thought of a werewolf friend.

I think Aaron reached out to Blaze when he needed it.

And even though I've previously stated that I don't think Aaron's parents initially liked Blaze because by this era he's old enough to fully take on his persona as the cool stoner friend who's also a little insane in the most charming way possible, he has a good impact on Aaron. Aaron likes being around him, and maybe they smoke weed to help Aaron relieve some of the lasting pain when no one's looking.

Regardless of his methods, Blaze does an ultimate good in Aaron's life as a result of being there for him when he needed it. So much so that he was invited out to Starlight and is shown to be one of Aaron's main pillars of support. We are given scarcely little of this actual friendship, which is where the problem lies. While before Blaze was a surprisingly engaging part of an other wise terrible story, at least in season 5 the story is a lot slower and character focused. And Blaze can work in these moments, we saw him have real moments of sincerity before.

He gets some of it, but the issue is that Blaze isn't allowed to be alone anymore. The cast of MyStreet is huge, and Blaze is a character who is making his second major appearance, while some characters in the cast have been present since literally episode one. It's hard to justify giving him solo screen time when he's been in the series for such little time and we barely have enough time for certain significant characters to really have arcs (Lucinda). Most of Blaze's scenes are scenes with at least four other characters on screen, he's never allowed screen time without at least two other werewolf characters attached to him.

I don't object to Blaze hanging out with his friends, or even making new ones though out the season but... Would it kill the writers to let him have a scene with Aaron? Like. A single scene. Where it's just Blaze and Aaron. I mean just Blaze and Aaron without Aphmau there. They've done this before. They did it in the season Blaze showed up in. Just one scene where the two of them get to talk about literally anything would do so much. Even if they talk about Aphmau, it's better than nothing. It would strengthen both of their characters so much to be able to get a scene where they talk to each other not as conspirators who kinda know each other, but as real friends supporting one another.

Show that even though Blaze said Daniel was more compassionate than he was, Blaze still is a compassionate and even empathetic person. Show why Aaron was grateful to have him during his recovery. They have those scenes of Aaron at physical therapy, right? Why not have Blaze take him one time and just show how they interact then? The possibilities with this unrealized idea are endless, and that's genuinely upsetting. Opportunities like this present themselves every time Blaze makes an appearance, they even tease me by giving me scenes where Aaron is alone with a character he has little to no connection with, Maria.

Maria was a foil for Aphmau. And Ein was a foil for Aaron. And Blaze was a foil for Ein. There is no reason for Maria to really have a rapor that matters with Aaron. He doesn't really know her that well, she's clearly a friend by association, and it seems like an odd thing to focus on when Blaze is LITERALLY RIGHT THERE IN THE BACKGROUND OF THIS SCENE.

Why won't they let Blaze talk to Aaron? It's so infuriating. The closest we get is in episode 7 when Blaze attempts to calm down Aaron, but he's shown to be ineffective and it comes down to, of course, Aphmau being the one to talk him down. I swear to Hatsune the writers are making fun of me at this point. They're going "Oooooh you want Blaze to be an actually helpful and supportive figure in Aaron's life soooo bad." AND I DO!

I'm serious when I say the show is teasing me. I've been skimming through Season 5 and only watching the episodes when Blaze is on screen, and so far he has never been in a scene with less than 4 people in it. Never. And even in scenes where he gets to be at least a focal point, he's always limited because he has to share that moment in the spotlight with FOUR OTHER CHARACTERS.

Episode 14 is a great example of this. When the werewolf gang gets told they aren't allowed to eat at a restaurant because they're werewolves, Blaze makes it abundantly obvious that he's put up with this before and really doesn't feel like being hate crimed on his vacation. And he knows that actions speak louder than words and therefore joins Maria in saying they should "teach this establishment a lesson." Personally I think Blaze would've just thrown the manager through a window only to realize it's an outdoor establishment and throw him into the ocean. Which would be objectively funny and deserved because that owner was being cringe and racist.

I love the conversation that happens because it shows the unique way that Aaron sees things from passing as a human for most of his life. This has never happened, but he knows that further acts of violence as a result will only make it happen again. This is a great scene for Aaron. Not really good for Blaze, and the next scene makes him worse. I love the detail that Blaze is an instinctual person more than a planner, but it feels wrong that he doesn't even let Aaron consider planning. I know he wants Aaron to be more spontaneous but he should have more awareness of his friend and his habits and be able to accommodate it, not talk over it.

But it's Jesson, so misunderstanding even their simplest character is par for the course. At least episode 15 gives me Garroth and Blaze talking in the background, and I'm starved for good Blaze content, so I was eating this shit up. The problem with watching MyStreet this way is that Blaze... Just doesn't get a lot of moments... At all. There are some episodes where he doesn't even speak at all, and when he does get to talk in episodes, he gets a few lines in one giant ensemble scene.

I don't object to a show having an ensemble cast, or even a lot of characters with a few central ones, but it really is a detriment to the show that Aaron never gets a scene alone with any werewolf he isn't related to. Nana gets to talk to Blaze when she's having a crisis of her relationship history and experience, but it's just so Blaze can tell her the opposite of what she wants to hear. It's not a scene that feels like it was written for Blaze, because it wasn't. It was written for Nana.

And before some jack ass says it "Blaze is a side character he's not supposed to get a lot of focus" and I'm not asking for a lot. I watched every scene he's in in PDH to prove that it works

BECAUSE IT DID.

Blaze showed up officially in episode 18 out of 30, and he wasn't in every episode after his introduction. But the writers gave him a solid introduction, one good episode that spent most of its run time with him, and really good moments throughout the rest of his time in the series. All I'm asking is that Season 5 at least give me one of those things. Either a good episode where he and his relationship with Aaron is brought into focus, even if it's used as a vector to study Aaron's character, or just more sincere moments for him.

It feels like Blaze is a joke character now when he previously made it very clear he's far more than that.

And then they just forget about him. During the first part of the 3 part finale Blaze is there. He's the one who got everyone to gather at the docks because an mf wants to eat some scrumptious food. But when Aaron sees Ein and starts freaking out, Blaze is literally just not in the scene. At all. Not even as like a throwaway of someone who could've helped but failed, he just is not in the scene at all. It legitimately feels like the writers forgot about him entirely.

Blaze the minute the plot shows up:

He's there after Garroth gets turned and was apparently at Garroth's bedside trying to calm him down which I will be thinking about. A lot. I'll be thinking about how we deserved to see or at least hear some of it, about how the writers continue to tease me with an interesting scene that involves my favorite little fucker, about how heartbreaking it would have been to see Blaze and Melissa try to calm Garroth only for him to scream in pain and try to push them away only to reveal that Zane and Nana are able to hear the entire ordeal downstairs and Zane is panicking when he hears his brother screaming in pain. Just thinking about what we could've had if the writers actually cared about any of these characters.

And then after that he dies.

I'm not watching any of When Angels Fall because I know what's good for my health. I know what happens in Season 6 Episode 9 and that's all I need to know. It doesn't matter if the writers may have finally given Blaze an emotional scene, it doesn't matter if they finally gave him even a hint of character development, it doesn't matter if he made a connection in a real way. Because no matter what he did the result is the same. No matter what quality the writers might've pulled out of their ass, it would ultimately be in service of one end. From the start of this season these writers knew what they wanted to do. They wanted to up the stakes and add more drama to the show, and they wanted to do it by killing Blaze.

And I think I know why.

This is 100% a limited view, but I was on Aphmau Instagram at the time that this season was airing. And I ran a Blaze fan account. I talked to a lot of MyStreet fans during this time and I was constantly upset and disappointed that people didn't understand Blaze's character, or just didn't appreciate it as much as I do. Most people liked Blaze on a very surface level, or because he was attached to another character they liked. I found very few people who genuinely cared about him as an individual, probably because Blaze stopped getting scenes alone by the end of PDH, and because the Aphmau fandom (at the time) had more of a focus on shipping than character work and quality. Blaze was easily shippable with a number of characters, canonically shipped with Dottie a little, and had enough characterization that people cared about him, but not enough to get a large dedicated fanbase.

He was the perfect one to kill.

Enough people liked him because he was hard to hate, he was stapled onto Aaron's character with little regard for a story of his own, and his death could be eventually inconsequential. And it was! Blaze's method of dying is so bad it makes me physically angry!

I know the whole story for the last few seasons has been all about Forever Potions and turning people against each other, but just mind controlling Blaze and having him die while under mind control is such such a missed opportunity. There's been a disappointing lack of proper Aaron and Blaze friendship content, but they could have made up for it in this scene with just a few tweaks. Just have Blaze not be mind controlled at the end. He can still go on that rant about Aaron being the cause of all the bad that's happened, but then the words start to become... disjointed. Jilted. As if Blaze is struggling to say them because he knows that they're wrong. Aaron's his friend, there's no way he'd say that about him.

Have it break.

Have him look at his friend in a worse state than he's ever been in, and instead of approaching him with intent to harm, it's intent to heal. A final attempt at getting through to Aaron. And like the times before, it doesn't work. Aaron's angrier than ever and he isn't seeing or thinking straight thanks to Ein's bull shit. All he can see is an enemy in his way. Maybe he sees Blaze's eyes but Blaze's green eye is still Emerald Green, even if the control broke for a moment. Whatever reason, Aaron still attacks.

He doesn't realize that Blaze wasn't trying to hurt him until it's too late. Aaron's anger already ruined a friend's life, it already pulled all of them into the hell they're in, and now it's killed one of his best friends.

ONE CHANGE. THAT'S ALL IT TOOK. ONE SINGLE CHANGE TO MAKE BLAZE'S DEATH ACTUALLY MEAN SOMETHING.

Ideally I'd like it Blaze just didn't die at all, least of all before the finale, but if you're going to kill him off unceremoniously at least make it have some emotional weight. You've been neglecting him for an entire season and now you just kill him off? Just like that? Oh he gets to show up in heaven? How nice. Is it a scene where he gets to express regrets, remorse, or even give any insight into his feelings?

Of course it fucking isn't! Are you kidding me, that's not even close to what happens. I said i wouldn't watch When Angels Fall but

I LIED!!

I watched Blaze's death scene and his scene in heaven to make sure I knew well and good how badly they failed to kill off my favorite character! And man, the scene in heaven is just the worst! Blaze does a genuinely kind thing for Aphmau and decides to stay with her when she's alone because he doesn't want her to hurt. He saw how much pain Aaron was in without her. He just wants to fucking help her.

But Aphmau's too self absorbed to realize that and instead goes on a whole rant about how she always needs other people to take care of or protect her and how everyone else would be better off yadda yadda. What she doesn't realize and what Blaze eventually gets to tell her is that people were around her and took care of her because they just wanted to. Because she was nice to be around. And they never expected anything else, and never saw her as a burden.

And that's actually a really nice moment. Sort of. There's two major problems. First, Blaze gets cut off from telling Aphmau this at first because Irene has to go on a whole rant about Aphmau being selfish. And she is right in everything that she says, but it feels weird for Irene, who literally doesn't know her, to be making this judgement. This scene should have been Irene observing a conversation between Blaze and Aphmau were Blaze just tries to make her feel better.

And that would hopefully solve problem number two. Which is that what Blaze says is very genuine and heartfelt, but severely handicapped by the fact that he and Aphmau were only friends for a short period of time in High School, and an equally short period of time within the last few months. What Blaze says about why he likes being around her is true, but it would have a lot more weight if there was a chance for Blaze to have been around her as a friend more.

Fuck it, if you need Blaze to be on screen with at least two other characters, why was there never a scene of Blaze, Aaron and Aphmau just talking? Would a single scene of that fucking killed you? Just one scene would have made their friendships a lot more solid and therefore heartbreaking to lose when it gets torn apart.

Third problem, the scene ends with a focus on Irene. Blaze's words echo in her ears, and remind her of her friends. And I like that idea because I'm an absolute sucker for MCD, but it takes the scene away from the focus. This should be a scene about one of Aphmau's friends encouraging her to not give up even if it all seems lost. At least don't let her death be in vain by saying such awful things about her friends while they may be grieving. But Irene is brought into focus again because the show isn't about Blaze, or Aphmau apparently, I guess her Aphmau Main Character Powers overrides Aphmau's. She has more experience with them.

Blaze and Aphmau's very heartfelt dialogue is brought down by the fact that these two characters lives didn't intersect very directly out of high school. Through the course of Season 5 I never got the idea that Blaze was Aphmau's friend. Not to say they weren't friendly, I think Blaze adored her just as much as he did in high school, but as a viewer I was never shown that they cared particularly for one another. I believe that Blaze sincerely cared about her even after all this time, but that's not because of anything the writers did with him in these seasons. It's just because that's the kind of person Blaze is.

But their friendship not being strong really weakens the scene. This is a scene that I know for a fact worked as intended when I watched it as it was coming out. I was an overemotional mess of a 15 year old who hated how this series was going but kept watching it because it was almost over and I might as well get it done with. It pulled on my heartstrings and they sang and I cried. I cried a lot. This scene made me incredibly emotional, and it still got to me as an adult, but the devil is in the details.

Blaze and his arc might work on the surface. They work if you don't pay that close of attention to it. They work if you care more about the characters he's constantly around more than Blaze. And when I first watched Seasons 5&6, I still had a very deep attachment to a lot of these characters, especially Melissa, who he shares a lot of scenes with. So I felt... satisfied? I would've liked more, but I probably wouldn't have complained about what I got (his death scene not withstanding I always thought that was bad).

My my, how the times have changed.

If it wasn't obvious from the four thousand or so words you just read, Blaze is a rather unique case of these writers failing as writers. A rather unique case where the perfect character to fix a lot of problems with their show practically jumped up in the air waving his arms around and they still brushed past him to focus on a predetermined story he was shoved into. I don't think the writers ever really had a plan for where Blaze would go or what he would do.

A lot of Blaze's best character moments are when he isn't being written by Jesson. The reason I love the minigames so much is because there, Blaze's incredibly talented voice actor Jason Lord is actually really funny and pretty good at improv. Obviously some bits of the mini games are scripted, but a lot of them are just seeing how much voice actors can get into their characters, which he's fantastic at. A lot of Blaze's funniest moments come from this too, which is great when the writers turn him into a comedy character but the characters voice actor is funnier than they both are and is only a funny character when they don't have direct control of him. Lord is able to bring life to a character who may have been lacking it due to the simultaneously focused and unfocused way the series was written.

Blaze is proof of what happens when writers don't bother to develop their characters beyond the outline. The draft notes for PDH Season 2 said "there's going to be a wolf character who tries to become Alpha and instead stands up for Daniel when he's bullied." and then Blaze was born. The writers gave him some characterization as a treat to make the story work better, and then were done with it then and there. We fleshed him out enough, good character, time to put him in season 5 so people stop criticizing us for not giving Aaron enough friends.

But the problem wasn't a lack of quantity in friends, it was a lack of quality. It was a lack of scenes that let Aaron interact with other characters without Aphmau present. It was a lack of characters to point to that were real emotional connections Aaron had that weren't his last minute family or his girlfriend. It was a lack of attention given to the few characters that could've filled that role. Dante almost filled it in season 2, and Aaron and Garroth could have arguably become closer after everything in season 4, but at that point Aaron's entire arc became centered around Aphmau.

It was the fact that Blaze was one of the few people who ever directly reached out to Aaron and then was never given a scene alone again. It was because the writers wrote too many characters, tried to give the series a more direct focus, and then failed to account for the characters that were dragged along even if they didn't necessarily know what to do with them.

So when Season 6 came around and they decided to make the show super serious no really stop laughing, they needed characters to kill off to up the stakes. It's not like Blaze's character was going anywhere. It's not like they had a plan for him. Nothing was really being lost.

It's not like Blaze was one of the most sincere and dedicated characters in the series. It's not like he had one of the biggest potentials in regards to his relationship with Aphmau or Aaron. It's not like there was time spent proving that he could be a solid pillar of support in both of their lives even under dire circumstances. It's not like he was set up that way through individual scenes where he got to talk to each of them on a personal level. That definitely didn't happen.

TLDR: MyStreet peaked at season 2 and they fumbled the bag with the best chance to make it peak even higher and I'm forever bitter about it. Now get out of my house.

[witchybitchy222]

Azriel x Reader | Satisfaction

You have a date and Azriel wishes it’d been with him. Basically.

Hey y’all! It’s been a long while and I apologize for not only that, but also the quality of this fic… I know it isn’t great, and full disclosure i am not sober while writing this and I did not edit or re read this. If I make a part two I promise it’ll be better LMAO

Before his boots had even touched down on the balcony at the House of Wind, Azriel had been dreaming of his bed. He’d worked nearly 24 hours straight and wanted nothing more than to drift off into oblivion for at least a day.

He’d thrown himself into any and all tasks he could find, trying in vain to keep his thoughts from wandering to you.

Azriel had been yearning for you for well over a century now, and your introverted and private personality meant although he’d known you’d been with other people during the 150 years you’d known each other, he never had to hear about it and therefore never had to go through the pain of thinking about it.

Now, however, you’d decided to start seriously dating and he felt like he was going insane.

You’d been on a few dates recently with the same male, always coming home with a smile, always aughing and blushing with the other females at training as they teased you about him. It was devastating.

Yesterday, you’d all been in the sitting room after dinner, drinking Rhys’s wine and laughing at whatever dumb thing Cassian had done that day, when Mor brought up him.

Azriel had never hated a name like he now hated the name Ian. Ian. The male who had all of your attention as of late.

He silently cursed Mor and her big ass mouth for mentioning your upcoming date. You’d been sitting next to him at the time and he was shamelessly basking in the light of your undivided attention.

“You know,” the blonde had said, “you’ve been seeing each other for three weeks, I think it’s about time you fucked.”

You’d gone beet red at the mention, slowly turning toward Mor with a look that was nothing short of mortified.

“Oh come on,” she’d laughed, looking from your distressed face to Nesta and Cassian barely containing their amusement, “you can’t act like you weren’t thinking it already”

“Maybe! But I wasn’t about to announce it to the whole room!” You’d hissed in her direction as Nesta and Cassian let out their laughter.

Azriel had gone completely still at your admission, his ears ringing and mind swirling with the thought of you touching and being touched by another male. His sudden possessiveness was down right shameful. You’d never seen him as anything but a friend, and he’d be out of his mind to risk that friendship. He had no claim to you and no reason to feel so sick at the thought of you and someone else.

That’s why, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, Azriel had done what he’d always done when his feelings got out of control. He’d isolated himself and focused on what he did best, his work.

Azriel was walking down the hallway to his room when he heard the sounds of laughter coming from the kitchen, knowing immediately that as hard as he’d tried to avoid hearing about your date with Ian, he’d walked right into your post-date debrief with Mor.

“… it can’t have been that bad.” The blonde’s feathery voice floated out, and Azriel stopped dead in his tracks.

He knew better than to eavesdrop on his friends. There was a reason he kept his shadows reigned in at home, he’d heard way too much coming from Cassian and Nesta’s room to ever want to know everything that was going on in that house.

But this time, he just couldn’t help himself.

“It was… boring.”

“Ouch!” Mor cried “that’s probably the worst thing you can say about sex.”

Azriel tensed, now smelling the obvious scent of sex and wine in the air. This was a literal nightmare.

“It wasn’t really sex, just… hand… stuff”

He could practically see your blush as your voice trailed off in embarrassment.

“Still, you shouldn’t be bored when someone is touching you.”

“Well I was. And now I’m all… frazzled. And unsatisfied.”

“ you mean horny”

Azriel could imagine you rolling your eyes at that, cheeks still delightfully pink.

“Fine, Mor. I’m horny.”

Hearing those words come out of your mouth got Azriel more worked up than he’d ever admit, and he decided it was time to stop lingering in the hall and get the rest he needed before he did something foolish.

He readied himself for bed methodically, willing himself not to think any more about you and your current aroused state.

Despite the bone-deep exhaustion he was feeling, sleep wouldn’t come. Azriel lay staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour before giving in and sliding his hand under the covers and palming his already throbbing cock.

He closed his eyes and let his mind wander where it always did, to you. He thought of how that perfect pink blush would look on your face as he kissed and licked his way down your body, squeezing and nipping your skin as he worked his way to your core, he thought of all the ways he would make sure you were more than satisfied. He thought of how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock, sucking and licking as you stared up him through your lashes, and it wasn’t long before Azriel was coming undone.

He lay in bed after, and didn’t try to curb his thoughts, allowing himself to fall asleep thinking of you wrapped in his arms.

[i984]

I Love You- Wait, What?

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: THIS IS CRACK, Ooc! Wednesday Addams, author kind of gave up on writing after the third perspective shift, honestly this fic is just a joke at this point, potion works weirdly here, stupid love confessions, panicked but low-key high! Wednesday Addams.

|Summary|: You ruin everything for Wednesday Addams, be it sleeping peacefully or good potion-making.

|A/n|: This might as well be titled "I Gave Up on Quality" with the pairing of Wednesday x @vorsdany . I am really sorry but also not really. I promise I write better fics than this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A moron.

That's what you are.

"No, I'm pretty sure I put in the right stuff. Snake fangs and then lavender, right?" You scratched at your back while stretching your sore body as carefully as possible.

With the cauldron, textbooks, parchments, and various ingredients scattered across Wednesday's dorm room floor, you're pretty sure the girl will smack your head if you spill the potion in the making the second time.

Wednesday pointed at the procedure text in hand; you sighed as you leaned forward to read. Okay. Great. So you managed to mess up not only the order but also the name of the ingredients. 

"Snake tail? Well- You know what? I can't help you make this mystery potion if you don't tell me what it's for."

"You were the one who insisted on being a nuisance, might I remind you," Wednesday scoffed as she crossed her arms, brows coming together at the disaster liquid filling the pot.

The potion glows a wine color, its light casting a shadow on the ravenette's tired face; the dark bags underneath her eyes compliment her overall corpse-like look. You wouldn't worry because somehow this appearance works a charm for her, except her behaviors have also resembled the living dead. 

"Well, it's because you look like you can use some help-"

"I do not need help, especially not from you." 

Wednesday didn't even look up as she said it, nose buried deep in whatever book she was reading. Why do you even bother to put up with her at this point?

"Fine! I'm leaving, then." No response. 

If she is going to act like you don't exist, you might as well sabotage her top-secret project. Hands swiftly switching the marked lids of two flower jars—white periwinkle and phlox—you stand up and make your way across the room, heading for the door.

"Good luck, Wens." You throw her an open smirk you know she won't see before exiting the room.

You can't wait to see her fail.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wednesday lets her body slump as soon as the sound of your footsteps recedes to nothing. The past week has been... restless. And she meant that quite literally. For some reason, her past vision invades her mind when she tries to subdue her consciousness.

With her eyes closed, the picture was as blinding as it is irritating, like daylight to her pitch-black heart. 

It always started with a smile—that annoying smug one—plastered on a face she knew too well for her own liking. And then, echoes of laughter would haunt her, taunt her.

She hasn't let it go farther than that. She couldn't. If Wednesday is going insane, it'll be from the intense torture she befalls upon herself. Not from such unwelcomed twisted imageries that plague her mind.

"Descendamus somno sempiterno, donec corpus e carcere reviviscat." Wednesday speaks in her best Latin, fingers trembling as they throw the right ingredients into the cauldron. 

She watches the liquid turn colorless—a telltale sign that it's successful—and sighs in relief. 

Finally, her sleeping potion is ready.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You turn your head to the sound of a familiar booming voice calling your name across the cafeteria. Enid, the werewolf, approaches you with a daunting look on her face. How unusual.

"No bone-crushing hugs today?"

No response. Why is everybody ignoring your words?

"Something is really wrong with Wednesday."

You huff at her while you take a seat. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure she just kicked me out of your room half an hour ago." You grab a brownie from your plate and take a bite out of it. "That seemed pretty normal to me."

Enid raises her eyebrow at you knowingly. "Well, what did you do?"

"Nothing!"

A couple of heads turn both your ways. Suddenly, the ceiling looks very interesting. You can see Enid waving dismissively at the crowd from your peripherals. Face contorting in an apologetic look, you take another bite from your brownie.

"Anyway, she told me my sweater looks like a lunatic splattered their guts on it."

The piece of cake dropped off your mouth. "That means she's into your sweater," Enid raised her eyebrows speculatively as she handed you a tissue, "Did she just give you a compliment?" 

"As a matter of fact, yes I did." 

You and Enid jump at the chilling voice from behind you. 

"Dude! You scared the heck out of me," you turn your head to see Wednesday holding a glass of red liquid. She looked drowsy—subdued almost.

"First of all, never call me 'dude' ever again," the ravenette seated beside you groggily, "and second of all, I thought I made a point that fear feeds my entertainment needs."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you do that-"

You take a pause. Enid immediately notices the look on your face.

"What? What's wrong?" The werewolf asked you in a hushed tone. The raven watches as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Did you just- Did she just-" You pull away from Wednesday in disbelief, "reply to the things I say?"

The girl in question only raises her eyebrow at you, the glass of pomegranate juice resting on her now red-stained lips. Then her brows slowly meet in the middle again, perfectly mirroring her look from earlier. 

The glass produces a thud as Wednesday puts it down on the table. You and Enid share a look with each other. A concerned look. One of you has got to say something right now, and you aren't going to be the one to do it.

The sentiment is shared apparently because the blonde also has her mouth trapped shut.

Clankings of dishes. Chatter comes from the crowds. The room was far from silent, but for some reason, it was as if everybody was waiting for Wednesday's response. The tension thickens in the air as the girl turns to look at you, despair etched in her features.

"I need your help." 

You take the last bite out of your brownie. The sweetness resembles something of a victory.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

There must be something wrong with the potion; Wednesday figured out as much. She expected that after the drowsiness took over and her heartbeat slowed, she'd finally be able to shut her mind and get some much-needed rest.

But it was the opposite; while her muscles may have relaxed, the images flashed through her brain with newfound intensity. 

The smug smile, the laughter that resembled screeching metal chains, the mischievous twinkle in those eyes- Oh, how those eyes dragged her feet through the corridors of Ophelia hall. 

Nothing made sense anymore; Wednesday needed to find the source of her madness and stop whatever is happening at the very core.

She needs to stop you. 

But not before throwing Enid a merry compliment along the way and giving Eugene a preposterous nickname.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Bee Man? That's what you came up with?" You're almost rolling on Wednesday's dorm room floor, hands coming to clutch your contracting stomach; if Wednesday doesn't kill you now, the laughter certainly will.

"Yes, but can we please focus on the task at hand?" The ravenette clenched her jaw, "You're supposed to be helping me find the problem with the potion-"

Boisterous cackles cut through Wednesday's words, and you swear you can see fumes coming out of her ears. "-not to laugh at a genuine, original nickname."

"Yes, but he asked you to give him a nickname and BEE MAN-" you wheeze uncontrollably, eyes tearing up at the absurdity of it.

If you knew changing one ingredient would've given you a very talkative and silly Wednesday Addams, you would've done so during potion class ages ago.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you what I did," you take a deep breath, hands coming to pick up one of the vials containing water-like liquid; eyes scanning the mystery messed up serum.

"But, only if you answer my questions first."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wednesday was ready to whip out a dagger to your neck and make a new potion from scratch, but without identifying the real problem, she'd risk committing the same mistake again.

After all, she'd been meticulous in following the instructions. So it couldn't have been a mistake on her part.

Begrudgingly, she nods, bracing herself for whatever question you may throw her.

You flashed her a teasing smirk, and Wednesday could've sworn it was almost identical to the ones that haunted her every time she so much closed her eyes. A mere coincidence. That's all that is.

"All right, question number one," you cleared your throat before resuming, "Pineapple on pizza, yes or no?"

This threw Wednesday off. And as if you could read her mind, you added a quick, "and no, there's no significance to these questions. Just answer them as is."

Recalling the intense debate Enid has dragged her in with Yoko in the past, she thanked her roommate internally for the fact that the werewolf has basically force-fed her the food.

A simple 'yes' slides out Wednesday's mouth, and you move on to the second question—still with that annoying smirk plastered on your face.

"The second question. Mint chocolate ice cream for dessert, yay or nay?"

"Yes."

"Beep-boop, that's not the proper answer to my question. You have two more chances of getting this correct!"

Wednesday feels her face scrunch in exasperation, "I thought you said there's no signi-"

"One more chance until you're disqualified! Please choose your words carefully," you wiggled your eyebrows at her, and it took everything in Wednesday not to smash the spare potion vial at your face.

"Yay. The answer is yay." 

"Yay, indeed!" you make a grand gesture by lifting your hands in the air, "Onto the next question. Which one do you put in first; cereal or milk-"

"Milk. It's milk. Next question please."

"Ohoho, eager are we?" you stand up and grab the textbook Wednesday had used earlier for the potion-making instruction. Now Wednesday has all her attention on you, eyes narrowing in laser focus as anticipation for your upcoming words.

"Finally! The most important question of this compatibility test, and no matter your answer, I'll tell you what you desire to hear most!" 

Your fingers tap and dance on the book's cover—imitating the sound of drumrolls—and Wednesday almost mauled you then and there if not for your question;

"You, Wednesday Friday Addams, have a crush on me, yes or no?"

The ravenette surprisingly sinks in an internal debate at this.

Just say no. It wouldn't matter. You'll know why the sleeping potion doesn't work after this. Just say no. What is stopping you? It's so easy. The answer is no. Just say-

"Yes, I do." 

What?

No, no, no, no. This can't be. Correct yourself. Say-

"I do have a crush on you."

The book you're holding dropped to the floor. Wednesday looks up to see your mouth gaping, eyes darting all over her face as if you're looking for a sign of her joking. 

But there was none. There was just a surprised look shared between the two of you. 

Wednesday quickly grabs her book and flips through the pages hurriedly.

The slip-ups, compliments, and the awful nickname. The love confession. Could it really be?

Wednesday's fingers slowed down as she reached a designated page, her eyes scanning the room to see two almost identical flower jars at the foot of her bed, only differentiated by a label stuck on the lid.

And when Wednesday caught your guilty face looking at it like her, she knew.

White Periwinkle and Phlox. The two kinds of flower that are similar in appearance but differ significantly as ingredients of a potion.

"A truth potion," You both breathed out into the room.

And you look at Wednesday; she's looking at you. 

"So it's true then?" The shakiness in your voice surprised the two of you, forcing you to clear your throat for the second time in her room.

"It is what it is," Wednesday tears her gaze away from yours to the book in hand, covering her flushed face with the extent of her bangs.

"Unless we managed to mess up the truth potion too, then maybe-"

"No, no, no, no, because," you drop to the ground and kneel at the space in front of her, hands hurriedly opening the vial containing the liquid that had started it all. Wednesday panically looks at you now, and you smile at her before chugging the whole thing down.

"I have a crush on you, too."

And there it is in all your glory; bright smug smile, childish laughter, and mischievous eyes. It finally clicked for Wednesday that you���yes, you—are her eternal living nightmare. She'll make sure you pay the price for all her sleepless nights. 

And it's not gonna be cheap.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

|A/n2|: I really am genuinely sorry, I promise I'll do better next time.

[ganymedesclock]

not to come trudging into your inbox unwanted, but is there a word for the phenomenon where like, a protagonist meant to be like, an underdog and societal outcast evolves into The Only Real Person over the course of the narrative because the author is so dead set on making the main character a hated little meow meow but also always right and the only valid arbiter of justice?

I don't know if there's one word specifically for that, but at risk of tvtropesification I would describe this as a phenomenon that can happen multiple ways with slightly different flavors.

Type A: What Do You Mean I Have Traits?!

Example: Danny Phantom.

Basically this is distinguished by being present from the absolute start. We are supposed to believe Danny (or Timmy, FOP does this too) is a Total Loser, but, actually, nobody seems to have a problem with him besides Dash and the series never seems to struggle to think of kids who have it worse than him in the social pecking order.

At this point, the Uncool-Ness of the protagonist is essentially a fig leaf. You can also often see this with "everyman" protagonists like the fantasy hero who comes from a small countryside town but will never have any sort of qualities people might look down on as "rural" or "a country bumpkin". See also: the Sky High variant where the hero has to relate to and move within the underdogs but crucially is ultimately revealed to not be an underdog at all by having the most conventional powers at all.

The underlying problem to type A here is it is written with the goal of relating to the lowest common denominator. It assumes that a character being successful, motivated, driven, is unrelatable... but also, someone being a "real" loser who is actually disabled or poor or has actual unglamorous consequences is not relatable either. So you get an upper middle class perpetually single guy with one (1) bully who hates him and one (1) girl who's Tragically Out Of His League (but is also dying to jump his bones) and this is passed off as actually just the safe, generic, reliable guy! perfectly ordinary. And just for YOU, audience, because this is what we think you are: a loser with no reason for it.

(suffice to say I do not care much for this type of everyman writing.)

Type B: The Backstory Creep

This is more common in long-running series, especially manga with their production model encouraging a bit of seat-of-pants-ing. Basically your character actually starts out a real everyman who could be somebody. A good example of this type I'd point to is Luffy from One Piece.

Yes, Luffy has a power uncommon to his setting, but the Gum-Gum fruit isn't lavishly unique among devil fruits; it has its strengths and drawbacks. There are even ways that ordinary people have an advantage over devil fruit users. So Luffy is just a particular promising rookie who we like because of his personality.

Then... it turns out Luffy's dad is famous but somehow nobody before this point has assumed a Monkey D. Luffy is related to the notorious Monkey D. Dragon. And then it turns out Luffy's grandfather is also famous... and then we get into the implications of the Will of D and Gol D. Roger.

You can even do this if your characters already HAVE an obvious connection but it gets worse. Consider also Naruto, and how it's baldfacedly obvious from the start Naruto is Minato's son, considering he looks like a younger Minato with whisker marks; later installments of Naruto decided to make his mother not just an amazing badass but also that the Uzumaki name was attached to some amazing legendary ninja clan, which... people more into the series than me have pointed out this makes really upsetting context out of an early fight where a character who is meant to be wrong argues that all victory or loss is based on who is a superior being, and Naruto argues back that if a nobody like him can defeat his opponent, then it's proof this is wrong and free will is important...

...but never mind that, we can give our hero an entirely unforeshadowed Badass Secret Legacy!

(did I mention both of these variants really like to shit on adopted parents? because of course adopted parents can't give you Proof Of Badassery in your genetics.)

A big part of what I think is wrong with both of these, is that it basically tries to have its cake and eat it too. Your character is powerless and likable and struggling, except they succeed amazingly and have cool parents and all these connections! Your character is dominating and godlike except they're such a rookie underdog they are not responsible for their power at all, and don't have to face any consequences or concerns related to being an overpowered monster.

The more honest way to field it, is that if your character is a luckless street urchin, let the narrative treat them that way. Let them have consequences of it that aren't just pretty or flawless. If your character is glamorous and powerful, let the narrative treat them that way. Even in relatively trivial ways, this kind of power-but-not-actually can create weird vibes.

To pick on Frozen, a film I otherwise actually enjoy a fair bit of- Anna's love of chocolate in the time period of the setting definitely marks her as an aristocrat used to a life of leisure and imported fineries. She has beautiful dresses to wear. None of this makes her evil. But the way the film gives her chocolate is supposed to make her feel like a Relatable Underdog, which... frankly, feels like gilding the lily. Anna's perky disney-standard songs come with some of the most heartbreaking lines. We see that she nearly gets killed in childhood and then loses her memory of the incident leaving her to an experience of extreme loneliness that creates a people pleaser who falls head-over-heels for the first person to actually make time for her and agree with her at all.

We don't need to hear her having the tee-hee indulgence that just like you, folks, she wants to stuff chocolate in her face!

(we also will not, incidentally, depict Anna as plus-sized even though for her time period and setting, her being built like a viking bride would both emphasize the various gags- and serious bits!- where she is obviously very strong, but would also make sense as culturally speaking the idea of thin as the ideal body is a recent innovation and Disney can afford to give body diversity to its heroines. Nor will we actually consistently depict Anna with a large appetite.)

She's so relatable, we see her waking up and her hair is gross and messy!

(we will not ever again see her in any sort of unglamorous look the entire film including while she's dying of a curse and her styles are just as fastidiously tidy as Elsa's, distinguished only by more severe lines on the latter... until she goes to her ice queen design)

So funny, she talks about being gassy in one scene!

(we will never depict her farting.)

And this is trivial stuff. There's one line about gassiness. This could be emphasizing not that the problem is fart joke but the problem is Anna has zero filters, which is fairly consistent throughout the film in both dramatic and comedic areas. I could say something a lot worse about the plot hole that Anna is clearly not meant to be a classist person (she does not treat Kristoff badly and he speaks freely to her early on) but the castle obviously has guards and servants... that somehow did not impact Anna's loneliness, even though their parents are dead and Elsa is obviously not sticking close enough to Anna to prevent her from being friends with them. To the point in For The First Time In Forever Anna is dancing actively around the servants but she isn't talking to them and they aren't reacting to her.

Doylistically, this is just because the servants are setpieces. This is vastly overthinking it and I'm not in their target audience. But I think this comes back to the same thing you're talking about, anon:

An awful lot of writers are very uncomfortable admitting their protagonists have any form of power or privilege that they might need to have a more complicated relationship with than just a "spoiled princess must be humbled" moral.

Even when it's a boring, mild form of power like "everyone does not hate me at school" or "I am allowed to sometimes be lucky"

[tropinano]

A Descriptive List of Celtic Fiction Podcasts

Reminiscent of fiction podcasts like TMA, Jack of All Trades etc... If you enjoy anything horror-comedy, general horror or narrative podcasts check these out!

note: Thank you for the reccommendations! I've added them to the list.

Scottish

Middle:Below by Tin Can Audio - A horror-comedy about a fella called Taylor, he can travel inbetween the regular world and the 'middle' realm, and seems to be the only one...until!! He has banter with a charismatic ghost man called Gill and has a pet cat named Sans(?). Good sound quality and fun times.

The McIlwraith Statements by Ghostly Thistle - A monologue narrative about Sarah McIlwraith, recounting her mysterious involvement in the famous 'IPP' study. Dark academia vibes. The narrator has an absolutely lovely voice and accent!

Caledonian Gothic - Descriptive like HFTH, storytelling but the serious tone borderlines silly. If you like I Have Seen Niagara, you might like this! States it's true crime, true stories, but also promises magic and narratives aswell.

Irish

Neighbourly by Matthew O.K Smith - A horror anthology podcast about a creepy neighbourhood and the residents within. Stunnin' narration, with really good stories. I got pretty far in and it uploads every Monday. Great stuff.

The Switchboard by Hog and Dice Productions - A 'daily radio show' horror podcast set in a LIGHTHOUSE. HELL YEAH. It's got some funky sound design and some good stories. Both this and Neighbourly have lovely Dublin accents, and nice stories as usual.

Petrified by Peter Dunne and Liam Geraghty - An award-winning horror anthology podcast with very captivating and realistic dialogue. Unsettling and uneasy feeling it gives me. Main guy Teddy from the 'Dead Air' prologue is defo northern! I want to emphasize the realistic dialogue, it's great. Haven't heard him yet, but this podcast also has CECIL BALDWIN acting in it. Give it a shot!

In Darkness Vast by Hammergrin - A sci-fi podcast with some characters with funky names like Doombuggy, Earthfrank and Nervejump. Wolf 395 vibes, Nervejump is a silly AI lady up to shenanigans. Has some fun voices and sound design. Don't know much about it but it's made in Cork!

The Outside Tapes by Liam Brett and Evan Daly - Classic casette tape horror drama. Alfie Greaves is a journalist investigating a bizarre series of events that are all somehow connected. I love Alfie's voice because he has the same accent and inflection as me so it's very lovely to listen to! He is investigating deaths, so it seems to be a nice mix of Magnus Archives and Death by Dying.

Welsh

Seren by Robin Howell - A short sci-fi about Seren flying through the stars to terraform a new planet. Going by the trailer, it sounds great! Some Cymraeg right off the bat. Great stuff. Gives off some melancholy vibes, and has a funky spaceship AI voice.

Gather the Suspects by MadeUp Audio Productions - A groovy-opening theme mixed with a promising murder mystery. Set in Wales "during a very boring apocalypse". Promises relatable characters, procrastinators, mystery and humour.

This Foul Earth by John Tucker - A comedic, easygoing series (from what ive heard so far) in which everyday Welsh people describe a story they believe deserves to be archived for future generations. Clever writing and good vibes!

as always if youse have anything to add rb and pop it in the tags, these are all very underrated and theyre all quite good and high quality! have a good evening yall

[clinicallyinsanedumpsterrabbit]

Vivisection

The loyelest lamb of a dead "god."

Don't touch the glowy insides, they're like molten lava thanks to the whole burning alive thing, they may taste nice, and they canonically do, like sweet honey roasted aubergine, but burning your entire digestive system beyond repair isn't worth it. No, look at me. Do not. Eat. The forbidden. Candy lava.

I spent way too long on this

Like over a week I think.. Idk, kinda time blind

And the artist eyes are saying it's not perfect, but perfection is a myth and I hate that myth so I'm refusing to think about the quality anymore

The fun thing about this kind of eldridge body horror is there's no blood, so I don't have to draw it

I'm not going to post the speed paint this time because it messed up the post last time so it didn't go out as much, plus I'm too lazy to edit a Time-lapse rn, you may get it on a Reblogs on my alt account later but no promises

And as per tradition it's 3 am and I feel like it shows a lot in my writing today, brain very eepy

Goodnigh

Oh and alt version below for funzies

Yeah it's just with the glitch effects removed

[enrosadiraanisaaa]

Within Session .Part Six.

Holy shit, happy December and Merry Christmas y'all! I'm so happy to finally post another chapter of Within Session. Yes, its been a while but starting a new job is stressful. Thankfully, I figured how to manage time. This part is extremely long, more than 5k. words. I'm proud of myself! This fanfic consists of Yandere!Leon Kennedy. I intend for this fic to progressively become disturbing and fucked up with each chapter. While the first few chapters will be tamed, expect the following in this series:

~Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced Breeding, Degradation, NonCon, Gang Banging, Forced Pregnancy, Somnophilia, Blackmail, Manipulation, Abuse, Pet Names, Obsessive Behavior (Duh), Torture, Constraints, Mentions of Blood & Gore, Mental Degradation, Toxic Relationship, Sexual Abuse, Masturbation, Drugged & Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, Forced Penetration…

Also you will be retconned (Too bad 😏): Female Reader, 24 Years old and from Texas 💝 (yeehaw)

This story was purely written with RE 4 (Remake) Leon in mind. So no puppy dog Leon from RE2 or DILF Leon from later games & movies. The story takes place several months after the events of RE4. Yay, you’re in 2004!

I plan to make this series long and fleshed out, but I promise what you want will hit you like a train~🚂

This story does contain +18 content (NSFW) 🔞 If you’re a minor, please go read a real book or something, don’t cry to me when your mom finds your shit. 

Summary

As an on sight therapist for STRATCOM in Nebraska, you’re tasked with providing quality therapy for US military personnel and government agents. After working at the headquarters for 6 months, Hunnigan recommends you to a notable government agent, Leon Kennedy, who is in need of therapy. After a number of sessions with you, Leon notices a substantial stability in his sanity yet is threatened when you are offered a position back home, closer to your family and friends. Your choice doesn’t sit well with one particular client, who can’t fathom you out of your role as his therapist. Leon has found a means of keeping his precious therapist and realizes you are the key to his permanent solace. You were obviously destined to be his in some form. Why dream of him letting you go?

A\N: I was heavily inspired by Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue 💙, ExploreVenus’s Something Permanent and Guardian Angel by NexysWorld. We're finally getting into the nitty gritty of the story. Reminder that if you're not comfortable with male obsession and stalking, this is not for you. But if you're fucked up like me, please enjoy this! This is a really long chapter, hope y'all like it. 😉 Please comment on what how you feel about this chapter, I'm a whore for feedback. Hate it? Comment. Love it? Comment, por favor.

This is the longest chapter with 5k words, pretty much twice than I typically write for a chapter. Keep this in mind if you are wondering why, it seems longer.

Hope y'all enjoy the sixth part! More to come 💝~ Anisssa أنيسة

Here is Part One , Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and Part Five of Within Session

Blue Monday

  For several months, the disdain for the winter season was prominent as the days were still short of daylight. Along with the absence of familiar faces from family and friends from home, winter blues roused thoughts of returning to home. Even with the presence of Mateo and his buddies around at the house, it never satiated your homesickness. The transition into this New Year was strenuous, yet you continued the routine of attending to clients at the USSSTRATCOM headquarters during the week, the occasional LAN parties hosted on weekends with the dudes, and friend dates with Hunnigan. Still, you could not deny there were urges to pull out your suitcase and call quits on the government position. Home was not here in Nebraska. 

       Now in the middle of February, the extensive drive home seemed to kindle symptoms of burnout. Upon opening the entrance door to your apartment, the dead silence prompted your eyes to glance around the living room for the presence of your roommate, Mateo. For once you arrived home before him. With every step further into your living room, the floor boards seemed to creak under pressure. Your body immediately gravitates towards the couch, slumping on the cushions to sprawl out in exhaustion. In one hand, you gripped your purse while the other held a bouquet of flowers. 

      Until the last session earlier today, it did not dawn on you that today was Valentine's Day. Leon, of all people, arrived at session with a bouquet of roses in his possession with his usual smuggish smirk. The gesture caught you off guard that you simply accepted the bouquet without protest. This questionable offering from him was unpredicted, a moment of vulnerability impelling you to accidentally violate a simple policy between client and therapist. 

     A groan emits from your mouth, decisively kicking off the heels to note how sore your feet were. No doubt the roses in your hand were beautiful, but they were from a client on this particular holiday. You grunt in disapproval, instead eliciting to assume he gifted the roses for his appreciation for your dedication to him as his therapist. Yes, those thoughts brought peace of mind. But you then realized the price tag sticker on the bottom of the bouquet. 

      “Holy fuck! Who spends $80 on a bouquet of roses? Well shit, now I’ll feel guilty if I toss them out… Dammit, Leon…” 

          Leon Kennedy, a client you have been providing treatment with for the last three months since November. Along with his substantial progress in his intervention goals, you had the opportunity to further learn about the peculiar character that is Leon. Every session he never failed to crack jokes on whim or comment snide remarks, his attempt to speak off topic. Beside his efforts to conceal his discomfort with humor, there was also an underlying suspicion that Leon was withholding details regarding certain discussions. He avoids topics through escape by immediately steering the conversation. Every instance that Leon avoids a subject, you take note of it, knowing somehow you would eventually touch base on it.  

      With the bouquet of roses in your hand, you notice several detached rose petals on the couch cushion. A pang of guilt coursed in your chest, registering the maltreatment of the flowers in your grasp. Despite the aching pain in your feet, you stand from the couch to walk to the kitchen in search of a vase. You were no flower arranger but the glass vase you found complimented the red of the petals. Next session you would have to bestow some gratitude to Leon, since the guy deserves some appreciation for the gift. Maybe the man really was trying to express his reverence, Valentine’s Day was not all about romance, right?

       In the moment of admiring the roses you placed in the glass vase, you realize that it has been a while since you have received something like this from anyone. While you let out a gentle huff, your hands reach out to rearrange several roses until you were appeased with the arrangement. Then the abrupt ringing of your phone from your pocket interrupted your trance from the vase of roses, a phone number unbeknownst to you displayed on the small screen of the flip phone. 

     ‘It’s an area code from Texas… is it from San Antonio, Dallas, or Austin? But who calls late on a Monday night?’ You decipher, debating the thought to answer the call knowing the area code was from one of the major metroplex cities. 

    This time you sigh, adjusting your throat to answer in a pleasant tone. “Uh, hello?” You greet hesitantly, holding the pink flip phone to your ear. 

     A gentle feminine voice responds with “Hello…” along with your full name.

     The utterance of your first and last name from the unknown voice nearly startles you to the core, immediately furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. 

    “This is her… Uh, who are you?” You ask, slight concern obvious in your question. Was this call a scam?

    On the other end of the line, the female voice chuckles lightly into the phone,”Sorry to call this late, I am from a counseling program partnered with a foster care facility based here in Austin. We are looking for new recruits with the right credentials.  I came across your application from a year ago and I am curious if you would still be interested in doing an interview and perhaps be interested in joining our team? From your application, I can see your address is in Corpus Christi.” 

      At that moment you seat yourself on a chair in the dining room, glancing at the adorned vase of roses on the dining room table. This was an unmistakable opportunity that manifested itself in one phone call, but you could not allow yourself to become excited so soon.

     “Unfortunately, I am not living in Texas at the moment. I actually took a therapist position here in Omaha, Nebraska. I won’t be able to schedule an interview, I apologize,” You express in a solemn tone, assuming this would end the conversation. 

     “Oh, if you don’t mind…. We can do an interview right now over the phone.” The lady mentions, followed by silence on her end. 

       You direct your eyes at a digital clock in the distance, noticing the time was a little past 9PM, which meant no minutes were being wasted. 

      “Sure, why not…” You respond, guessing this opportunity was unprecedented to simply dismiss.

        For the next 30 minutes, you were asked a series of questions, mostly about your experience and qualities. In your efforts, you answer professionally while you slug against the dinning chair in exhaustion. Your hand became cramped as you gripped the flip phone to your ear. Every time you glimpse back to the vase of roses, you notice several petals shed from the roses. With one rose petal, you twindle it between your fingers as you speak to the woman over the phone. 

         “I’m impressed with you, I really think you would be a great addition to our team. I’d like to offer a full time position, with a Monday through Friday schedule. Instead of hourly, you will be paid a salary with benefits. If you need help with moving, we can pay your first few months of rent wherever you decide to move in Austin. How does that sound?” The lady expresses, seemingly to be entirely impressed with you. 

      For a moment, you were hesitant as the offer seemed too good to be true. “When can I start?” You then ask, feeling the sweat in your palm as you grip the phone to your ear.

      “Since you said you’re out living in Nebraska, I can give you a month… March 14th on a Monday, and we will run a background check and proof that you can work in the US. Nothing major, it’s usually quick. For any certifications you need, we will pay for them…” The woman explains, her voice cheery with every word.

       By the end of her explanation, your body involuntarily begins to shake. Several thoughts coursed in your mind yet the most prominent thought was obvious… you were finally returning home. 

      “I look forward to starting,” You respond, matching her voice of enthusiasm.

       “That is great to hear… Well, I will let you enjoy the rest of your night. Please call this number again if you have any questions or updates,” She infers.

      “Thank you, have a great night!” You add before clamping the flip phone shut, ending the call.

      In that moment, your body slumps in the chair while a long exhale of breath escapes your mouth. Every part of your body was jittery to the point it was difficult to contain despite the laborious deep breaths exercises and your hands crossing to squeeze your upper arms. No doubt, the ticket home seemed to magically appear on your lap. Maybe the universe had finally answered your prayer, and within a month you would travel back home. 

     Tears formed, your eyes evidently becoming glossy while you were seated slumped on the dining room chair. With tears flowing down your face, a part of you felt ridiculous for becoming this emotional. 

      The front door knob jiggle, the sound of keys from the other side of the door interrupting your mini crying session. Once the door opens, you whip your body to direct your attention to Mateo standing there in the entrance. The evidence of crying was still conspicuous as your cheeks were entirely wet and your eyes were puffy. 

    “Ah shit, did I come home at a bad time?” Mateo mutters, cautiously setting his black bag on the floor by the entrance after he shuts and locks the front door. 

      “No, you little jackass. I just got a job offer back home… I start in a month,” You respond in a sincere tone, cracking a subtle smile to Mateo. 

   Mateo appeared taken back, now walking into a plethora of confounding information. With a few steps into the dinning room, he sits beside you at the dining table. He notices the vase of roses placed on the center of the table yet does not comment on them for now. 

    “Are you moving because of me?” Mateo questions, a pout forming on his face. He was honestly a child at times.

     “Huh? No, absolutely not because of you… I just think I have overstayed here in Nebraska, and need to return home so I can be near family,” You explain, your tone heartfelt as you glance at Mateo with a grin.

     Mateo deeply exhales, his brown eyes narrowing at the sight of you, “I guess I'll allow you to leave… on the condition you visit,” He expresses smugly. 

    A soft chuckle emits from your mouth, nodding in agreement to his prerequisite,” Deal…But I plan on moving out in three weeks. Tomorrow, I am putting in my two weeks resignation letter. Some of my clients are not going to be happy.” 

     To your verdict, Mateo expresses a solemn smile before his hand points to the roses you arranged in the vase earlier,” So… who bought you these?” He asks with an eyebrow raised. 

      “I’ll let you guess, but the answer is obvious,” You respond bluntly. 

       “Leon?” He answers immediately with his lips curved in a grin.

        “Mhmm..” You hum, scratching the side of your hair with a finger. “He arrived at session with them, and pretty much shoved them in my arms. Never been so caught off guard,” You then comment. 

      With a sudden snap of your fingers, you jolt up to stand before scurrying across the room to your bag, “Oh shit, I almost forgot, he also gave me a card. I haven’t opened it yet.” Within a moment, your hand digs inside your beg to then reveal a red envelope once you pull it out. By holding the red envelope in hand, you return to seat yourself at the dining room table beside Mateo, ripping the side of the envelope with your hand. A blank expression instantly appears on your face once you slide out the Valentine’s card. By opening it, you notice a gift card and Leon’s writing inside the card, “Mateo… He gave me a gift card to Chili's… Dude, look what this says…’To the spiciest therapist I know’... What the fuck does that mean?!” You glance at Mateo, biting your lip from amusement and disturbance simultaneously. 

     Mateo only burst out laughing, snatching the card from your hand to read Leon’s writing closely, “Damn girl, what you be doing to him during your sessions, huh?” Mateo questions you in an accusatory tone with a hint of humor behind it.

     “Absolutely nothing… Goodnight!” You huff, snatching the card from his grasp back into your possession before stomping off to your bedroom. 

      By next morning, you were able to have written a two weeks notice letter explaining your resignation with a clear date that you would be concluding your tenure with USSTRATCOM as a therapist officially on Tuesday, March 1st. The following days were heart-wrenching, revealing to clients that you would be concluding your position as their therapist and only a few sessions with them remained. Several clients congratulated your new position while others simply were in denial of your departure, or expressed their grief to you. 

        Friday eventually arrived with the anticipation of preparing the last client with the news of your resignation. Instead of being seated at your desk, you waited patiently for the arrival of Leon on one of the two chairs that you would usually sit during the session. Every minute that passed, you contemplated on how to deliver that in a few weeks, you would no longer be his therapist. Last Monday, he gifted flowers and a gift card to you, clearly there was a modicum of admiration from him. Would he congratulate the advancement in your career or distress over your inevitable departure like other clients? You could not rationalize with yourself on why you were nervous to tell him. 

    Right at 5PM, you heard the knock on the door of your office. Leon was always on time for his sessions when he was not sent away on missions. For his division, you still did not know the kind of work he did but only that he was revered as a top dog in his position. 

     Upon hearing his steps, your eyes instantly gravitate to his ocean eyes piercing back at you as he treads further inside the office. Leon seats himself on the chair across from you, an obvious grin plastered on his face. No words were exchanged, but your thoughts spiraled,’Shit, should I tell him now?’ Your thoughts debated but you shook your head on the notion.

    “Leon, how has it been these past few days?” You then ask, mustering a soft smile on your lips. 

     “Great, since I knew I’ll be seeing you today,”Leon smooths, leaning comfortably back into his chair. 

     Your lips falter, steering to not encourage this behavior from your client. “Leon, how many times have I repeated to you to respect the boundaries between us?” You remind him, followed by a soft sigh. This was his mindless flirting that recently sprung up in sessions. 

   “Too many times, miss. I apologize,” Leon chuckles, averting his eyes to the side at the floor. Ultimately, those icy eyes return their gaze to you even though his face was directed away. “So Miss, how were those roses I gave you last time?” He questions you, his eyebrow quirks as he awaits your answer.

     “They were nice, I was able to place them in a vase. Thank you… But understand that as a therapist, I could lose my license for accepting gifts, okay?” You remark, your tone firm with blank expression.

       His tongue clicks along with a small nod, “Oh no, I can’t have that happen. I- We need you here…” Leon mentions, his gaze studying your face. 

        As you examine the features of his face while he spoke, you realize how exhaustive his features appeared. Before he could utter another word regarding gifts, you interfere,”Hey, how are you sleeping as of late these past few nights?”

        In that moment, his grin deflates in an almost surprised expression. Leon adjusted his throat, shifting in the chair.“I’m experiencing nightmares…” Leon admits, blushes blooming on his cheeks. 

          You expected him to retort with humor or downplay his exhaustion. But Leon was actually opening himself to you about his nightmares. This was an opportunity too good to let pass by. By extending your arm to your desk, your hand grabs a notebook and pen. Every detail that he verbalizes, you need written down. 

        With your pen awaiting on the lines on the paper, your eyes return to his face, the bleak blue in his eyes not as bright as they usually are. “Describe what you remember from your dreams, Leon.”

          “Burning bodies, blood caked on my skin that did not belong to me, and things I can’t even explain…” He shifts in his seat again, his voice feeble.

             His narrative could not paint a picture for you, the few details not being enough, but only suggested he endured an incident so horrifying. On paper, your pen scribbled down the only two details he described: burning bodies and blood on skin.

             “Leon, can you recall an incident you might have seen or experienced?” You ask, bringing the top of the pen to your lips.

                After a moment, his head shook,” No ma’am, I simply have watched Dawn of the Dead too many times,” He chuckled, seemingly forcing a smirk. 

            If you could roll your eyes at this moment, you would. An internal scream echoed in your head, and you nearly wanted to slap your forehead with the notebook in your hand. When he finally opens up about something regarding his trauma, he fucking does this bullshit… again.

          Instead of proceeding in your usual passive tone, you adjust your voice to become stern,”Leon, do you honestly need this service?”

          He was clearly offended at the change in tone in your voice, his eyes narrowing at you. An expression you never expected to witness him guise, yet you kept your composure. “Yes, I do,” He merely responded, his voice consisting of no humor. 

         “Then please help me, help you. These past few months you have progressed, but you would honestly be further in your treatment if you allow yourself to open up. I’m not expecting you to explain everything in one session, but understand if you were a bit more cooperative, I can guide you more efficiently through your trauma. I’m not a therapist that wants you to be in therapy forever…” You breathe out along with a huff. 

       The words seem to echo into the room as the room falls into silence, Leon just sitting there with no words to exchange. Nonetheless, every word spoken from your lips was valid. But on the back of your mind, time was inching closer for you to reveal the news. 

       “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, miss. I know I’m your favorite client,” Leon retorts, that same smug expression on his face.

        This session was going nowhere, 30 minutes somehow wasted. Time was working against you, so it would be easier to rip the band aid off the wound, right? 

       “There was never a competition between my clients in the first place. I regard and care for all my clients equally, Leon,” You retort, directly staring at his eyes. “Also…” Your voice proceeds along with an adjustment in your throat. At this point, it can not be helped, he deserved to know. “Uh, to simplify it… in a few weeks I will no longer be working with USSTRATCOM, I’m moving back to Texas. But don’t worry, I already notified the next therapist on your case on your goals and what we worked on.”

       The heart in your chest was beating, feeling anxiety ridden, but nonetheless you revealed the big announcement. Then that same tense quiet air settled into the office once more, Leon had a blank stare directed at your face. Those eyes of his blinked several times before he mustered a warm smile. “That’s very sudden news, but congratulations,” He breathed, his fist clenching on his thighs. 

      While an exhale of air escapes your nose, the ache in your chest seems to ease away. This time, you permit yourself to smile in response to the commendation from Leon. “I really appreciate the congratulations from you… But we will still conduct session the same until I leave. So tell me…what is an incident that may be a considerable source that prompts your nightmares, Leon?” 

      “Wait-” He utters, tilting his head as his mouth tries to form words. “Can you at least explain why you’re leaving? I know three months is not a long time, but I have made so much progress with you…”

       His voice betrays him, nearly breaking yet Leon sustains a smile on his face. Subtle taps on the floor peak your attention, your eyes glancing down to notice his foot tapping on the floor.

       “Sure, I can explain… Um, I have close family in Texas, and my next job allows me to be closer to them,” You answer simply, keeping your voice calm. 

       You see Leon nod in his head in acceptance as he glances down to his hands resting on his lap. “I see… just… you don’t seem like a Texas gal..” He chuckles, bringing his gaze back to you.

        A laugh emits from your mouth, not expecting Leon to return to his whits suddenly. “If you expected me to wear a big cowboy hat and speak with a twang, I might just punch you,” You suggest with an empty threat, raising a fist in his direction while your other hand holds the notebook to your lap. 

       Leon lets out a fake gasp while appearing offended. “Hmm, sounds like someone is in need of anger management.”

       “Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?” You retort, pursing your lips at his remark.

       “I think? Oh, honey, I am funny…” 

        ‘Honey?’ This little endearing nickname riled your core, perceiving it as condescending, nonetheless you opt to let this slide. With a small sigh, your eyes peer to the clock on the wall, silently thanking the universe that only 5 minutes of the session remained. 

       “Alright comedian…” You speak, leaning over the armrest of the chair to grab the clipboard from your desk, “It’s that time you give your signature, and that will be all for today’s session.”

    Leon chuckled once you extended the clipboard to him before he wrote his grand signature: ‘Leon Kennedy’ on the signature line. He extended it back to you, except his expression appeared solemn.

     “So you really are leaving Nebraska? Quitting USSTRATCOM to move back to Texas?” He inquires, no hint of humor in his voice.

     Your head nods, only responding with a hum in agreement. 

    “Well I’m happy for you… I will see you next week,” He expresses, giving a brief smile before he leaves the office.

     “Bye Leon!” You call out, proceeding to shut and lock the office door after he leaves.

     An exasperated groan iterates into the empty room, letting out that strenuous hold of breath out your chest. While the complicated part of informing all the clients was settled, now the actual moving process was the next course of action. At that moment, you reluctantly retreat to your desk, knowing that the legal documents, session notes, and insurance signature sheets need to be submitted to your supervisor before you can leave for home. It was Friday, all you wanted to do was drink to your heart's content, play video games, and pass out on the couch. Typical Friday night shit.

      In time, all necessary documents were submitted to your supervisor. The familiar brunt whirl of flurries stung the skin of your cheeks once you step outside the building, being welcomed into the dark parking lot. Every step along the parking lot was careful while you walked towards your car, seeing the red among the white.

    Even inside the car, your body shivered, desperate to warm up. The inconvenience of the winter night sky entirely made it difficult to see in your car, but you were able to insert the car key into the ignition. With anticipation for warm air, your wrist turns the key forward. 

      Kkkkkkk.

     The sound of the car struggling to start only furrowed your eyebrows in response. 

     Naturally, you turn the key one more time. Two times. Three times. With a disgruntled groan, you continue to turn the key, your foot persistently pressing the gas pedal. 

     “No no no no. Baby don’t do this to me now!”

           With every desperate turn of the key, the car only responded with jerks before dying completely. Hot visible breaths huffed from your mouth, that bitter cold was already piercing through the fabric of your clothes. Your hand pulls out the key from the ignition and your foot ceases from stepping on the gas pedal. That sense of anxiety crept into your chest once more at the awareness you were oblivious to the malfunction in your car. 

        Your hand decides to reach down to pull down a small lever, hearing the familiar pop of the hood. While hesitant, you then retrieve your flashlight from the middle console before returning to the brunt winter weather as you exit the driver’s seat. Once the hood is propped up on the stand, you click the flashlight to instantly illuminate the engine under the hood. The problem was then apparent, the light revealing ripped spark plunges that were supposed to be connected to the engine.

     “Oh, what the fuck…” The words seem to let out, unsure how this happened to your car.

      Crunches of ice behind you alleviated you from deep thought, prompting you to immediately whirl your body to the source of sound. Light from the flashlight directs to a broad figure, startling you to where you nearly scream. Your hand points the flashlight up and you recognize the familiar sandy blonde hair.

     “Leon?” You mutter into the air, your eyes widening at his sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?” You then ask, pointing the flashlight down from his face out of courtesy.

     “I heard a car struggling to start, so I thought I would check it out…” He responds, proceeding to walk to the open hood of your car. Leon glances down to the flashlight in your hand, gesturing you to hand it to him. “Here,” You whisper, extending the flashlight to him. While he holds the flashlight, he directs it down to the engine, “Damn, your spark plugs are damaged,” He remarks, his demeanor confirming your earlier speculation.

      “They were recently replaced, this shouldn’t have happened,” You retort, your tone obviously confused. 

        “Well they look like they've been bitten… Maybe a small animal searching for warmth crawled inside and decided to chew them out,” Leon suggested, returning his attention to you.

         Leon’s revelation was plausible but when you return your glance to the spark plugs, the damage appeared like a clean cut as if they were physically cut by something. Regardless of how they were damaged, your current situation ensured that you were stranded in the parking lot of your job. The road conditions were horrible, piled with snow, and you honestly did not know how long a tow truck would get there. 

     While you contemplate your options, you hear Leon adjust his throat. “If you like, I could drive you home. It’s cold and dark now, there’s not much you can do," he suggests. 

     Spark plugs were easy to install, but to travel to a nearby auto shop was complicated enough in this weather. Your head immediately shook at his offer, shifting your attention to his face. “Thanks for the offer, Leon, but I have to decline. I’m still your t-“

  “Therapist. I know. Miss, it is dark and freezing. A tow truck would take an hour… I can’t leave you out here,” Leon interjects, his tone stern to prove a point. “Come on, let me take you home. It wouldn’t be an issue for me at all,” He continues, proceeding to let down the hood of your car. 

��     Deep down, you knew his proposal would violate ethical codes as a therapist, but his persistence swayed your verdict. Your body was visibly shaking while you stood there, glancing around the parking lot to ensure no one was watching. “Fine, but straight to my house, Leon.” You sternly express, going to quickly retrieve your purse before returning to his side. 

     You hear chuckles from Leon while you follow him to a black SUV, obviously a government vehicle. “Perks of being an agent,” Leon mentions, his voice laced with humor. It honestly seemed he was enjoying this.

     By sitting in the passenger seat, you experience the loving warmth of heat from the vents once Leon turns on the car. A pang of guilt coursed at the realization you were leaving your car behind at the parking lot. “So you drive a Nissan Z? Didn’t think you’re into cars like that, especially with turbo,” Leon strikes a conversation, driving off the premises of the USSTRATCOM parking lot. 

    “Ah, it was a parting gift from my dad. She is practically a family member…” You say, blushing a bit. 

    “There’s no shame in that, it’s actually interesting you’re into cars. But I could definitely swing by in the morning and I could personally switch out the spark plugs,” Leon offers, shifting his attention to you in the passenger seat. 

      “If replacing the spark plugs is no hassle, then I am okay with it…”

        Leon grins, ecstatic that you conceded to his assistance instead of blatantly rejecting his offer. For a moment, he remained quiet as he drove on the snowy desolate streets before eventually realizing he did not know your address. “Ah shit, I got ahead of myself. Tell me where to drive from here to get to your home,” Leon nervously chuckles. 

       In response, you nod with an assuring smile, ”That’s fine…”

               Other than Leon’s rock music playing on the stereo, the car ride became quiet as the exchange of words died down. The moments you only spoke were when you provided directions to your house. Soon the sight of the familiar Victorian house was in view, although you notice a line of cars parked in the driveway and street, along with an absurd amount of people hanging around the house. Once Leon gradually slowed infront of the house, he turned his head to you sitting in the passenger seat. 

       “This is your house?” He asks, turning down the volume of his rock music. 

         A sheepish smile appeared on your lips, nodding to Leon,”Yeah, I guess my roommate decided to throw a party.”

         Leon returns his attention to the amount of men chilling on the front porch, drinking beers or smoking cigarettes despite the freezing air. You see Leon narrow his eyes at the scene yet smirks when he glances back to you. “Looks fun… but I will see you in the morning, right? Is 9AM alright?”

        Your head nods frantically, presenting a pleased smile on your lips,”Uhh, yeah. It sounds good,” You reply, somehow almost forgetting about your car stranded at the parking lot of your job. At that moment, you open the passenger car door before slipping onto the pavement of the road. “See you tomorrow, Leon! And thank you for taking me home…” 

       Leon seemed content, before waving off to you, "I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night,” He responds. Once you shut the passenger door, he drives off, leaving you to watch him as you stand there in the middle of the road. A nagging intuition provoked an uneasiness into your body regarding this night. Nonetheless, you decided to ignore your paranoia since there is a party that required your attendance because even God knew you deserved it after this whole week.