#the truth is that he also knows the world is harsh and cruel and the fact that hes still so kind in the face of it and still finds joy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holy-puckslibrary · 6 months ago

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— 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬.

pairing(s) — dilf!ERIK JOHNSON x ex-nanny!wife!reader (established); REESE JOHNSON (oc) x ex-nanny!stepmom!reader (platonic / familial)

wc — 4.7k synopsis — family weekend forces reese’s worlds to collide. results are… mixed note — i just really love reese. that's it :) and how dilfy does mr johnson look in that gif good lord

the nanny (series masterlist) | main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — age gap relationship (erik and the reader, established), vulgar college boys with no respect, busy-bodies who cannot mind their own beeswax, possessive!erik, pregnant!reader (not discussed in detail), sweet bby reese in peril :(

REESE JOHNSON has a problem.

It’s the sort of anxiety-trodden predicament that could’ve been soothed into nothingness had he spoken up sooner. He didn’t because he couldn’t. That was part of the problem.

And now it’s too late—for solutions or comfort.

The teen, now a second-semester freshman at the University of Denver, had long since adjusted to the heightened scrutiny of his family in the early days of your relationship with his father. Everyone online had to throw in their two cents on the “illicit affair.” Even people who didn’t give a shit about hockey (evidenced by their inability to name a single team) felt they had a right to weasel their way in. While irritating and uncomfortable, the harsh reads didn’t bother him for too long because Reese knew the truth.

He also knew how unnecessarily ruthless people could be when they had a screen to hide behind. The son of a prominent figure in professional sports, Reese knew people stared at him through a very particular lens. It veered toward a rosy sheen every so often, but mostly it was smudged glass. Like a fish tank whose walls were muddy with the greasy impressions spectators left behind. Strangers offering commentary on his father’s life, and by extension his too, was part of the gig.

Frankly, the aftermath wasn’t much different than before. Only the subject matter changed. If it wasn’t thinly veiled insults about Erik’s waning career or his prior inability to keep a girlfriend, it was overly critical evaluations of Reese’s prowess or lack thereof and, unsurprisingly, comparisons between father and son. Without fail, the verbiage and tone implied competition, hinting that their healthy bond was only a bit of showmanship to hide the rocky resentment beneath.

This weekend is different. Sure, his teammates and friends had already gotten ample face-time with both of his parents, as well as his kid sister, but never all at once. Though they all did their best to coordinate, busy schedules rendered a revolving cheering section for Reese Johnson.

This weekend—family weekend—will change that. By some stroke of luck (or a cruel twist of fate, the jury's still out on that one), everyone would be here… together. And that’s not to say he isn’t grateful for their effort or that he isn’t excited because he is. Reese is thrilled to share this new slice of life with his loved ones. It’s just that…

Reese knows how it looks when they venture out into the world.

Not that his dad is exactly old or even old-looking. In the same way you aren’t questionably young. Still, the age difference is noticeable. Before you were more than a nanny to the Johnsons (if you were ever just a nanny to begin with), it was easier for on-lookers to assess the dynamic, and still, albeit seldomly, they would drum up gossip. Things got remarkably more awkward, though, after his father finally plucked up the courage to propose, and increased tenfold once Erik had a gold band to match. It was as if the wedding ushered in the open season on Johnsons.

More times than he cared to count, Reese found himself cupping Josie’s ears to keep his little sister from hearing jeering crowds calling their dad an old pervert and you a shameless gold-digger. No one’s had to explain what a “sugar daddy” is (or why it's the first thing that auto-populates when you plug ‘Erik Johnson’ into Google), but the burden would’ve fallen on Reese if he hadn’t left her in the car while he ran in to grab a takeout order last summer.

But Erik’s eldest isn’t just worried about his family existing outside the warmth and safety of their insulated bubble. His sleepless nights are filled with fear. Fear of the pain and sadness he’ll undoubtedly feel about it all now that he sees you less as his friend and more as a maternal figure.

Reese’s always been protective; it's led to many a fight with his own father and, sometimes, his own sister. He’s the first to rush to your aid and the strongest force in your defense. The habit, however, strengthened when his perspective shifted as swiftly as flipping a switch.

Suddenly, you weren’t just his dad’s girlfriend or the person who made him pancakes in the morning. Or the savior who dropped off his English paper because he was in such a hurry he left it on the printer. You were a confidant, someone he called for when he was in a bad spot or when he wanted to see the latest mind-numbingly bad action flick. When he asked his date to prom, it was you he wanted help from. When Reese was sick, your home remedies worked better than anything store-bought or concocted by his dad. When practice ran over, he could count on you to wait up with his dinner hot and ready, the rest of the house already fast asleep.

For the first time since he could remember, the Dad-shaped gap wasn’t devastating. It hurt like a bitch, but it was bearable because he had another adult—another parent—he could rely on. In every sense of the word, you were his mom.

And no one wants to hear disgusting lies about their mom.

However, Reese hasn’t called you that yet. At least, not to your face. In passing to his childhood friends or when referring to you with Josie, sure, and once or twice over the phone with Erik, but when he calls for you, he uses your first name like he's still your “nanny-kid.” But it's not for a lack of trying. It’s just that every time he thinks he’s worked up the nerve, the three letters catch in his throat like molasses, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

Moments like those are the rare few he wishes he were Josie instead of himself. His jovial spitfire of a sister never missed a chance. During her lunch block with classmates, on the phone with their extended family, to strangers at Avs games, or on the sidewalk, the moniker slipped off Josie Johnson’s tongue like water down a slide. Their dad liked to poke fun, warning her to be careful so as not to wear it out from overuse.

Maybe it was the sister snuggled in your stomach that tightened his throat. The baby that could and would call you “Mom” with little effort beyond mastering the string of sound. The baby that would grow up not knowing you as anything besides her mother. It was a shade of ownership Reese felt hesitant to touch. No matter how desperately he yearned to.

The closest he’s come is penning in the title beneath your name on the lanyard that’ll hang from your neck for upcoming festivities. It was a small gesture. Still, it felt like too much and not enough all at once.

Reese is caught between wanting to honor the bond and all you’ve done with the accurate label and the fear of explicitly acknowledging it stirs in his chest. At least in this limbo of sorts, as cumbersome as it's become, Reese can have what he’s always wanted and keep you in his life without risking capsizing the boat with an awkward declaration. It’s an uneasy compromise, but it's the devil he knows. At least he knows what and when to feed it.

Reese hates that he’s letting his worries dictate his life. It's just… hard. No one tells kids how to navigate gaining a new parent or any of the baggage that unique situation carries. No one tells kids how to trust the position’s new occupant not to follow in their predecessor’s footsteps. In his heart, Reese knows you won’t run. But knowing that doesn’t shut down the nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that drones on like a broken record, telling him that the burden of the word, knotted with his expectations, will be his family’s unraveling.

He couldn’t do that to Josie. To his dad. Or to you and the little sister you’re carrying.

So, he’ll stomach it. For how long, Reese isn’t sure. But, for now, he’ll stand on the outskirts of the minefield, bidding time.

"Johnson! Your whole family's coming, right?" Kody, a junior defenseman from Fort Collins, yanks Reese from his downward spiral.

The last place he wants to be right now is out in the world. The last thing he needs is to cannonball himself back into the fishbowl. Even if the phantom audience never spoke to him, sometimes their heavy attention pushing into his back was enough to send Reese reeling.

But he made a promise to make more of an effort. To be more social, to have more fun—to take life a little less seriously.

In his mind, if he was at school to learn and play hockey, there was little room to wiggle. Sure, Reese has had his fair share of adolescent recklessness and could lean toward boyish immaturity at times, but at his core, he was a rule-follower. A responsibility fiend with a penchant for playing the white knight. A stickler for structure. When given the choice between a teenage dream and a full-grown reality, the freshman chose the latter nine times out of ten.

Reese Johnson’s moral compass weighs down his back pocket; he feels most at peace when things fit neatly into their proper boxes. Good and bad, black and white. One or the other, never both.

Stress and anxiety exacerbate his mental rigidity. And he’s been so fucking far from zen lately.

Reese would’ve broken the stupid promise if it’d been made to anyone besides you. So, when a few of the upperclassmen on the team appeared at his dorm with an invitation to get pizza, he begrudgingly accepted.

It isn’t so bad. Far from awful this far. Definitely not the worst way to spend an evening. His teammates were alright enough guys, and their girlfriends weren’t as callous as he’d expected. Reese just found it hard to connect with them, a situation that couldn’t be more different than his previous team experience.

With his childhood friends, it all clicked. Fell into place without much real effort from any of them. There was an awkward period, but it ended within the first month and, honestly, had more to do with prepubescent cringe than anything.

An entire semester came and went, and Reese still felt like an outsider. When he looked out onto the ice, he saw a sea of strangers. They had different interests, different priorities. Inside jokes he wasn’t in on. Ones he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in on. Even their sense of decorum was foreign. He was well-acquainted with profanity and vulgar jibes, but Reese’s neck still occasionally heats at their… colorful chirps.

But maybe this will be a good step, Reese thinks to himself as he clears the nerves from his throat, making room for an answer to Kody’s question.

“Uh, yeah. My parents and my little sister,” he nods. The blip of quiet that follows coaxes out further details. “They’re going to skip the mixer-campout thing tomorrow night because of the baby, but they’ll be at the student fair and our scrimmage the next day.”

It feels odd to talk about his family. The words, somehow both intensely personal and casual at the same time, taste funny on his tongue. Reese’s stomach clenches, suddenly too aware that he’s never really had to do this before, the small talk. Back home, everyone knows everyone. There’s little to talk about by way of mundane facts because there’s no need; it would be incredibly redundant. His friends from home wouldn’t think to ask if his family was coming, nor would they nudge him to share their schedule. They’d just know.

Reese is aware that this is a silly thing to get worked up over, or even care about at all. He knows it’s part of the process. Part of making new friends is letting them know you. Telling them about yourself and your life, and all the people in your life. Especially the ones you love. Offering up bits of yourself in exchange for bits of them. Still, it's unsettling. Like he’s inviting a group of strangers to pass judgment on his unconventional family.

No one’s said anything, but Reese already feels defensive.

And rightly so, he’d soon find.

"That was quick."

Lane, a senior forward from some beach town in California, draws first blood. The quip seems innocuous, but the shit-eating grin undermines any plausible deniability. Even without his smug expression, they probably would’ve understood the implication lurking below the surface anyway.

It isn’t the isolated comment that burns the tips of Reese’s ears. It’s the fact that he’s never spoken about the circumstances or the timeline of your relationship with his father. Reese hasn’t tried to hide anything, but he certainly hasn’t been forthcoming either. For all they knew, you could’ve been Josie’s biological mother. A long shot, but feasible enough if you didn't know any better.

But somehow, this kid from out of state knew. Knew that, by “traditional” standards, it was a little soon for his parents to be welcoming a new life.

"Can you blame him? Hot young thing at your beck and call?” Kent, a sophomore from outside of Toronto, cuts in before Reese can.

The lecherous glint in the winger’s tone makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t need to look up from his half-eaten slice of Hawaiian to know his mouth matches Lane’s.

“Fuck, dude. I would've knocked her up before she dragged me down the aisle. But, I've heard Viagra massacres your swimmers, so maybe that wasn’t in the cards for Ol’ Johnson.”

The group, crowded around a hodgepodge of tables, descends into a fit of snickers and profanity.

Reese contemplates leaving until a manicured hand gently squeezes his arm. Callahan Graham blinks up at him, a sweet smile tight on her rosy mouth. Callahan “Callie” Graham, Lane’s on-again-off-again girlfriend of three years. They’re “off” right now, if he’s remembering correctly. Not that it matters. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Reese’s chin dips in gratitude.

From across the table, Callie’s roommate, Greer, pipes up over the commotion. “I hope I'm as cute as she is when I'm pregnant."

"Me too," Bree, one of the other girlfriends, sighs dreamily into her Diet Coke. "I couldn't believe how pretty she looked the last time she brought Josie to watch you play, Reese. If I was pregnant and holding down a two-kid fort by all by myself for most of the year, I know I'd look it. But I guess that’s just another perk of true love, isn’t it? Beauty in spite of it all.”

Kent snorts. “True love…right.”

Reese’s molars pinch together. Beneath the table, he picks at his nails. It hurts, but it's the distraction he needs right now.

"It's not like being a trophy wife is a real job anyway, so I'm sure that helps. Just lie back and spread those pretty—"

Reese’s fist finishes Lane’s sentence. As badly as he wants to put it through the douchebag’s face, he (thankfully) had the foresight to direct his anger downward. It was the succinct thwack! of his hand against the table that cut the lewd thought off prematurely.

Reese is a striking juxtaposition; hardened jaw, sharp eyes, pinched mouth—silent. Only his chest moves. Shallowly, the accent on the exhalations.

For a moment, everything is still. It’s nice. While it lasts.

Kody is the one to crack the ill-fated stalemate. Trepidation peeking through the tiny cracks in his smooth confidence, he approaches like a hunter would an agitated deer, “Loosen up, Reese. We're just having fun. And, if anything, it's a compliment."

Reese openly glares, unconvinced.

Kody persists, deadset on being the one to subdue the beast. “Come on, even you have to admit your dad's locked down a fuckin’ tenner. A real win for Team Geriatric, I’d say. You should be proud of him, kid.”

This isn’t the first time someone’s prodded Reese about your physical appearance. He wasn’t blind. He knew you were attractive, but you’d never entered that part of his brain before. Ever. It's as if his subconscious preemptively locked you away in the same box as his dad and kid sister, or any other family member. But they weren’t asking if he thought you were pretty, not really.

The omnipresent “They” wanted to know if he thought you were attractive the way he thought Pedro Pascal or Olivia Rodrigo was attractive. They wanted to know if he felt the way his dad felt about you. They’re probing for a twisted scandal, a sick taboo love triangle. As if they weren’t already gorging themselves on the age difference or the boss/employee origin story.

They wanted more. They always wanted more. They wanted to take one of the best parts about Reese’s life and fuck it up.

His teammates are proving themselves no different than the losers populating Twitter.

“She ever read to you a story before bed?” Lane again.

Then Kent, in quick succession. “Tuck you in nice and tight, and come running when you had a nightmare?”

There’s barely enough time between the two to squeeze in a meager answer. Though Reese surmises that’s by design.

Innuendos are funnier when they have a single target in the audience to fly over. At least, to people with cheap senses of humor. Easy laughs are no accomplishment when they weaponize the feelings of an innocent bystander. Even in his anger, Reese wouldn’t have humored them with a doe-eyed reply of feigned ignorance. It wasn't earned.

“If I got to spend all of high school being coddled by a rocket, I'd still be milking that shit. Maybe if you had, she would've fucked you instead of your dad."

Reese’s brow shrinks to a contemptuous pinch. It wouldn’t take much for him to be reacquainted with his dinner; it’s already halfway there.

As he looks over at Kody, he loses what little hope he had that he’d find a place in this friend group. He hasn’t found his people yet, on the team or in general, but Reese is certain they’re not sitting around him tonight.

"How far along's your mom?" Callie seizes the conversation knowingly.

Briefly, her pale eyes slice pointedly in the direction of her… whatever Lane is to her, and then back to Reese, warmth restored.

"Uh, almost seven months? But Josie and I were both late, so Dad thinks we'll have to wait until the end of summer until she's here. Maybe they’ll share a birthday.”

"She?" one of the freshman girls squeals, clutching her companion’s forearm in excitement.

"Yeah," Reese says bashfully, head dipping to conceal the grin tugging the corners of his mouth. The meat of his cheeks ache with joy. “Two sisters."

"I give Johnson Sr. six months before he puts the moves on Nanny 2.0,” Lane’s whisper pierces the lukewarm calm that settled the table at his… Callie’s hand.

She kicks his shin. Hard.

"You really think the old timer's game is that reliable?" Kent picks up the slack between open-mouth chews.

And Kody is not far behind, “He's decently famous and moderately rich. That was enough the first time, so why wouldn't it work for the second? Or, Junior, maybe this next one can be yours—if you pull your head out of your ass in time, that is."

Reese is done. Has met—no, exceeded his limit. He doesn’t have to sit here and take this. Yeah, it would be better for the locker-room culture if he stuck around, but a boost in morale wasn’t worth the decimation of his pride.

His goodbye is simple but effective. The deafening screeeeech! of his chair sliding back on the linoleum.

The sidewalk is blurry beneath his feet as he trudges back to safety. Whether it's the tears’ fault or how quickly he’s running, Reese can’t be sure. All he knows is that he needs to be as far away from them as possible.

He needs… he needs…

Reese’s fingers tremble defiantly while he fishes for his phone. He continues to fight with them, shoving his key into the door and pushing it open with the other as he scrolls through the call log. He slams the world out and hits the green icon.

“Reese? Are you okay?” your groggy, but no less sweet voice flits through his phone.

Only two rings.

Reese’s shoulders melt, comforted by the familiar warmth of what home sounds like. But his mouth remains frozen, stuck.

You allow a few beats of silence to lapse, giving him ample space to answer if he is able and wants to before speaking again. “Do we need to come up tonight?”

He blinks, attempting to wash away the salty film over his eyes to read the clock above his desk. 1:37 AM, the angry red letters read.

Guilt seeps into the mix of nasty emotions monopolizing his body. The acidic cocktail begins its ascent of his tender throat.

You shouldn’t be up right now. Not this late, not when his sister’s made you an insomniac for so much of your pregnancy. Not because someone was mean to him.

Reese feels like an asshole. An inconsiderate asshole bothering you with his problems in the middle of the night, knowing you’re already sacrificing your weekend for him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry for waking you and the baby, and probably Dad, too. I—It's nothing, really. It can wait. We can talk about it when it's not, y’know, the middle of the night.”

“Reese, no one sets off the alarm on my Bullshit Radar faster than you do. You wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t urgent. Talk to me, Reeses Pieces. You know I won’t be able to go back to sleep knowing you’re not alright.”

Reeses Pieces. The nickname, said with such casual affection, is like a magic wand.

“Uh— I-I, um… I had a, um, a r-really bad night… and I— and I just really needed to hear y-your voice, Mom.”

It slips out. Slips free. It just… slips into the mix with all the other words like it belongs there, too. And it does. It feels right. Reese feels a twinge of satisfaction. Regardless of the circumstances (and the night he’s had), it happened.

It finally happened.

The floor crumbles a little and gentle flames lick at Reese’s cheeks. His phone feels as though it's floating up and away from his clammy palm. He’s telling his fingers to tighten their grip, to hold on. They hesitate, and when they finally decide to obey, it only makes matters worse. He fumbles, nearly dropping his phone to the floor. The elephant easing down onto his chest is making it hard to focus, to think, to listen.

“Reese? Did I lose you, bub?”

He blinks himself out of the daze. “Hmm? No, I—I, sorry. I’m here.”

“Oh, Reesey. I was just saying I was glad you called then. I mean, I always love it when you call. Even when it’s to tell me you sent your Airpods through the washing machine. Again.”

Reese barks out a phlegmy laugh.

Note to self: the rice hack only works the first time you let your electronics go for a swim.

Second note to self: this reaction—this non-reaction is better than any teary blubbering or callous rejection. Normalcy doesn’t require a reaction.

“You can always, always call me. Especially when you’re having a rough time. Even when it's the middle of the night. My main priority in life is making sure you’re safe and happy, you and JoJo. And the peanut sitting on my bladder. And the 6’4 blanket-hog snoring like a hacksaw beside me.”

“Maybe we should get Dad a sleep study coupon for his birthday,” Reese teases.

He feels better now. You, and finally being courageous enough to be vulnerable, was the medicine. Reese feels lighter than he has since you dropped him off in September.

You snort. “I’ll gladly pay to see your dad covered in wires. But, as much as I love laughing at his expense when he’s none-the-wiser, that's not why you called. Spill it.”

He does. The spiel tumbles out like an overdue avalanche, and Reese hardly realizes how quickly he’d been talking until he finishes with burning lungs. You listened patiently, letting him get it all out without interruption. You were good about that, knowing when someone needed room to rant more than they needed interjections with guidance or commentary. Reese usually fell in the first category, tonight being no exception.

“…I just don’t get why they found it so funny. Or why they even thought to say it in the first place. It's so...gross.”

He listens to you sigh and knows you’re doing it through your teeth. You’re probably massaging the waves of frustration between your eyebrows, nose scrunched. Josie calls it your ‘Dragon Face’ because of the way frustration contorts your features, but Reese adopted the term into his own lexicon because it almost always appeared when someone threatened the safety of your family. Like him, you’re generous with your protection. Fierce without delay.

“Because you aren’t them, Reese. You’ve always had a strong sense of right and wrong, respectful and not. And you’re rarely swept up by group-think, if ever. Those things may feel like a curse right now, but I promise they’ll be superpowers one day.”

“I wish I could fast-forward to that day. This sucks,” he groans, tossing himself backward onto his twin bed.

“It does suck. Majorly. Still, even if you had time travel in your vast arsenal of powers, I’d tell you to stay put, Reese. Part of college is learning how to deal with immature people, building up a tolerance for their bullshit as you grow stronger and more confident in yourself.”

“But I’m not strong. I ran away crying like a little baby,” Reese croaks into his pillow. A warm saltiness tickles his eyelashes.

“You removed yourself from a bad situation, and you let yourself feel your feelings in the present tense. Those are both huge wins in my book,” you counter.

Your voice is louder now, stronger. Like coaxing Reese—coaxing your son out of a pit of self-pity breathed all the energy you lacked for the better part of a year back into you. The subtle shift whittles away some of his earlier guilt.

“It takes guts to do that, Reese. Most people spend years trying to learn what you did instinctively. Some people never learn to do it at all. And don’t tell anyone, but I’d put money on Kody, Lane, and Kent being some people.”

Reese snorts. “I know you’re right, but I think what’s actually bugging me is that you guys’ll be subjected to that shit this weekend. It’s one thing for them to say it to me, but it’s another to say it to you or in front of JoJo. I hate that people care so much about us and our business that they can’t keep their mouths shut. If you don’t feel comfortable coming now, I would totally understand. Fuck, if I were you, I’d never visit again. Maybe I could come home this weekend instead?”

“Reese, as sweet as that is, the only thing that’ll stop me from coming this weekend is early labor, not chauvinist pigs.”

“You shouldn’t even have to hear it, though. And besides, won’t smiting college kids stress the baby out?” Reese asks, worry tearing through his voice despite the lighter tone.

“Do you honestly think your dad will let them get more than a couple words out?” you ask through an airy chuckle.

For the second time tonight, someone else speaks before Reese can.

Erik’s voice is muffled and gravelly, but the protective bite—the very same one that took hold of Reese at dinner and you just moments ago��is loud, “They’ll keep their mouths shut if they want to keep whatever teeth they have left.”

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corn-cardigan · 24 days ago

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please yap about enki’s sister I beg of you. she’s so cool and so are you

AW thank you!! 🫶

and thanks for letting me indulge in talking about these two!! here's how I see it:

I really like the idea that the ritual fight that was mentioned in Enki's intro wasn't the only time he had to face off against his sister. It was always like that for him and Ninmah. The priests that took them in saw their potential and wanted to know who the superior sibling was.

My headcanon is that not only was Enki physically weaker than her, but emotionally frail as well. That no matter what, he'd always be a close second to his "better" twin. Ninmah was exceptional and obedient. Enki was completely pathetic next to her.

I like to think when they were super young, they did care for each other. But under harsh, abusive conditions from the priests, it further drove a wedge between them. And Enki's frailty warped into his distinct bitterness as to no longer appear as weak - as to compete on the same level as Ninmah.

The ritual fight was an inevitability. A scheme to see who truly was strong enough to live. So when Ninmah spared Enki, it was sort of her way of communicating that she still cared about her brother. Even if they were pitted against one another, even if she seemed unfeeling and unbothered, she still loved him as much as a young (definitely traumatized) girl could in that situation.

So when Enki's given the choice to either accept her mercy or literally backstab her, both are completely plausible. Like yeah he also possibly still loves her. That's his sister and she was always there for him. But on the other hand, after years of cruel reprimanding, he finally had the perfect opportunity to prove his superiority.

Either way, it doesn't end happily at all. If Enki kills Ninmah and raises her as a ghoul, I'm going to assume she won't be completely herself. She's basically dead. The other route is also tragic. Enki accepts defeat and gets chucked into a well. And at the bottom, his resentment festers. Not only towards his whole diocese but also directed at Ninmah. Because if she did truly love him, why did she not rescue him? (In truth, she would've also been doubly punished, let's be real.)

Assuming they're both alive, I'm entirely convinced that they haven't spoken to each other in over a decade. Enki's probably got a LOT of indignation for his old order and, by extension, Ninmah. And Ninmah acknowledges that he's moved on. Maybe it's best they never see each other.

No wonder Enki is such a big hater. He was one of the few people born into this world with someone and yet he still ended up abandoned and alone. :,)

anywayzz that was very rambly and very sad. but did you know bc enki is green and ninmah’s red this means theyre mario and luigi coded

#this is so long im so sorry #back to goofy art #fear and hunger #funger #enki ankarian #enkis sister #cw implied child abuse #corns art tag :0 #corn ask :^]#btw again this is like…… super fanficy and was kinda my theory as to why enki was the way he is #totally feel free to just ignore this

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gabriellerudessa · 7 days ago

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Just started my third rewatch of the Fallout series, and something that just stuck out to me, in retrospect, about Cooper and how he later is as The Ghoul. Don't know if anyone pointed it out before.

When Janey asks about the thumbs up thing... Coop is gentle but sincere. If smaller than your thumb, run away. When she asks if bigger, again he's sincere but gentle: there's no point in running.

Why stuck out to me? Because at the same time the mother of the birthday boy is all around being like "only happy thoughts", changing the TV to a channel that doesn't talk about the war and such. And actually, the protecting of kids and saying everything will be okay and not talking about danger and how things really are is commonly depicted, as if they can't and should not deal with this type of knowledge. Protected to a point of being detrimental. (also, like the Vault was, oops)

This moment talks a lot about Coop's character and who he is as a person. He may not go into extensive details, but he respects his daughter enough to be frank but gentle; when she asks if he thinks it's going to happen, he doesn't say a certain "no", he says "I certainly hope not". That's monumental compared to how it's usually depicted.

This shows, before EVERYTHING ELSE, at the very start, before we are shown what he discovers about Barb and Vault Tec and so on, how Coop values sincerity and truth, how he loves his daughter enough to not lie to her about the cloud and the bombs. Heck, chronologically this happens after his discovery, so it's probably even more pronounced.

After the bombs, after becoming a ghoul? It's pronounced, extremely, this trait of sincerity and truth. But it lost the edge of respect for the person on the other side and in being taught with gentleness, as seen in how he treats Lucy - a respect that briefly appears when he mercy-kills the other ghoul going feral -; he's still truthful in telling and teaching about the Wasteland and how it's mostly a kill-or-be-killed word, but unlike with Janey, there's no worry if the lesson comes out as harsh and cruel or what will happen with the other person.

Coop never shied away from harsh truths. He knew the cruelty of the world, he had been a soldier; a great part of his dislike for Bud was how Bud didn't care about how a defective product caused deaths for other soldiers with whom Coop fought, and if I'm not mistaken he's vocal about it directly to Bud and to Barb.

The thing is, he thought things were better and that his wife had his back. Then he discovered that no to both. And once he discovered, it appears he didn't put his head to the sand like that mother on the birthday. We don't know the details, but we can see that Coop had enough of a spine to deny the thumbs up and to be truthful with Janey. And this explains a lot of his development in the post-war and as a The Ghoul.

#fallout #fallout series #the ghoul #cooper howard #janey howard #fallout prime

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sugarbell · 11 months ago

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Batfam X Neglected! Batsis! Reader

Part 1

Today had started out like any other day. You had woken up, gotten ready, and gone to school. You were little more than a phantom in the school halls, hell you were little more than a phantom in your own home.

You weren’t complaining. Your life was considerably better than lots of other people in Gotham City, but what is a life without love? You had love in your life once upon a time, or so you’ve heard. Your mother was a beautiful, kind woman who girl-bossed through her whole life, and ran her own business company that sold many products for women. Mostly beauty products and clothes.

You had always heard how incredible your mother was. She was capable, independent, fiery, bold, but caring and compassionate. Or at least that’s what you had always heard, but you had no reason to doubt any of it. She was always committing some lovely charitable act. She had always been your hero even though you never had the chance to make any memories that you could remember with her. You had seen her in pictures and she was absolutely beautiful. So were you. Your father was also a very handsome man, which only added to your beauty. You were a mix of white and Japanese.

Your father was a lawyer, and you had also heard that he was a very intelligent and smart man, but he was a total goofball. The way people made your parents sound made you wish you had the chance to know them. On some nights where you lied in bed awake you would cry and wonder why the world had to be so cruel. Why couldn’t you have a chance to know your parents instead of being forced into a “home” where you were shown no love, affection, or care?

But then you would remember that you weren’t there only one who had it rough. Matter of fact, many people had it way, way worse than you did. So you would smile and thank God that you had a roof over your head, clothes to wear, and food to eat.

Although the problem never really was with material things.

Your mother and father had been apparent close friends with multi-billionaire playboy, and Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, Bruce Wayne. He was a trusted friend of theirs and they had written it down in their will that should anything ever happen to them, you were to be immediately placed under the care of their good friend Bruce Wayne. And when their car drove off a bridge on date night, you were orphaned. The letter with their will in it had gotten lost for quite some time until it turned up years later, by the time you were already ten years old. You had been in an orphanage all that time until the letter was found, and it was revealed that you were to be placed under the care of Bruce. Of course, Bruce accepted you graciously with open arms.

To the public of course. He had already had seven kids of his own, not that he minded another one, or meant to neglect you, it’s just that he never really seemed to have the time for you. Honestly nobody ever did.

You had been so excited to leave the gross, cold orphanage. You had seen Bruce Wayne on television and he seemed so nice and cool! But that was far from the truth. You envied his relationship with the other kids. You envied their relationship with each other.

Dick, he never meant to ignore you. It’s just…you were so ordinary. He hadn’t truly meant to brush you off but…he did. He was just so aloof and distant. He never tried making a relationship or a borderline connection with you, and you couldn’t say you hadn’t tried, but his detachment to nobody else but you made it increasingly hard. Like no matter how hard you tried he just couldn’t be interested in you in the slightest.

Jason, wasn’t necessarily outright harsh to you, however he didn’t bother trying to hide his disinterest in you. Whenever you spoke to him, he would only respond with grunts or groans, and when he did speak actual words to you, he sounded like it bothered him so much, so you had given up shortly after.

Tim was always too drained or tired to even bother with you. It was always tired hums whenever you tried speaking with him and so you gave up trying with him eventually too. He never really was rude, but he definitely couldn’t care less about you.

Damian definitely hates your guts, you were sure. Anytime you entered a room, he would scoff or “tt,” which made you self-conscious each time. You were older than him but it still hurt. You had tried giving him time to possibly warm up to you, he’ll you had tried it with everyone, but it never really happened. He despised you, and in turn you tried to stay as far away from him as possible.

Barbara, you never really spoke much to. She was always either preoccupied with something, or you just felt like she was so unapproachable. She was so beautiful and she seemed so kind and outgoing that you just felt like you weren’t in her league.

Stephanie seemed so light, and bubbly and kind, and in the beginning, you truly thought her and you would be fast friends, but when you heard her talking with Damian once behind closed doors about how they truly wished you had never joined the family…well you knew your assumptions about her were wrong.

Cass didn’t need words to build an unbreakable bond and an envious relationship with everyone else, so why not you? You had tried reaching out as well, but she was a little worse than Dick in the way where she was aloof, and would sometimes, more times than others just show her annoyance or unconcerned feelings towards you.

And then there was Bruce…he was supposed to act as your godfather…maybe even someone you could call ‘Dad’ just as many of the other kids did, but that never happened. Bruce was cold and harsh towards you. It was obvious he didn’t care about you. You had tried being the perfect golden child-getting straight A’s, excelling in all classes, helping out tremendously around the house to the point where you might even put the sweet, old Alfred out of business, been the sweetest, and the most patient with everyone, but it never seemed to work. Nobody noticed a thing except Alfred. Oh, he was so sweet and kind, and caring and compassionate towards you. And he never looked at you with pity. You hated the look of pity. One you had grown up with your whole entire life. He felt for you, and would always sneak you sweets and other treats during the days. Not that he has to sneak them to you…everybody else couldn’t give a damn what you decided to do. And you never wanted to feel like you were bothering anyone. So you took care of pretty much everything yourself.

Bruce took care of everything financially that you would need. You had plenty of clothes to wear, and many other material things that you needed, but never the one thing you truly needed. The one thing you truly craved… love.

You had a lovely room in the manor, but you always felt so cold and alone in it. A large bed with plush covers and duvets in Wayne Manor, but it was no help with sating the numb, empty, cold feeling inside your heart. The chill in your bones that you could never seem to get to leave. Not even on the hottest day in July.

You had lived in Wayne Manor for seven years of your life. You were seventeen now, and your birthday was coming soon. You had thought countless times of moving out when you turned eighteen, but you knew that you wouldn’t bring yourself to be able to do it. Even if your siblings and father, your “family” didn’t love and care about you, you still loved and cared for them deeply. Leaving them would only serve in hurting you more. Maybe that was what you needed though, time away girl them to realize that you truly didn’t need anybody who didn’t care about you or love you for you. Then you could rise from the ashes of the weaker person you used to be and into a new more ethereal creature who was stronger from the flames of her weakness and pain melting away, like a beautiful phoenix.

But you didn’t fancy the notion of lying to yourself. You knew that wouldn’t happen because you had too much love for them. Besides, you had never thought yourself a phoenix anyway. You honestly weren’t sure what you were yet. Maybe that journey of self discovery would do you a world of good. You figured yourself something of a solitary creature. But one that could thrive in an environment with others, however you were perfectly fine surviving on your own. You’d make do like you had all these years of being practically alone. You were fine, or were you? You thought yourself a fledgling bird…one that simply wasn’t ready to spread its wings and soar just yet. Maybe one day it would, and maybe it never would.

You knew of your family’s secret double lives. Vigilantes that roamed Gotham City at night protecting the people of Gotham from danger. Just one more reason why you felt like you never compare to any of them. They were all so unique and incredible in their own way, hell, they were superheroes at nighttime! And you…you were just ordinary girl that was thrust into their routine, and you were sure in their eyes, a punishment of some sort. Only there to ruin their lives, which you seemed to be successfully doing for each of them, no matter how hard you tried. It didn’t help that almost all of them, whether intentionally or not acted like they were better than you as well. And, you had started to think, especially recently, maybe they were right.

Anyways, you were less than an afterthought for all of them. And it would probably stay that way for the majority, if not all of your lives. And you had grown used to it. Didn’t mean you didn’t care, or that you didn’t wish it would change, because of course you did. The hopeful little girl inside you still hoping that all of her siblings and her father would have a change of heart and they could be the perfect family, although the realist older girl that was you now knew that it wouldn’t work out like that. Not without a miracle, and none of those seemed to ever happen in your life. You had just simply accepted it. Instead you stuck to your art. Your favorite pastime and escape from the world. You used lots of different mediums, you drew, painted, and did digital art. Not that anybody noticed, except Alfred of course, bless his kind soul.

You had hoped to get into a lovely art school in Gotham after graduating high school. After all, your mothers industry was waiting for you to turn eighteen and finish school when you could take over. You had tons of money. Fuck-you money, and then tons more. From both your mothers business and savings from your father. There was tons of money, houses, estates, for you to take over. The entire business was on hold right now, but the second you were read to claim it after school, it would be there waiting for you.

You hummed quietly along to the music playing through the red wireless headphones atop your head as you delicately stroked your paintbrush across the canvas attached to your easel by the large desk in your room. You sat on a little stool in front of it by your little window seat in your room. You paused your music.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You slowly got up, wrapping your beige paint covered throw cardigan tighter against your pajama clad body. Your bare feet carried you to the door as you set your headphones down on your dresser. You opened the door slowly to see Alfred at your door with a tray of sandwiches, crackers, and tea. “Ahem. Young Madame Lana, I noticed you have been locked up inside your quarters for the majority of the day without anything to eat, and I figured you might want to have a meal.”

A soft smile graces your soft features. Your slender doe eyes crinkled just a little at the corners as your naturally plump red lips pulled into a soft smile. You reached out and grabbed the tray from Alfred and set it on your dresser, because your desk was mostly used as your art desk and was covered in art materials. You launched yourself onto Alfred. It meant so much to you. No matter how many times you shut yourself in your room doing art, he would always come to make sure you had eaten something. Alfred was the only person in the world who currently have a damn about you and it made your heart swell that at least one person cared for you. “Thank you, Alfred. Very much.”

Alfred gave you a smile and a slight bow before leaving and shutting the door. You smiled to yourself as you went to the bathroom inside your room to wash your hands of the paint before coming out to eat your sandwich. You ate the sandwich and then looked at the clock.

4:30 p.m.

You decided to get dressed in real clothes to go out for a bit. You pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, sneakers and grabbed your headphones, phone and keys before slipping out of your room. It was early Spring, the kind of time where it’s warm, but not enough for most people. You tried to be as quiet as possible as you left your room. You went down the stairs and you had hoped you wouldn’t run into any of your so-called siblings, but you were out of luck apparently. You seemed to be always out of luck.

Stephanie, Tim, and Damian were sitting at the kitchen table. Damian was reading a book that he looked up from to see you in mid-motion, walking towards the door. He scoffed and went back to reading his book. Tim was hovering over Steph’s shoulder as she held her iPad in her hands and he was giving her instructions on something or the other. Neither of them acknowledged you. You didn’t think much about it and left the house. You were used to it.

The thing about you was you were so caring, so compassionate, sweet, kind, loving, and incredibly selfless. You were so good and pure. People who knew your mother would tell you you were just like her. Bruce had eight kids now. One of them was bound to be a little less favored than the others, right? And honestly if you had the chance, you would take it all over again. The pain, the emptiness, the loneliness, the numbness, the feeling of knowing that you’re so much less than all those around you. You wouldn’t wish it on anybody else. You would rather it be you than any of your other siblings, and that was what made you such a beautiful person. It was a shame that you were all alone, and had nobody to realize all the beautiful flowers inside of you.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you replayed the harsh words your younger brother had said to you nothing short of an hour ago.

“You had been descending the stairs, excited for new art supplies that would be arriving today. You had sped towards the door and knocked into Damian by mistake, making him spill his tea onto your arm but mostly on the floor. He was furious. It wasn’t even your fault. He had been walking incredibly slow, and made no effort to move when he saw you descending the stairs first. He was so princely sometimes, such a brat. Like he expected you to move first before him because he rules over you or something. He wasn’t even the one who ended up getting burned and having to clean up the mess anyways. Thank God it send the lay bad and it would clean up easily, and the burn wouldn’t hurt too badly if you kept an ice pack against it. Your skin was still intact. He showed no concern for your safety. He was just irritated that his drink had been spilled. “You’re nothing! Don’t you realize that? It’s why none of us ever bat an eye in your direction. Because we don’t care about you. At least do something useful and make yourself as scarce as possible so none of us have to deal with seeing your disgrace of a face. Sorry excuse for a person.” You had tried not to cry in front of him but it was near impossible as he spouted the words in your face. He brushed his shoulder ag isn’t yours as he walked up the stairs, scoffing at your tears. “Pathetic.”

You had spent most of your evening crying. The thing was, you knew every word was true. He was right. Nobody cares about you, or what happened for you. You were nothing more than a burden in this house. Nothing more than a nuisance to everyone else. After a while your tears were replaced with anger. How as any of this your fault? Did you ask to live with Bruce Wayne? Did you ask for your parents to die? Did you ask to be adopted into this family and become related to any of them? Did you even ask to be born? No. The answer to everything was no.

You were becoming increasingly tired of every domes high and might act, like they were so much better than you. You were tired of it. So tired of giving more than you ever received, if that was ever anything. Your hard work, your blood, sweat, and tears were all worth nothing in their eyes and that was fine. Because you were tired of trying to please them. Your days of tip-towing around the manor were over. Of holding your tongue in the face of the blatant disrespect from all of them.

You were done. You had enough. You were tired of being lonely, empty, cold. You wanted to feel…feel…something. You wanted to feel like you belonged.

Harry Osborn was throwing a charity event at his own manor, and he had personally invited you. And hell if you weren’t gonna show up. This wasn’t the kind of event that Bruce would show up at-scratch that, it was, but Bruce wouldn’t be making an appearance this time. It was really more of a lowkey thing, not necessarily for huge, huge names like Bruce Wayne’s. And while the Osborn name was large in itself. It wasn’t a very large event. A cocktail event really, under the guise of raising money for orphaned children, but really it’s just an excuse for blue-bloods to get together at a down low event and drink cocktails and eat shrimp and caviar.

And while you originally thought him a snotty, stuck-up, blue blood kid that tossed his money around, with not much more to his personality. But then you met him on the sidewalk while you were on a run as he was getting out of his limo. You were on the sidewalk trying to get to a little cafe that was just around the corner, but you had to pass OsCorp to do it.

You had passed OsCorp many times on your way to the cafe, but never had you run into him. It was your fault, you had your headphones on, and you weren’t necessarily paying attention to your surroundings. He has accidentally hit you with the door of his limo as he was stepping out. You let out a strangled little whine and pulled your headphones around your neck and looked around for the cause of pain in your side.

You watched him step out fully and shut the door before turning to walk over to you. “Holy shit, man, you good? Shit, sorry…” but he seemed to trail off for whatever reason you weren’t sure about. He paused in his steps, and his eyes trailed over you and your face before he seemingly came out of his trance. You couldn’t know that it was because at first he had assumed you were a guy, and the second he laid eyes on you he thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. But he had seen you before…where had he seen you before? Oh shit, that’s right. You were Lana Lang, the adoptive daughter of Bruce Wayne. Of course you had been on the news, and in papers, and God, he was such an idiot. How could he not recognize you, and hit you with his fucking car door?

“Mr. Osborn, is everything alright?” A voice wrestled him from his thoughts. He turned back to the limousine driver, and had to do a double take as he realized that he was standing next to him. Has he really been in his thoughts that long? Well, that was a problem. “Yeah, Bernard I’m fine. You can actually go ahead without me.” The older man gave Harry a confused look. “Sir?” He asked again, just to be sure. Harry sighed a little bit patted Bernard’s arm to assure him. “Yeah, I got it Bernard. I’m fine, go ahead, I’ll be in shortly.” Bernard gave a swift nod, and a polite smile to you before walking inside OsCorp.

Harry gave you a shit-eating grin…possible flirtatious? “Hey, I’m really sorry. You alright?” You were still getting over the shock of one, being hit by a car door, two, talking to Harry Osborn, and he hit you with his car door, and three, just how fast he switched up his personality. It was giving you whiplash and a headache. “Y-y-yes, I’m alright.” You mumbled softly. You also couldn’t help but notice just how handsome he was. Of course you had seen him on tv, and in papers, and you had thought he was handsome from there, but never really thought too much about him. But the more you because aware of his striking green eyes, the side swept, incredibly soft looking blonde hair, and the pinkest lips you had ever seen on a boy. It became increasingly harder to look him in the eyes the more aware you became of his prettiness.

A smirk spread across his rose lips, making the tiniest of dipped appear, but just for a second. “Well if you’re sure. It’s…Lana, right?” He asks like he didn’t know. You were pretty sure he did. “Yes. Lana.” You said with a shy smile as you averted your gaze again. “Hey, you don’t have to be so shy. I don’t bite..” he said, and his smile was genuine, but something like mischievous fire danced in his eyes and it made you think that he did. “Oh, yeah right, sorry.” You mumbled, and you wanted nothing more than to turn heel and run away from this incredibly awkward conversation, at lest on your end. Harry seemed like he was having fun. But you didn’t do that. Instead you straightened a little, wincing at the pain in your side before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. He stared you down, and it made you feel like he could see right through you. But for the most part, you were just as much a mystery to him as he was to you.

“I’m hosting a charity event at my house, next week. It’s to raise money for orphaned children.” You narrowed your eyes a little bit. If it was anyone else you would consider that a little rude, but Harry Osborn was an orphan himself. His mother died early in his life from late stage cancer, and his father passed away only some months ago due to a degenerative disease that had been eating at him for years. Harry himself had the disease, but he was the only person alive to be able to beat it. Harry never really seemed to upset about his fathers death, and you suspected it was because they didn’t really have a great relationship. Well that’s two things you guys had in common.

“Um…that’s nice… I, uh, hope it goes well.” You smiled awkwardly and adjusted the headphones around your neck. You hadn’t really had time to pause the music so it was still playing through them until you clicked the off button. Harry’s grin stretched even more and it unsettled you just a bit, but the way he was so easy on the eyes was enough to somehow put you at ease, and make you nervous at the same time. “Arrival of the Birds. Love that song. I wouldn’t call myself a classical fan in general, I mean my father was imperative that I learn the piano, but it wasn’t necessarily my favorite genre. But that one…my mother taught that to me when I was eight.” Harry seemed tragic to you. And you figured he was a little obnoxious from the way he just bursted into commentary about himself, and leaned against his sleek black limo. His green eyes trailed over you again before he looked up. The sky was a little cloudy but it was blue and bright. He seemed to be reminiscing about something. This boy…he confused and drained you. But he interested you.

“I would like to invite you to my fundraiser.” He spoke suddenly after a few moments of quietness. You frowned a little, and narrowed your eyes. “You want me…to come to your fundraiser next week? Uh, why?” Your earlier nervousness was mostly gone, and now you were just downright confused. “Well, you’re an orphan, aren’t you?” You couldn’t help the shocked gasp that tore from your throat. “Yes, but what does any of that have to do with—“With someone like you, you and I could really help out, ya know? Put a dent in things like this. Besides,…” he got up from off the car and walked to the front entrance of OsCorp and you could see just how crowded and busy it was in there. He just left you there, like he expected you to follow after him. What an obnoxious, arrogant, stuck-up, annoyingly attractive boy. You hated how he was right in assuming, no, maybe knowing, that you would follow after him, because you did.

You had to jog a little to catch up with him when you decided to just let him win this one. You both stood at the entrance, you with your hands on your hips and a raised eyebrow. He chuckled lowly at your expression and posture, and the sound made your knees weak. “Sorry, sorry.” You glared up at him. He wasn’t by any means a really tall person, in fact he was either average or a little under, but you were definitely way under average height. He thought you were so adorable, and you reminded him so much of a cat. You could be perfectly polite and docile like earlier, but when provoked you were sharp and fiery. He liked that. A lot. “Easy, kitten. What I was going to say was…you intrigue me. I’d really like for you to be there. If you decide to come, something will be sent to the house for you. Think of it as also a way for me to make up for hitting you with my car door. Anyway, I’ve got to go. But I’ll see you around hopefully.” And he left just like that, leaving you riddled with questions, your face hot and red, and your side bruised. Kitten? It made your cheeks pink just thinking about it.

You decided to forgo the cafe today. It was already a little late, you having spent most of the day in your room. Not that anybody would really care, but you were tired. Mentally and physically exhausted just from hardly interacting with him for more than ten minutes.

You truly hadn’t really planned on going, but a day later, with the debacle regarding Damian in the kitchen…his words striking a bell and making you realize that nobody was going to notice you on their own. Well you decided to take matters into your own hands. You wanted to prove yourself to your family, and you were tired of being seen as less. Insignificant. A nobody in your own home.

What exactly were you planning to accomplish by attending this event? You had no idea. What were you going to do while attending this event? You had no idea. But somehow it felt…liberating. You had been to plenty of these things before. Bruce dragging all of you along to charity events, balls, galas and many more, but going to one of your choice on your own, and using your own personal savings (which was a lot as it was.) to help raise money for other orphans felt…like you were actually making a difference in Gotham…or at least that’s how you hoped it would feel. But you had never been personally invited to one by Harry Osborn. Honestly you were a little curious as to why he would choose to solely invite you upon meeting for ten minutes on the sidewalk, but you had a feeling your questions were going to be answered there. You wanted people, the press, whoever, to recognize you as Lana Lang, adoptive daughter of Bruce Wayne. It would help your reach and help you succeed in making a difference. You might not have been a vigilante(yet)but you could still help out where you could until that time would come.

Part of you was hoping that your father and siblings would realize how wrong they were about you, and would graciously offer to train you and take you under their wing, and you would become the newest addition to the Batfamily. -That’s what you had taken to calling them over the years,- but that didn’t happen. Ever. It was a foolish and naive fantasy, you had come to realize. So now it was time to take matters into your own hands. You were going to show up there, raise tremendous amounts of money for orphaned children like you years ago, who need help. You were going to work on your vigilante persona later on, and you were going to prove yourself to your family. And you would make Damian eat his words and admit that he was wrong about you. You would make your entire family admit that they were wrong about you.

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the-dixon-effect · 1 year ago

Text

Daddy Issues

words: 1.1k

Nobody knew about your past.

Not even a bit. Your presence in Alexandria was regarded by the suburbanites as the disposition of a survivor, someone who had really been shaped by the cruel world outside the gates. Even the members of your own group, your family, didn't dare delve into the rocky landscape that was your life before the fall.

Despite the distinct mystery that followed you wherever you went, some could still sense the trauma you had ensued before. It was in the way you walked, the way you carried yourself, in your defensive impulses and your kind nature. And by 'some', this meant a certain archer who you had taken an interest in since the start.

Daryl Dixon was a man of few words, but since the beginning, you knew there had to be something else underneath his thick skin, a hidden treasure of sorts. And how right you were. You two remained by each other's side at all times, never once leaving the other in fear of losing them. If Daryl had lost you, oh God, he would have lost the one thing keeping him going, the light in his life, the oasis in the vast desert that was this harsh world. You had been so kind to him, and seeing you and your perfect smile was like medicine, and of course, he couldn't help but fall for you. He practically knew everything about you, or at least, he thought he did.

"Ya' alright?" he spoke. The two of you sat side-by-side in the front of a truck, heading out on a run. He had noticed your quietness and how it differed from your usual animated, cheerful manner. He rested both hands on the steering wheel and looked over at you. It had not been long since your father had died, out on a run, not unlike your current mission. Eaten alive by walkers, it was a terrible sight to witness for all involved, especially you, who remained silent for days after.

"I'm fine." Quite the opposite. Such a strange feeling, the man who had abused you your whole life, emotionally and physically, trapped you in the ghetto of Atlanta, and forced you to humiliate yourself to make a living, died at the hands of the new natural world? Did he get what he had coming? Did he deserve it all along? Were you supposed to be grateful, or satisfied? You always imagined that your father's death would feel like a gratifying weight lifted off your shoulders, but for some reason, you were never able to shake the trauma, the anxiety of it all. It was as if the world couldn't let you go, and you were being held hostage in your own dark memories.

Daryl might have been the most observant person you knew. You really thought you'd be able to keep the truth from him and he wouldn't know? Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let it all out. After all, if you were going to confess to anyone, it would have been him.

"I can tell you're not, ya know," he drawled.

"You remember my dad, right?" you spoke, softly and quietly. Even with his eyes fixed on the road, Daryl could sense that you were frowning.

"Ya, I remember tha' prick. Shoulda knocked him out while I had the chance." He also remembered your strong feelings against him, and how he had made a scene in the prison once by ordering you around with a less-than-polite tone. Daryl had obviously stepped in to defend you, which practically began your friendship. You thought of this often, and couldn't help but see Daryl as your protector from then on.

"Well, it's just that- I don't know, it's stupid," you began. "Can't stop thinking 'bout him. The way he died. It just- It seems wrong."

"Shit. I'm sorry, I shouldn't 've said-"

"No, it's okay. He was a horrible man." He was indeed, and though everybody shared your feelings about your father while he was with your old group, not one of them was aware of what he had done to you before the fall.

"There's- there's things I haven't told you. About him, and, about me." Daryl furrowed his brows. Of course he knew there must have been something deeper within your relationship with the man, but he never expected himself to be one whom you would share it with.

"It's alrigh'," he drawled. "Take your time."

"He hit me. All the time. Whenever he was mad or depressed or drunk, or even happy." The words came so easily, and you had underestimated how good it would feel to release some of this pressure build-up, especially to Daryl. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes glass over as the memories came flooding back. You weren't sure, but despite the horrific things you had endured, it felt right to let it out for once.

He simply stared at you, and even with his brown hair falling over his eyes you could tell he was in shock. How could someone do something like that to you, the most beautiful person, in all ways, that he'd ever met?

"I'm- I'm so sorry Y/N. I never knew 'bout any of it," Daryl was at a loss for words.

"You wanted to know what I did before the world went to shit?" you paused for a moment, understanding that right now, you could not take any of this back.

"I was a- I was-" tears began to stain your cheeks. "I had to- I was a hooker." Silence.

Shit. How could he maintain a friendship with you after that? You were in total disbelief at your confession. Things will never go back to the way they were, you thought.

You sat there, shaking in your seat, forgetting where you were and paying no attention to your surroundings.

It was true, every part of it. You had been a hooker living in the hood of Atlanta before the fall, and you hated it. Every part of it. But there was no escape from the ghetto, and the route you had chosen to survive was safer and steadier than a life of crime. Still, every day you dreamt of a man who could take care of you, love you for your mind and soul, somebody to treat you right. Had you been shaped by the apocalypse, or had you always been like this?

"It's okay. I'm gon' take care of you. Ya don't have to worry 'bout anythin'." Daryl's soft words came like the arrival of the man you had always imagined late at night. You didn't need a man, of course you didn't. But Daryl, maybe you needed him.

#brandy writes #angst #twd angst #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon smut #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader

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thereweredragonsss · 7 months ago

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Brother's Advice

Summary: You're living with the Avengers on the Compound, Loki is also there, as a long term visitor. As he realises, that he is in love with you, Thor gives him some brotherly advice

Words: 1.7k

Contains: fluff My Fanfics

~ English is not my native language ~

. . .

He watched you. He watched you all the time. When you ate. When you played video games with Bucky and the Spider Boy. When you read your books (which to be honest, seemed very boring and unculturated. You should rather read Shakespeare than those silly love novels in Loki's opinion). It was kinda creepy, but he couldn't stop watching you. It was like an addiction.

And right know, he watched you swimming in the lake, next to the compound. They all sat outside, today was the first real summer day. Normally, Loki hated those sunny days. It was much too bright outside. But she was there. So he followed them, because he couldn't stand the fact, that something inside him hurt strangely when she was not there.

Peter Parker and Wanda had companied you and you three laughed over something, splashed water into each others faces. Loki stopped reading his book and raised his head. You laughed while Peter tried to lift you up on his shoulders. Wanda almost drowned of laughter. Your hair was wet and splashed into Peter's face as you jumped on his back. The boy laughed and catched you.

Jealousy speared Loki's heart for a split second. But he wiped that feeling away. Why was he even feeling like that? It was just Spider Boy. It was just you. A simple human. But a beautiful human.

Your red bikini was a harsh contrast to the sparkling blue water around you. And even from his place over here, under the big tree, Loki could see the joy on your face. Your blue eyes seemed to shone brighter than the sun.

He kinda wished he could join you guys. What a silly wish. He never swam in a lake. Why was he so stupid all of a sudden? But the truth was, he catched himself being more and more stupid the last couple weeks and months. Loki noticed these things. First, he didn't acknowledge you at all. But as time passed, and as he spend more time with you - forcefully through dinners and Avengers meetings - he realised that you weren't just a simple human. You weren't boring like every other human. You were fun and Loki catched himself a few times laughing at something you said.

You two weren't friends, hell no. But you shared some comfy conversations. And it was nice. Your company was nice. It didn't feel forced. He didn't feel like a failure with you. And he sometimes felt that when talking to Tony or Steve, because they always remembered him of his actions in New York. But you didn't. You kinda reminded him of his mother. Calm and with a ethereal beauty.

And Loki catched himself thinking more often of you. He wished those conversations with you would last longer. Or go deeper. The other day, you asked him about his religion, about the nine worlds. And even though you already knew a lot (Thor teached you, you were really close with Thor) you still asked him. And he loved those conversations with you. He loved the way your eyes widened, when he told you about the cruel and sometimes brutal behaviours of the gods (especially Odin). He loved the way your face lighted up when you told him about your home and your dreams for the future. And God's, he loved your smile. It was so warm and it seemed like the world lit up when you smiled. It was addicting.

And he couldn't help but notice your scent. It lingered in your hair and sometimes, when you moved, your long hair brushed his skin. And a warm shudder ran through his body. Your scent was in his nose when he would fall asleep. And even though he felt all those things for a plain human, Loki loved it.

A shadow fell over his book and he heard the squeaking of the chair as someone sat down next to Loki. It was his brother (who else!?). With a sigh, Thor leaned back in the chair. "What a beautiful day, right brother?" Loki rolled his eyes. "Why are you here?" Thor laughed at him from the side. "What? Can't I accompany my brother anymore, these days?" Loki gave him a look. "You never do that without a reason, so spit it out." Thor shifted back and forth in the chair to make himself more comfortable. "You know, to be honest... I feel a bit lonely. I miss Jane."

Jane Foster, Thor's girlfriend was in Europe for some work business, Loki didn't care much. But Thor always got so clingy, when Jane wasn't around. Loki put his face into his hands and sighed. "Oh gods! Spare me." "Hey!" Thor gently smacked him on his back. "Don't be that heartless fool, I know you aren't." Loki sighed again. They both fell into a short silence. Automatically, Loki's eyes wandered to the lake again. To you.

Thor followed his gaze. A grin appeared on his lips. "You like her. Y/N." He pointed out. Loki scoffed. "No I don't. She's a simple human." Thor laughed slightly. "But she's cute." Loki's head flew towards his brother. "I thought you were in love with Jane?", he hissed. It was more aggressive than he intended. What in the nine realms was wrong with him?

Thor chuckled. "I am. And I miss her." Thors smile faded. A strange feeling appeared inside Loki's chest. His brothers eyes wandered back to Loki. "You know, sometimes, I want you to feel the same I feel with Jane. It's wonderful." Loki made a grimace. "No thank you." "C'mon! I know you were in love before. You must miss that." Thor waved to the lake. "And she's right there."

"She's way too young. She would die within a few centuries! Compared with us, it is just a blink of an eye." "It that what's stopping you?" Thor whispered compassionate. "It didn't stop me, you know. Eighty years are short, but why not make it the best next eighty years you have?" Loki raised his head, brows furrowed. "That's so stupid!" Thor let out a laugh. "But if it makes me happy?" Loki shook his head in disbelief. But something inside him got hooked about this idea. Maybe Thor was right?

"You can't deny that you love her, Loki", his brother said softly. The younger brother closed his book with a sigh. He felt conflicted. He didn't love her. Right? No, that was too silly. "I don't love her.", he insisted.

Thor leaned his head against the upper part of the chair. "I know you do. I watched it long enough. You're watching her when she's around. You are distracted. You forget things. You smile when you think no one's watching, Loki!" Thor laughed and shook his head. "You never smile"

Loki bit his lip, staring at the book on his lap. "Why do you always push everything away that could make you happy, brother?", Thor said. Loki just pressed his lips together. The thunder god touched his shoulder. "Mother would've want you to be happy"

The pain was like a spear, spiking through his heart. He lift his gaze, so that his green eyes would meet Thor's. "Don't speak of her" "She would want you to be happy, even if it's just a human. She was happy for me and Jane! And she would be happy for you. With Y/N." Loki blinked the tears away, that formed in his eyes. "You don't know that."

Thor's grip around his shoulder got tighter. "Oh, I know. She loved us both equally. She would have want you to be happy Loki. And so do I." His brother smiled softly. "Talk to her." The god of mischief sighed. "What for? We aren't even friends. We barely talk." "That's not true, I saw you talking hours. Take your shot." Lokis eyes gazed back to you and the others. "She doesn't like me.", he said. "I've done too many bad things. And she would rather spend her time with Spider Boy, I guess." He nodded towards the lake, where you and Peter just came out of the water.

"Peter Parker has a girlfriend, Loki!", Thor laughed at him. "What?" "Yeah, some girl in his school. I don't know. So talk to her." Loki closed his eyes. This was too much of a risk. He just realised his feelings for her. What if she thought of him as a complete idiot? Or worse - the thread he was back in New York? But on the other hand, he kinda wanted to talk to her. Gods, he was never that shy!

Thor rubbed his eyes. "Y/N is quite close to Jane. Maybe she should give her a hint.", he babbled, tired of Loki's stubbornness. "Don't you dare!", his brother hissed and grabbed Thor's wrist. "If you do that I will kill you!"

Thor chuckled and freed his hand. "All right, all right." He sighed. "Her birthday is next week. She's having a party." "I know", Loki nodded. "I'm not invited." Thor's brows furrowed. His eyes scanned his brother. "Not? You sure?" "Yes I'm sure!" Loki rolled his eyes. Thor bit his lip for a second and thought. Loki could hear his brain rattling. Then, his brothers face lit up.

"I could ask her to bring you along. You could to magic fireworks or something." Scepsis appeared on Loki's face. But Thor was spurred on. "Yeah! You could do magic tricks and lights. Maybe that will impress her!" Loki furrowed. "You think?" He sat a bit straighter in his chair. Thor nodded enthusiastic. "I bet! She already likes you and that will enhance it. Loki, that's your chance!"

"Yes maybe- Wait wait wait.", the younger brother began. "She already likes me?" He nervously fiddled with he pages of his book. Thor grinned. "Yeah she does. I told you, I watched you guys."

A warm feeling flushed Loki's body and Thor told him what he noticed. Short glances in his direction, Y/N asking about him when he was not there. Her sudden interest in magic and the nine realms. "It's so obvious Loki. Please you have to talk to her." The god of mischief brooded for a bit. "The party could be a chance..."

"Yeah!", Thor nodded with a wide smile. Loki's thoughts were pacing around his head. She really liked him! If he could go to this party, then maybe... Maybe Thor was right. He looked at his brother. "And you will make sure, I can join this party?" Thor raised his pinky finger. "I promise!"

Loki hesitated for a second. Then he placed his own pinky finger around Thor's. Just like they did back then when they were children. His eyes met his brothers and a smile appeared on Loki's lips. "Thank you brother"

#loki #thor #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #loki x reader #loki x y/n #y/n #reader #mcu #marvel #thereweredragons #marvel fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki oneshot

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zutarasbuff · 8 months ago

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My connection with Zuko & Zutara

I’ve always been so passionate about Zuko and the way his character has layers of complexity within the show. It is said that art inspires life. People often accuse Zuko stans of “having a lustful attitude toward a fictional character as the girls simply want him for his looks”. I believe it’s not the case. This is something I have always kept in my heart.

My reasons for being a part of the Zuko fandom are not just based on the show but on a personal level as well. Zuko helped me in coping with some of my worst nightmares, the trials that I believe were the hardest. One of my friends mocked my idea of Zuko as being too much obsessed with a fictional character. According to her, this was not normal and I should have gone to a therapist but I have seen the real world. I have seen how cruel the reality is, and in those moments it was his character that provided me comfort and strength.

Back when I was a child, I watched the season first and fell in love with the concept of “bending”. Honestly, at that time, I hated Zuko because of his mad hunt for Aang and the gang. I always wanted him to fail because, in my eyes, it was always Aang who was going to save the day (being the hero). As I grew up, I watched the season again and this time I looked at Zuko from a different perspective. It was something that I now noticed. I noticed how similar Zuko was to me because both of us had experienced the absence of our mothers in a very young age and this kept the trauma alive throughout our lives. In the show, we find that Zuko was emotionally abused by his father to be someone he didn’t want to be. I had gone through the same experience when I was always considered “not good enough as a daughter” no matter what I did to please my father.

Just like Zuko, I always had questions in my mind why did my mother leave me and where she was at the moment? Just like him it also turned me into a bitter person, a person who had a hard time trusting someone with all their heart. I looked at him and his struggle. Zuko is always ridiculed for his quest to “redeem his honor”, but the truth is if you have ever walked in his shoes, you will be able to find out that all he wanted was to be loved and accepted by his father because he had an absent parent. It is natural for a child to want the attention of a parent especially when one of the parents is absent. He did everything for Ozai. Just the way I made my career choices based on Papa’s willingness. I felt a strange connection with Zuko because both of us were the same. You will find that the hard shell of Zuko starts breaking when someone shows the slightest concern of care or love toward him. This is the sole reason why Zuko always pretends to be a cruel guy because he’s broken on the inside. He doesn’t want to give someone a chance to play with his emotions and make him vulnerable again because he knows the cost of it from his traumatic past.

This is how broken people are. I have gone through the same phase and in doing so I believe I must have hurt people who were kind like Mai and Uncle Iroh were to Zuko. It’s because people like us are afraid of falling in love and showing the slightest traces of weakness. We act strong because we have fought our demons hard. We are afraid of turning out to be the horrible version of our parents. Even Zuko kept on fearing that he might turn up to be like Ozai after being the Firelord. It’s because all his trauma, his hurt, his unspoken emotions, and his pain were still there and he knew it wouldn’t change.

As a lover, we find that he tries to save Mai from being blamed as the girlfriend of a banished prince, and for this reason, he breaks up but never forgets to care about her. As a person, who was broken in more than one way, I have done the same in the past. I built my walls so high so that no one could get hurt by my harshness, and my demons but even after that I never forgot to care for the people who were significant to me, because people like us know the consequences of inflicting hurt upon someone very well. Zuko to me is the guy who if was real would have understood me and people like me.

I know it might seem a bit bizarre to several people here, but I think I love this fictional person from the core of my heart because I know his traumas, his pain, and his hurt. It’s not easy to pretend that you are fine when you are clearly not okay. I love him because I believe that he would be the only person in the world who had an idea of my heart and traumas. When I ship him with Katara, I have this idea in my mind that she is the other person who lost her mother had issues with her father, and pretended to be happy despite all that she went through. Maybe it comes off as a selfish declaration but as a person who has gone through worse in life, somewhere in Katara I see a version of myself who is angry, hurt, and still feels safe with someone like him. I wish if a parallel world existed, both of them could end up together there, and get all the happiness they have always deserved.

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lov3-lik3-ghosts · 26 days ago

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hiii, I was wondering if you could write something with Enoch? Maybe angst to fluff? If not that’s okie!! I hope you’re well <3

Twines Of Fire Ignite Us. Lover, Our Love’s Immortal

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x fem!reader.

Summary: Your mates heart belongs to her… right?

Warnings: Not beta nor proofread. Use of Y/n. Soulmate!au. Reader has the ability to see souls and entwine them in harmful ways, this has nothing to do with soulmates. Ankh: Ancient Egyptian symbol representing internal life (according to google); also a subtle representation of Enoch’s peculiarity. Twine of Fire: A symbol representing a subtle indication of the readers infernal rage and peculiarity.

Format: Drabble.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Note: I hope you’re well too, lovely!

| mother m-list

The ankh branding your wrist burns when he looks at her.

You’ve scratched it red raw under your scrutiny and marred it with the lashes of your jealousy over the months. Your family would have forever become victims to a social massacre if anyone ever caught glimpse of the monstrosity it had become; you count yourself lucky to be in a loop, where the day resets and things don’t matter.

Her red hair flows down her back in a river of ocherous that catches the sunlight just right and your eyes are drawn to his, watching her as though she’d made the world good again.

All of you screams he’s yours. That your souls are tied eternally. That his mark is embedded in your very skin; that yours is embedded in his.

You turn away.

Out of sight, out of mind.

••

They sit together at supper, as it’s always been. His seat is closer to hers than you’d be comfortable with but your opinion in the matter runs naught.

Your seat is opposite to his, directly facing everything they do. So much for out of sight.

Enoch’s as stoned faced as ever to her bright eyes and it’s not something that should strike envy green through you but it paints there anyway.

Olive will forever be the soothe after his burn, a soft to his unsated harshness. You will always be the gasoline to the bitter fire roaring in him. You will always be an angry soul, charged with bonfires of stubbornness.

He reaches for the bread roll too far for her to get herself and places it on the edge of her plate without her asking. The cuff of his shirt shifts and reveals the violet flamed twine bracketing his skin, unique and bold as the glow orbing in your abdomen. It disappears under his sleeve as quick as it peeked.

You don’t lose track of their interaction, storing it in the mental box of all the reasons it’ll always be Enoch and Olive and never Enoch and Y/n. They knew each other senseless.

Your mark twinges.

••

It’s been four weeks when he approaches you.

The days in the loop blend into a flurry indecipherable, slowing them and flying them through somehow at once. You’ve taken to tracking the days on an old calendar kept in the children’s home since you joined Loop Peregrine, a tally mark on each day despite the dates not matching up.

You’ve been here for two months now. You’ve talked to Enoch twice.

Three if you count now.

He can’t feel the spidery tingle beneath his skin that you can in his presence, the one that webs you to him in more ways than it should. Girls have always been more sensitive to soulmate related symptoms, blessed (cursed) with more instinctual insight.

You hate the way his soul flares an iridescent outline of blue hues around you, serving another reminder he’ll never be yours that only you can see. Another taunt from fates cruel truths.

The curve of his accent is something you didn’t realise you missed until he opened his mouth. “You're awful at being discreet, you know that?”

“Sorry?” It’s the most you can force yourself to say.

Enoch approaches at a different angle. “You stare. Why?”

Faking nonchalance, you shrug. “I don't stare.”

It only takes a raise of a brow to crumble a large enough portion of your facade. Stone faced or not, you would always be able to read him like a book split open — perks of peculiarities.

“You do.” He bites. “And not just at anything, at anytime. Always at me, always with Olive. Is there an issue you have with us?”

The question hits too close to home. Your reaction spiels out of you quicker than you can cage it, curling at your lip and snarling out of you. “Is there an issue I have with my mate breathing down the neck of another woman? No, of course not, O’Connor. Who could ever find an issue with that?”

Enoch’s face drops.

Realisation hits you like a freight train. You feel the colour drain from you, leaving you unsteady where you stand.

“You’re not my mate.” He strains. “You can’t be. I would’ve known, I would've known from the second I saw you.” There’s a desperation caving his expression, a plea to his eyes that pierces you.

A part of you aches at that, the part that understands lost time and blind eyes, the part that pieces together that you’ve deceived him but it’s overridden by stubborn fear. A mate so infatuated with another he couldn’t see the signs isn’t a mate that could ever love you whole.

“Well, you didn’t.” You can’t stop the bite of your voice.

He pauses, staring into you. It’s the longest interaction you’ve had with him and it sets you alight in all the wrong ways. Despair replaces desperation, written in the way he stumbles a step back from you.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? Am I not good enough for the almighty hollow survivor?” You watch a bridled rage harden him.

You and him are one split in two, anger lies in the cores of all you are and seeps its way into everything. Now is no exception.

You can’t help but scoff. “I’m not the one in love with someone else.”

Enoch sneers. “Who’s in love with someone else?”

“Are you joking?” A sick lick of humour curls at you. “You can’t be that much of an asshole that you’d lead Olive on.”

“Olive?” Your fingers twitch to gnaw at the ankh, raging infernal at the thought of him thinking of her. The disconcertment in his eyes stops you.

You look at him, really look at him. Really listen to him, really think things through.

“Me and Olive are nothing that you think we are.”

The brief touches that seemed so intimate, the knowing what the other wanted before they had the chance to say, all the time spent together, day in and day out.

“When you’re stuck living the copy of the day before you learn to know who you’re stuck with.”

You’d never thought about it past your mark and his, past soulmates. You’d never had to, flitting between lives and loops too often to make connections.

“But me and Olive are friends. We’ve never been more than that and we never would be more than that.”

You almost feel stupid for making assumptions but the image they create is too entwined for you to have seen through.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” It’s your way of offering an apology.

Enoch pursues his lips. “We’re mates.” Cold fingers circle your wrist, pressed light against his symbol. He doesn’t look away as you shiver and gasp. You watch the navy of his soul quiver. “You could never intrude.”

You take his words for what they are, an acceptance of peace.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

I do not give permission for my works to be translated or reposted on this site or otherwise!

#thanks anon!#enoch o’connor x fem!reader #enoch o’connor x reader #enoch o'connor #mphfpc #mphfpc x reader #miss peregrines home for peculiar children #x fem!reader #olive elephanta

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hedwig221b · 1 year ago

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HIIII can you list some of your favourite angst heart-wrenching sobbing sliding down the walls fics ? idc if it’s short or long i need some angst rnn please and thank uuu <3

Hi, sweetie! This was difficult for me, bc I'm a sucker for angst, basically all I read is angst and I have like 200 fics saved. Here's a looong list of the ones which I know for sure I can always come back to for some good old angst.

STEREK ANGST FIC RECS from HEDWIG221B

By Any Other Name by entanglednow

(Explicit, 33k, Amnesia, Violence)

He doesn't know his name, he doesn't know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he's on the run with. But he's pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

all roads they lead me here by spaceprincessem

(Teen, 39k, Mates, Emissary Stiles)

“Then why wouldn’t you be Derek’s emissary?” Stiles asked. He just wished Deaton would get to the fucking point. He was tired and he hated playing twenty questions to figure out what the older man was getting at.

“Derek’s emissary needs to be someone who he trusts completely,” Deaton explained, “and it’s time I passed on my wisdom and expertise to that person.”

The beat of silence between them stretched for too long before Stiles realized exactly who Deaton was talking about.

“Me?” He asked incredulously.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

(Mature, 25k, Medieval, Royalty, Pining)

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend.

In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better.

~*~

Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

won't you torture someone else's sleep by redeyedwrath

(Gen, 3,6k, Pining)

I love you, Derek thinks, but he doesn’t say it, just watches Stiles throw his head back in laughter that isn’t for him and never will be. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Stiles will hear him.

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

(Explicit, 33k, ABO, Mating Run, Bad Peter)

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.

But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

To Whom The Wolf King Bows by MadcapRomantic

(Explicit, 108k, 14/?, Courting, Fantasy, Royalty)

Stiles Stilinski meets The Wolf King, the very boogeyman he'd spent his younger years terrified of; yet the man is little, if anything, like the tales he's heard. But, Stiles has spent the last ten years of his life as a slave, under the harsh whip of the cruel King Gerard Argent, and trusting Derek - trusting anyone - is beyond difficult.

xcaellachx

Just check out this author, there's some major angst in a lot of their works, a lot of ABO

Hung The Moon by nrnyx

(Explicit, 85k, ABO, Pack Dynamics, Heavy Angst)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

A gift worth giving by Nival_Vixen

(Mature, 2k, Historical Fantasy, Royalty)

A person’s virginity is not only the physical act itself, but also an object that can be gifted to someone else. Stiles has given his virginity to Derek, one of the soldiers in the King’s Guard. Despite his parting promise to return the next month, Derek still hasn’t returned two months later, and Stiles doubts that he ever loved him at all.

The Bargain by dr_girlfriend

(Teen, 9,7k, Arranged Marriage, Regency AU)

Time drags on, and it becomes apparent that this is not a part of the tradition. The wolves start to shift on their feet and murmur, but no one attempts to speak to Stiles. He stands, feeling the back of his neck growing red from the sun and his face growing red from embarrassment.

What will happen if Derek Hale cannot be coerced to the altar? Will the bargain be revoked?

Perception by DiscontentedWinter

(Mature, 5,4k, Horror, Nogitsune, Murder)

Peter Hale's client is a murderous sociopath. The best thing Peter can do is get him committed to Eichen House, where he'll never see daylight again.

He thinks.

The Omega Spark by misteeirene

(Explicit, 62k, ABO, Alive Hales, Pack Dynamics)

John lived a sad and lonely life after the death of his wife, until one day when he noticed someone had breaking into his home while he was at work.

Second Chances by rootbeer

(Gen, 2,6k, Soulmates)

"A lot of times the ‘markings’ were common, simple things you said to strangers all the time. 'Excuse me'; 'thank you'; 'hello'. Some got extremely romantic things like 'it’s you isn’t it? I’ve been waiting for you' or 'Wow you’re really pretty'. And they were always the first words their soulmate would ever say to them.

Of course, having 'You are the fucking worst kind of person in the world' tattooed down your side, didn’t bode well. How fucked up was Stiles Stilinski that even his fucking Soulmate hated him? High School had been a special kind of hell when all the kids learned what his tattoo said—despite his best efforts to keep it a secret."

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

(Teen, 7,6k, ABO, Full-shift werewolves, Pack Dynamics)

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be.

“Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied.

“We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged.

“That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

I Shouldn't Love you Anymore by wulfarchival (wyrmwolf)

(Mature, 2,2k, Established sterek, Feral Derek)

After Stiles divorces Derek under mysterious reasons, Derek moves out into the middle of nowhere loosing himself to the wolf after the ache in his chest becomes too much. But after weeks of being lost to an animal someone he thought he'd never see again returns in his life.

This time to stay forever.

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress

(Explicit, 112k, ABO, Secret Relationship)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Life After This by Nimpalous

(Mature, 5,1k, Violence, MCD, Soul Bond, I consider this having a HE)

Feeling his weight shift backwards over the ledge when another bullet hit, Stiles closed his eyes and whispered the name of his beloved as he fell.

“Derek…”

Derek woke up with an agonising scream, his body curling in on itself in pain. He wasn’t aware of having wolfed out, he didn’t know he was clawing himself as he clutched at his head, willing the agony to go away… but to no avail.

Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill

(Mature, 70k, Time Travel, Mates, ptsd!Stiles)

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them."

The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

It seems wasted now by DaaroMoltor

(Teen, 48k, Slow Burn, Miscommunication, Stiles is pushed out of the pack)

It's been months. Months of lonely days and lonelier nights.

And Stiles can't understand what he did wrong.

Under Glass by calrissian18

(Mature, 6,6k, Pining, Cursed Stiles)

The pack goes looking for a cursed artifact. Stiles would really like to go back to the time before he found it, thanks.

Time To Say Goodbye by matildajones

(Teen, 34k, Time Travel, Mates, HE)

Derek finds an older version of himself at his front door, along with Stiles, a boy from the future.

Emissary by dragon_temeraire

(Teen, 3,7k, Alive Hales, Bonding)

To keep the peace, Stiles agrees to be emissary to the Hale pack.

One Thread by RurouniHime

(Mature, 11k, Established sterek, Grief, HE)

In the middle of the night, his dad comes into the room and crawls onto the bed behind him, easing Stiles into the vee of his legs. He settles back against the headboard with a groan and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Stiles wraps his arms around one of his dad’s legs, presses his cheek to warm flannel, and tries to be still.

“Oh, kid,” his dad exhales. His hand comes down on the side of Stiles’ neck and his fingers press gently. “I never wanted you to know this pain.”

(Or, Derek dies. Stiles reacts Badly.)

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #sterek fic rec #sterek fanfic #eternal sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #hedwig221b replies #ao3 sterek #sterek fics #sterek fandom #sterek angst

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dent-de-leon · 1 year ago

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OKAY BUT! THAT SCENE WHERE GUSTAV GIVES MOLLY THE NAME MOLLYMAUK!! The way he tells him that it's ultimately his choice, and that he can change his name whenever he likes if it doesn't fit. Molly being very touched by the sentiment, but accepting it with the acknowledgement that, "I think...I could wear that name for a while."

It's new and exciting, a name all his own, and a gift from Gustav. Of course he adores it. But he also implies that he might well change it someday. Like how tieflings choose their own virtue names. And honestly, when King decides to go by Kingsley, it does remind me of Jester's own experience:

Jester: “Well, I thought [Jester] sounded cool. I thought jesters were people that made people laugh...[my mother] did [name me], but she told me I get to choose my own name.”

Caduceus: “I don’t think tieflings--do tieflings get--there’s a thing, for--”

Caleb: “What did your mother call you, before Jester?”

Jester: “Genevieve...I like Jester, okay? Jester. Jeez.”

Artagan: “It’s a much better name.”

Beau: “Can I call you Genny?”

Jester: “No, you can call me Jester.”

The implication that Mollymauk makes him happy and suits him just fine now in the moment, but he's also making it clear that he intends to find a new name somewhere along the way, after he's had some time to grow and change. It feels very reminiscent of Moonweaver Oracle Decks--constantly rotating out different cards, adding new ones and discarding the old over time--remaining fluid and ever changing in the moment, open to self-exploration and continuous reinvention.

"Each deck of Moon Oracle cards are different, as each deck evolves with the owner. When a card is weathered or simply no longer speaks to you, replace it with a new card of your own design. Something personal and true. Trust yourself; what is true for you will ring true for others. Some choose to change a card each Lunar cycle. Some decks magically destroy a card when it is replaced with a new one--such decadence!"

Whenever he looks for a new start in life, as both Molly and Kingsley, he's still embodying the same core values of the Moonweaver. Like how he intrinsically still knows the names of his treasured oracle cards even a lifetime later, "Love, Magician--" For everything that changes, there's still so much about him that stays the same.

I mean, when Jester wakes King up, not only was he having "the nicest dream" about the circus, he also kept asking for Lestera. Which in hindsight is just heartbreaking, but--King definitely experiences the same pull to all his loved ones he knew as Molly. His feelings for them are still the same. "I get...feelings from you. All of you..."

Even Molly's "choir practice" reminds me of King. Mollymauk being so protective and compassionate at his core, admitting softly, "I know what the others think, but the truth is...how do I put this...the world is harsh and cruel, and I don't seem to be able to just walk on by. You see a wrong? You fix it."

It's Molly swearing under Zone of Truth, “I’ll tell you--and this is true--I did my best every town I went to and every town I left, no matter how they treated me. And a lot of them treated me with deep disrespect...I left every town better than I found it.” It's King confessing to Beau and Yasha:

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and I've been trying to figure out where the other two went wrong...what was something that either of you didn't like or was a problem with Molly? I know more about Lucien at this point...But I'm trying to make new mistakes, I promise."

"I've realized, at the beginning, that I was running from everything that had happened before, and that's something that the other two had done and so it was probably something I didn't want to do again, which is why I'm asking..."

"It'd be better to...If you think of them as parents--I've been told that the best thing you can do is do just slightly better than them. And that's...Honest to the gods, that is actually what I'm trying to do. I don't necessarily know what it's going to look like. I have thoughts. Some that I think that either one of them might approve of, that you might approve of, and I want to make sure that you know that if nothing but out of respect for my family, for my parents, we always have a fair deal."

"I try and be a good person, or whatever I think that is. I take care of the crew, I work hard. As you're working with somebody, for someone, you take care of them. But you know, sometimes that means you have to get a little violent, make some unfortunate decisions. But I think you know that."

Just...King still having the same heart he did as Molly, still wanting to be good and take care of his people--telling his family, "I try and be a good person, or whatever I think that is." Just like when Caleb asked Molly in the Zone of Truth, "Are you a good guy?" And he says sincerely, "I like to think so."

I also can't stop thinking of Molly saying to Yasha, "If you're going to run away, why not do it in style?" Because Molly is running away too--likes the circus in part because it was always safer to stay on the move. "A lot of this is in the hopes that maybe this would never happen. Keep moving, keep quiet." Sounds an awful lot like when Matt revealed King still suffers nightmares from Cognouza, and Taliesin suggests, "Perhaps those chains will find some quiet in piracy."

Ships are always moving, a chance to make a quick exit whenever he needs to--an escape. Molly desperate to keep all the haunting echoes of Lucien at bay. And then as King, feeling a bit uncomfortable and distant as he tries to reconcile himself with a past. Hesitantly asking questions about his life as Molly. Holding onto a journal of all the Nein's adventures to finally read when he's ready--not now, but. When he's finally able to face the past and make peace with that.

And, like with the circus, he's found the exact kind of escape he craves. Throwing himself into a life of piracy because it's just as adventurous and romantic as all the brilliant color and exciting thrills of the circus, another chance to put on a grand performance.

Taliesin: "Kingsley really latched onto the pirate life, and that's what happened with any of the other Molly's and Nonagon's--they imprint really hard on whatever's there that looks romantic and fun! It's romance, fun, and I have an audience."

And really, is parading around as the Plank King so different from playing at royalty? Because the more I read of the comic, the more convinced I was that Molly's portrayal of the kind, just Duke beloved by his people is the exact same role he plays as Plank King.

There's just so many little moments to me that imply Kingsley is still the same soul shard as Molly. (And if we go by the novel's ending, then it's not just Molly, but Mollymauk's soul and Lucien's, embracing a new life hand in hand.) Mollymauk deciding to start over with a new start and the chance to make new memories, ready to choose a new name to "wear" for a time.

Finally, I can't get over Molly's parting words to the town he charmed. "I promise that once I sever my ties to the empire, I will return in gratitude. And I'll return myself. No heralds for such hospitality." I just can't help thinking of...King telling the Nein, “Not now, but in the future, I'd like to hear about your friend. Later, once I--once I know me better." Yasha telling him, "I would love that...it's nice to have you back," and King's warm, "It's nice to be back."

Yasha: "You know what I mean."

Kingsley: "I do--"

Because he does know. Because part of him knows he'll always be their Circus Man, even if he's not ready to reckon with what that means. "Thank you, I--I'm looking forward to the future, and I hope I deserve to have woken up surrounded by such people...Thank you all, really, for my life. But I figure I better get to using it..." "After a few years, finally reads that book, and goes to visit and learn."

Thinking of one day when King feels comfortable enough to drop his mantle of the Plank King and appear before the Nein as just Tealeaf. Just himself--

#mollymauk tealeaf #kingsley tealeaf #critical role #mollymauk mighty nein origins spoilers #sorry this got so long I just love king molly so much that’s my little royal circus man

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andreadesantis3806 · 3 months ago

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The saddest thing about Aemond trying to force Helaena to take up fight? He is right. Who will indeed protect her if she cannot protect herself? Their mother? Their mother whose allinations are at a questionable place? Aemond? Aemond who now knows he is not longer the ultimate power in the play? That the enemy has now forces that can take down both Vhagar and him easily? Aegon? Who lies broken in his bed?

He is Aemond Targaryen, the same little boy who lashes out when he is desperate, when he is not in control, when he uses force, cruelty and impulsiveness take hold when he is humiliated.

And also something you will notice, whenever it is Aegon coming to talk with Helaena, she either ignores him or frowns at him. But when Aemond came in, she was normal, considerably more relaxed and casually saying what she was about to do.

It just says that it is not usual for Aemond to be cruel to Helaena. She is not used to his cruelty towards her either. He is desperate, he is outnumbered, he is angry, he has had the upper hand taken away from him and the only semblance of power he has on his side is Helaena and Dreamfyre. But she refuses to help him, refuses to fight. He can no longer protect her, he is still desperately trying to claw out ways to preserve their families' dignity.

He considered himself something akin to a God, a perfect Targaryen and righteously someone worthy to be Daemon's equal. He had claimed Vhagar, which put him on bigger pedestal. The largest oldest dragon of the world, had allowed him, HIM to ride her. He had the power and his ego he thought would never be crosed.

Now some random hobos claim two of the other biggest dragons in their family, the mounts of Jaehaerys and Alyssane not to mention. He was faced with the same gloom back in his childhood when his 'bastard' nephews had hatched dragons and not him. Now three bastards just as easily as him lays claim to Vermithor and Silverwing?

He is desperate, he is angry, he is scared.

Aemond is not a fool, as well read and capable he claims himself to be, he surely knows that anyone with Targaryen blood in their veins can ride dragons. Blood of the Dragon runs thick. Those people are bastards, but they are STILL targaryens. They are made common because the royals deemed to ignore them. Thus even when he says its a sin, a blasphemy that Rhaenyra has allowed commoner mongrels to fly on dragonback, its clear that it comes from a point of fear.

Then when he talks to Helaena alone, without their mother, he is softer again, more mindful of his tone and words, almost apologetic, but he is still steadfast in his desperation. Thus the tears in his eyes. He is not used to feeling not being in control for a very long time; the last time being when he was a child.

Helaena confirms his end, that his cruel endeavors are still for naught and no matter how much he deems himself higher than most people, he will still meet his end as a kinslayer, and criminal.

He attempts a weak power move saying he could have her killed. A frail attempt at gaining back his dignity. Helaena just digs in deeper saying it wont change a thing. He will still fall.

When Aemond is mocked, humiliated or insulted, it hits right on his missing eye. He lashes out and does not have the pride in him to show remorse, even if he feels it.

In fact, Aemond was right about a lot of things, a lot of harsh truths that were left to simmer and boil over. He was right about Alicent being angry even if it was her that urged the council to crown Aegon. He was right in s1, in the background talking to Aegon that they now must break bed and play natural even when there is everything wrong. He is right now that Helaena is needed now more than ever at a time when their family is threatened.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #the greens #character study #season finale

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year ago

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Forgetting the end of the third part of second chance, all of it just made me feel so sad for Lucien. Someone needs to write something about Lucien being brought to Helion way younger, like as a child or something.

Look at me turning into Vanseera and Helion blog and all this time I thought I didn't have it in me. Also, I think I was supposed to make it better but I might just made it worse... upsie...

warning: blood, beating, child birth, all the warnings that come with Beron.

Live, Licien, live

The wind was so harsh. So cold. So bitter. Rarely were the nights in autumn so cold but it seemed like the world had been suffering today alongside Eris. Maybe it was his father's bitterness that followed him. Maybe it was his ever-seeing eyes, that now lashed at him for disobeying. He was supposed to be in the training hall, kicking and slashing at his other brothers. But he couldn't not after today. Not when he had watched the horrors of it for some time now.

How long can one neglect the inner voice? Shouting and clawing at you that it was all wrong. That this was not how the world worked. Couldn't be. His father had been wrong. Real power couldn't lay in the joy of making others suffer. Beg. Bleed beneath your feet. Eris had already done so many things wrong. Had given in to his father's cruel demand. Out of fear of dying himself, had bled others dry. But he never forgot their faces. He could name every single soul he sent to the other world. But this time. This time he couldn't sit still.

Eris's mother had given birth a couple of hours ago. Yet from the moment the pregnancy was announced, Eris felt that something was off. Beron valued his litter. The fighting dogs his wife provided. Eris had watched her go through childbearing multiple times and his father's hands would soften when the swell in her stomach rounded. Yet this time she was offered a cell. A bucket. Beatings. Water if she was lucky. And Eris had never been more confused. Was Beron suddenly against having more sons?

He tried to raise the question to his father. It wasn't in a pleading way, he approached it as a future high lord and yet the furry that left his father the moment Eris spoke his mother's name. The beating had been like no other. Eris hadn't even crowded out of the throne room after. Just laid there hoping that his body would heal a little and then he'll drag himself out. But that was more than enough for him. The baby growing wasn't Beron's. That was clear.

So Eris slipped into the cell as often as he could. He still couldn't properly feed his mother because someone would notice but he kept the food as nutritious as possible. Enough to keep them both alive, to help the baby grow and his mother go through labor. He had bribed the guards who had been ordered to beat her. Eris couldn't stop them fully because his father came down here almost every day to watch his wife fade away. But enough to keep the kicks and slashes away from her bump and breasts, enough to soften the blows.

Eris had pleaded for days for her to tell him the truth. Tell him who the father was so that he could hold onto something. Know why the furry in his father burned so hard. She said nothing, "Not your burden to carry", she said day after day. Until she went into labor. Way too early. Way too fast. The beating that night had done the trick. Even her body had given up on growing that innocent soul within her.

Eris had found her in a pool of blood, panting, gritting her teeth. Pleading with the gods to not let this happen. To let her keep him within her womb just a bit longer. But fate was cruel. It had laughed at his mother that night. No one came to help her. The cell doors had been locked tight the moment her screams echoed through the basement. Eris knew that this was another way of making her pay. Having her die like a rat there while bringing a bastard into this world.

Just Eris had learned parts of the house no one besides him knew off. He had dragged buckets of water there in a hurry, blankets. Did he know what he was doing? No. But his mother was there. The one source of decency. The only reason why he wasn't like his father. So at that moment, he didn't care what he had to do, he was going to fight for them if they refused to. He was going to try and save them.

Of course, his mother had tried to usher him away. Beginning to let her be in her shame. Let Mother Nature do her thing but Eris was unmoved. He crotched next to her. Pushing heaps of blankets behind her and beneath her back. "You'll get yourself killed", she sobbed, watching as he wetted the cloth to soothe the dizziness she was feeling, "Go, before his blade slashes your throat". But her words did little to inflict fear in Eris. He braced his hands on her legs, just as he had seen the healers do many times. Their eyes met and he could tell that something in his mouth had shifted.

Eris heard her scream even here. Even as he ran across the dark forest. At times the wind sounded just like her. No longer like his father. It sounded as if she was crying for her two boys. Her two sons who still had hope of keeping their hearts untarnished. Eris wished he could erase the image of her lifeless body, though. Wished he could have frozen the smile that brushed her features when Eris brought the baby closer to him, pressing his palm over his mouth, to drown out the sobs. And then in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Just a pile of broken limbs and a pool of blood. Eris had talked one more glance before he fled. Maybe they were going to assume she just died like this with the baby instead her. Just bled to death. He hoped they would. For everyone's sake.

The baby inside his arms let out a cry. A cry Eris wished he could have let out as well. Lucien. His mother had whispered the name before she went. Little Lucien. Eris only held the boy closer. Not even hours in this world and he was already fighting toughest battles. But Eris was going to make it better. He was going to save him. He could feel the baby squirming against his chest, feeling the little tears that fell onto his skin, "You'll live, you'll get to live. Live, Lucien, live", Eris muttered over and over as he rushed.

It only dawned on him how this all might look when he was standing right outside Helion's castle. The guards had pointed their weapons at him and here was Eris Vanserra, trembling like a leaf with a screaming baby in his arms, "I need to see him", he pleaded, "Let me see Helion". But no one wanted to listen and no one would have if not Helion himself had heard the commotion and the sobs.

"What's all of this", he had roared, making the guards stagger back. It's only when the red hair came into his view did he halt himself. That same color of hair Helion had kissed so many times on his lover. But it couldn't be her. There was no way for her to leave just like that. It's the panic. The smell of her. The smell of blood. That made him order everyone away as he pushed Eris through the gates.

Eris only managed to make it through into the hall before his legs bucked and he sank to the floor. "Boy, what's all of this? What's going on?", Helion demanded, yet it wasn't anything like the way Beron demanded. Helion had still left him a choice to refuse to answer. Eris didn't trust his words. Not just yet. Not after everything that happened tonight. He pulled his cloak off, pushed the side of his shirt aside, and pulled back the messily wrapped fabric.

Helion's eyes had grown big as he inhaled sharply. Eris could tell that he understood what this meant. That he hadn't expected it. But he knew what this baby was. "Yours", Eris crocked out. Letting the high lord reach out, to pull the baby out of his arms. "Mother died", those words made Helion's body shake, jaw clenching. But he only held onto the crying babe stronger, "Mother died but Lucien lives. Keep him alive Helion. Keep him alive".

#pain #it's what this is #helion x lady vanserra #helion x lucien #helion x eris #eris vanserra #eris vanserra imagine #helion imagine #lucien imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #helion x reader #lucien x reader #eris vanserra x reader

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