#we're just in the shadows and the corners of his vision

[illegiblehandwriting1]

@sapphicseasapphire i thought a little too hard about us being the demons that follow sky around so i made a quick shitty lil sketch

he is not fucking having it today

(the simultaneous pen click tho, that's so ominous-)

@gemglyph @skyloftian-nutcase y'all get obligatory tags cuz Angstforce :P

#lu sky #linked universe #smoke & ashes #chicken scratch #angst #i feel so bad for him #also yea no one else can see us #we're just in the shadows and the corners of his vision #we're the monsters under his bed and in the closet #no one will ever believe him :) #he's having A Day #tag ur friends tag ur enemies just get all the sky angst writers to see this #this poor guy #he needs a break #will he get one? absolutely the fuck not

[macfrog]

heart, body, soul cowboy like me chapter thirteen

surprise! happy friday eve. here's some cowboy to get you through it. life has been a little tough on me lately. sorry for the terribly long wait. but the end is in sight, dear readers. tighten the stampede string on your hats. we're coming in to land.

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you and joel are at an impasse. you resolve it the only way you know how

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol consumption, mention of dr*g use, titty appreciation, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, major fluff, major angst

word count: 14.4k (y’all ask. mother macfrog delivers)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.” His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says – “I don’t want nobody else.” And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

It’s been a week since you last saw Joel. Blurred, tilting, pulling to-and-fro across your vision. A week since you last heard him; his low voice like the hum of an electric wire, tired acoustics drumming weakly through his chest into your heavy hand, laced through his own. Fingers draped softly across his swollen knuckles. You wonder if they’re still marked seven days later.

A week since you felt him. Felt your body lean towards him – gravity or dizziness or something stronger – as his weight dipped into the bed beside you. The way it has only a handful of times now, but enough to score it deep into your memory. Enough that you know the difference between him and anyone else, even with your eyes closed and your heart bleeding.

Enough to ensure that, for as long as you live, you’ll know and see each difference between him and every other person you ever meet. They won’t lower their head the way he does, or lift the corners of their mouth like him. Your name won’t sound the same, won’t sound as complete, coming from someone else’s mouth. Your body won’t magnetize to anyone, the way it does to him.

And that’s fine. The separation. The fact that he was a fleeting moment. The fact that it was over before you felt it leave, before you heard the door close behind it. It’s fucking fine.

Still, you let it hurt a while. Just a little while.

The gash on your calf has healed up, your hangover had subsided by Saturday evening. But your chest still feels tight, your hands are still restless. You lie awake staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the clothes you have of his; breathing in the ghost of his scent and breathing out pathetic, aching sighs. He’s all you smell, all you touch.

Except – he’s not anymore, is he? He saw to that well enough.

So you let it hurt. And you think you can just about make do with that.

“Hey, hon,” you dad gently calls, hanging on your doorframe. Your room is dark, drapes closed, the only light source the white light from your laptop.

“Hi,” you reply, with a break in your voice. Your eyes don’t lift from the screen. Jim just told Pam he’s in love with her, but she’s engaged to Roy. But she really loves Jim, she just won’t admit it. It’s cathartic, okay?

Dad steps into the room and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Awfully, uh…awfully quiet lately, hm? Everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

It’s not a lie. You are fine. You’re so fine, you’re actually numb to it.

The problem is that for the last few weeks, you’ve been more than fine. The best you’ve felt in months – maybe even years. The most you’ve smiled, the hardest you’ve laughed. The warmest the blood has ever run through your veins.

And then you’re just – fine again. Back to nothing.

He shuffles between feet. Stares at the floor, where his shadow sprouts from his toes. “I was gonna head into town, grab a few things. You wanna come? Sit in the car with a book, maybe?”

“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”

“Sure? Whatcha watchin’?”

“The Office.”

He nods. “Right, right. I, uh, I was thinkin’ of askin’ Joel and Sarah over for dinner tonight. You always have fun when they’re around. You and Sarah could spend some time together, y’know?”

Your heart nosedives straight from your chest into your stomach. The thought of seeing him again, this time crystal clear and not while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or worse, sinks its sharp claws into your shoulders and sinks you deep underwater. His voice gets lost somewhere in the space between you. And when you finally come back up for air, back into the room, you gulp back whatever string of senseless words your empty chest initially offered up.

“Hm…” You pretend to consider the thought, then head straight for passive. “Whatever. Sure.”

Your dad’s mouth opens to respond, and you cut in again.

“I’m kinda tired,” you say, yawning. Trying to make him leave.

He’s not great at taking hints. “Kiddo, I am really worried about you. Weren’t you s’posed to be working this mornin’?”

“You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m just a little tired, is all. Wasn’t feeling up to restocking tools and dealing hardwood to your buddies.”

It’s only the second truth you’ve told him since he set foot in your room. You never feel much like work, not Sal’s-fucking-Hardware-kinda work, anyway. But the thought of standing for seven hours with a bared-teeth grin plastered on your face, hands blistering from tearing open box after box of stock, shoulder slowly coming up in a bruise from the number of customers tapping on it…you figured Sal could do without you for one fucking day.

“You wanna look some more at other jobs?” Dad asks, and finally you look up. The blurry, luminous silhouette of Jim and Pam is strung in the dim air before him.

You shake your head. “Not right now. I have some bookmarked I can show you later.”

He takes a deep breath, unsure of which angle to come at you from next. Finally, with an air of resignation and defeat, he settles for, “You know where I am if you need me,” and closes your door as he leaves.

You’re staring intensely at the face of every character onscreen. The pixels burn into your eyes. You’re trying harder than anything to get him out of your head. It’s not working.

His hand through yours, his arms around you – warm, safe, protective; the way he smelled, sweet like whiskey, sharp like pine; the way he’d mumble, lips against your head, sweet nothings pressed into your hair; the feeling of his lips on yours, hungry for something only you knew how to give him. The look in his eyes, tender, knowing, loving.

And because he was the only other person fluent in your little secret language – a look, a nod, a tug at the corners of his mouth. His eyes settling on yours only for a nanosecond, one tiny moment in time laced with a thousand words that you translated as quickly as his glance moved across you. It all meant something. It all meant so fucking much.

All of it. You feel all of it as it sinks through your skin, through bone and into your brain. As it curls around your ribcage, holds tight around your heart. Every thought and feeling that flutters through on full display for him to read. And you’d let him, because it’s him. You trusted him. You – you might’ve even –

I mean, what the fuck, right? When the fuck did this happen?

Joel Miller. Joel fucking Miller.

Is this what you thought would happen that very first time you looked at him differently? Tidying up after pizza, leaning into you, telling you you’re nothin’ but trouble? Did he know then, that this was where you were headed?

Did you?

Your phone buzzes. You glance down at it through your tears.

Sarah: wtf is going on ???

You craft a reply as nonchalant as you can manage. Three little letters.

You: Wym?

Sarah: are u good??

You: Yeah lol. Why wouldn’t I be good

Sarah: idfk. weird. my dad’s on the phone to yours rn

That’s great. That’s just fucking great. He’s probably telling Joel right this second how miserable you are. That’s all you need.

You want to hold onto your pride, keep an air of casualness about you impermeable to even Sarah – but you desperately want to know what’s being said. What she’s listening to him say.

You: Yeah? What are they talking about?

Sarah: well now it’s just some andrew guy

Sarah: sounds like a loser

Sarah: we’re coming over for dinner tonight btw

You: Nice. See ya then

Sarah: u wanna come over here before? we can watch love island

You: I’m good. Gonna go for a nap

Sarah: you can nap here. come over!!!

You bury the phone under your pillow without replying. Sarah is like Joel in many ways, but her persistent nature is one avenue in which they drastically differ. Joel would – and has – give you space, let you mope; Sarah will probably text you all afternoon until she’s on your doorstep, takeout in one hand and a telling in the other.

So you drag your phone back out and put it on Do Not Disturb mode. She’s already sent two more texts since her last.

Sarah: seriously. would you come the fuck over. im only on episode 5 i gotta catch up

Sarah: even my dad is worried about you

Yeah. Good one, Joel. Fuckin’ asshole.

----------

They arrive at six on the dot, armed with pizza and a crate of beer. The doorbell rings once, you lean over a degree to glance down the hallway, and Sarah’s stepping over the threshold, her shadow of a father at her heels.

He’s rugged. Hair amok. He kinda looks a mess, sorta looks how you want him to after almost two weeks of no you. But he’s here. He’s right in front of you. And this time, the shape of him isn’t swimming across your glassy eyes.

Your heart swells with relief to see him again, only until it twinges from the wound that he caused, and it hurts all over again. You turn back in your stool to face the kitchen island, making some noncommittal noise when Sarah’s hand presses between your shoulder blades in greeting.

“Tyrique and Ella are kinda cute, but I don’t trust him. Dude’s gonna fuck her over for sure,” she mutters, shoving the box over the counter towards your dad, who accepts the beer from Joel with a pat on his arm.

He’s standing across the kitchen – Joel – as far as he can get from you. You’re sure his eyes haven’t lifted from the floor yet. But you scan him all over, from the loose collar of his shirt down to the cuffs, rolled halfway up his forearms; from the rough hair of his beard down to the soft tufts decorating the skin just below his clavicle.

You scan him all over. The body you know just as well with the flannel and jeans over it as you do without them. The body you’ve squeezed, and scratched, and bit and kissed – and the same one you’ve thrown curses and insults at as it follows you through his house.

If he looked you dead in the eye right now, you’re not sure you could look away. You’re not sure you could stop.

That is, until Sarah presses a chilled beer to your arm, startling you, and silently nods towards the dining table.

She sits on your right, opposite your dad’s seat. She resumes chittering about Love Island. Joel and your dad are still in the kitchen, stacking plates, cracking the caps off their drinks. And then he pushes off the counter, and slowly wanders over.

You watch his every move. Study him, like you’re about to be tested on it. Which foot he steps forward with – always his left – and which chair he’ll pick once he’s at the table – the one opposite you, ‘cause it faces the TV for when he and your dad watch baseball while eating.

Two for two.

He lifts the chair, pulls it back, and angles it to face Sarah’s. He places his beer gently on the mat. When he sits, he doesn’t pull in any closer. Doesn’t risk your legs crossing paths under the table. You pull your knees up, let your shins rest against the wooden ledge. Your dad takes Joel up in conversation.

“So, this Andrew. He’s the brains of the operation?”

The pizza is slowly pulled apart over the course of an excruciating hour-long meal. Sarah puts the next episode of Love Island on while you eat, points out her favorite couples and nudges you to ask your opinion on the girls’ outfits.

“Wouldn’t have gone with those heels,” she mutters, chewing, pointing with her pizza crust to some six-inch ankle-breakers.

You lean past her shoulder every now and then to pretend you’re as engaged as she is. Pretend you’re listening. Your left ear is tuned into the conversation happening across the table.

Your dad thinks Andrew Curtis is fucking hilarious. Hoots with laughter when Joel tells him about his untucked button up. Says, Oh, jeepers, when he hears about the way the guy tripped jumping down from his truck.

The storyteller doesn’t sound so lively opposite. Your dad’s slapping his thigh with laughter. Joel’s shoulders are jerking at best. You dare a glance at him, and he’s already facing your direction. He turns away before your eye reaches his chest.

Soon, the episode ends. The atmosphere dies arm in arm with your dad’s attempt at another conversation. There’s a thick silence between the four of you. You haven’t opened your mouth the entire meal, but even if you did, the tension would clamp its heavy hand over your lips, blocking any words from making their way out of your windpipe.

Sarah clears her throat, manages a tentative, “I –” and then the phone rings, piercing through the awkward mist like a bolt of lightning.

Your dad pushes himself up and trots over, grabbing the handset a little too hastily. “Hello? Oh, hi, Rita. Hi. Yeah. Yep, Joel’s – Sarah? She’s here, yep.”

Sarah’s head drops, hand gripping her glass frozen in mid-air. “Fuck,” she whispers, and Joel shoots her a look across the table.

“She’s – oh, yeah? Well, let me ask ‘er.” Your dad covers the bottom of the handset with a huge palm. “Rita has some…cross –”

“Cross stitch, yeah, I know,” Sarah says, and thuds her glass down. “I said I’d help her out with it. I bet she’s seen your damn truck across the street!” She jabs a furious finger at her dad.

Joel shrugs. “Ain’t my fault the woman has eyes.”

Your body jerks as if to laugh. You don’t catch it in time. He notices.

“She’s on her way over, Rita,” your dad continues, nervously smiling at Sarah as she pulls her jacket over her shoulder. “She’s – oh, sure, I’ll let her know. Alright, now. Bye, Rita, bye. You’ve to bring your glasses. ‘pparently the pattern’s pretty small. You even wear glasses?”

She huffs in response. “I’m gonna be there all damn night. I’ll just get you at home.”

Joel opens his mouth to protest, goes to warn her that she ain’t walkin’ home alone in the damn dark, but your dad holds his hand out.

“We’ll give you a ride home. You come back here once you’re done.”

She nods gratefully and struts off down the hallway. The door slams shut behind her.

Your dad lightly chuckles, sauntering back over to his seat. “And then there were three…” he says, sitting back down.

But the loss of Sarah only cranes the spotlight over to you. Only you. No one else to split it with. No one else to lend it to. You can feel your dad’s eyes on you, waiting for you to make a move, some song and dance for your company.

He lifts his beer to his lips. Nods to you. Makes a song and dance of his fucking own, when he says, “Guess who’s been lookin’ at grad jobs?”

Joel stares at him for a second, like he’s waiting for your dad to reveal who it is he means. Like it can’t possibly be the only she in the room. His thumbs tap around his own bottle. “Oh – yeah?” he stammers, and throws a haphazard glance in your direction. He seems to mean to address you.

You sit forward, choke out a, “Yeah, uh – it’s – well. Kinda.”

“Film?” he asks, and you hear the rest of the question in the tone of his voice. Somethin’ you like, ‘n not just your dad’s suggestion?

You nod, but he’s not looking. He’s studying the label of his beer.

“Film,” your dad confirms. “Shut me the hell up, didn’t she? Came downstairs with her laptop the other night. Where is it, kiddo – New York?”

Your breath catches. The answer cowers at the back of your mouth, terrified to show itself. You force it forward.

“LA.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“I said she might be better goin’ back to school. Reapply for next year, right?” Dad looks to you, and your lips pull in an awkward smile. “…but she didn’t wanna wait around. Told you the other day – this place is like prison.”

He chuckles, but Joel isn’t laughing. He’s staring at his beer, his brows slowly lowering from arched and curious to dark and furrowed. And you want to reach for his hand, want to shoo your dad off and spill your guts to his best friend. Want to explain yourself, show him the webpages and application forms you’ve spent the last few days surfing through – want to justify yourself to him.

But so long as your father is sat here, bumbling to himself about the prices of college courses these days – none of that happens. You simply sit in a stalemate opposite one another – a million thoughts racing through your head, a million and one racing through Joel’s.

“…might change her mind, but who knows? She’s skittish, this one, she –”

Another bleating ringtone cuts what you’re sure would’ve been an endearing compliment short. You say a silent prayer of gratitude for whoever’s at the other end of the line. Your dad sighs and heaves himself up again, swiping the phone from the kitchen counter.

“Hello? Hi, hi, Richard. No, I’m not – well, it’s – sure, sure. What’s –?”

His head falls in much the same way Sarah’s did ten minutes ago. He sighs.

“Right. No, that’s quite alright. I can be there in ten. Yep. Alright. See you in a – hello?”

He drops the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand down the back of his neck, growling.

“Kelman?” Joel asks, jaw turning to his shoulder.

“You bet. Misplaced the damn keys for his site. You two alright if I head on over there ‘n lock up for ‘im?”

“He familiar with Andrew Curtis at all?” Joel quips, and then waves your dad off. “Go on. I’ll be outta your hair by the time you get back.”

In a frenzied blur, your dad’s tying his laces, grabbing his keys, tossing a jacket over his shoulders. He apologizes a total of four times to Joel, thanks him for dinner, promises he’ll pay him back next time he sees him. And then he’s jogging off to the front door, and taking every ounce of comfortability with him.

And then there were two.

You slouch back in your chair, listening through the silence as your dad’s car engine fades down the street. When the quiet humming disappears, Joel’s head turns back to face you.

You’re alone again. For the first time in a week. This is the closest you’ve felt him, even separated by the dining table and a fog of conversation that you have no idea how to begin clearing. There’s more weight to the silence between you than words could ever bear, you know that much. More to be communicated between your eyes than your tongues know the language of. But still, you can see him through it.

Like a lighthouse, shining bright and beckoning you to the shoreline. You can feel him again, as if there’s an electric pulse radiating off of him. And you feel drawn in, like you always do; feel that magnetic pull in your chest, only ever satiated by the meeting of Joel’s.

You shift in your seat. His eyes flit up. Your heart jumps, like it’s a sign he’s really still in there. And then they drop back to his lap, and your chest sews itself back together.

Your eyes start to burn with fast-forming tears. Your throat tightens, tightens, tightens, pushing them higher and higher until they pool across your waterline. Blinking doesn’t help, just drops them onto your cheeks, to be quickly swept away by the sleeve of your hoodie.

All you want is for him to look you in the eye, whisper, C’mere, baby, scoop you up and hold you in his arms forever. Fuck everything you said about the distance being good. That was when he was in his house, and you were in yours. He’s here, right now. He’s sat across from you. You’re finally on your own again. And he’s not fucking looking at you.

You let your legs down and sit up straight in your chair. It’s small, but it feels like a necessary step to silently tell him that you’re in the room with him. You’re here.

It lifts his eyes again. Not to you, but to your empty plate. Then, to the wet stain on your sleeve. You hope it stabs his heart a little.

From the shaky breath he sucks in, it seems to hurt just enough. He clears his throat. Pulls his gaze higher, higher, a little higher, until you’re eye to eye.

A wave of feeling, either burning hot or freezing cold – you can’t tell the difference – stretches across your body. It’s unnerving, and yet calming. It’s soothing on your wound, and irritating all the same. He’s looking at you. You wonder if he can see you.

You stare at one another for a few moments, drinking it all in. You can see him clear as day. You can almost see the shadows of his thoughts as they dance across the frosted-glass windows of his hazel eyes.

He blinks. Breathes in deep through his nose. And then speaks.

“LA, huh?”

You scoff. You don’t fucking mean to, but it’s the opposite of what you expected – and kind of wanted – him to say. Your whole body relaxes, though – finally relieved of the tension of the last seven days, even if only for a moment.

You feel lighter, like someone kicked the door down and this is the first gulp of clean air in your lungs. It’s small, insignificant even, but it does what it needs to.

Which is – it gives you the energy to answer back.

“It’s not a concrete plan. Yet.”

“Yet,” he repeats.

“I’m not running from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get your head out of your ass.”

He wants to laugh. He should’ve expected it.

“I didn’t say anythin’. I think…I think it sounds like a good plan. ‘n you’d be close by to Sarah, so.”

This conversation feels like you’ve been left alone for ten minutes with your dad’s buddy. Sanitized. Surgical. Which would’ve been what it was little over a month ago, but it’s not now. Now, it’s totally different. There’s more than just that one neat string between you.

You’ve held his hand. You’ve kissed him. You’ve touched him, in ways you’ve only ever touched a handful of people. And even then – none of those times have been anything like the way you’ve touched Joel. You’ve tasted him, you’ve felt him as he climaxes somewhere deep inside you. You’ve pulled him into your body, over and over; you’ve let him have you in ways nobody else has.

There exists a complicated, messy web of history and emotion, woven tight between you. The weight of it bears down on the surface of the dining table.

And he’s talking to you about fucking grad jobs.

“Could you just – stop fucking with me?” you ask, sincerely. You’re not angry, you’re not hurt. Not anymore.

Joel lifts his chin. Studies your face. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re talking to me about some job, like there’s nothing else to talk about. Like there ain’t nothin’ else we might have to discuss.”

His response is resigned. Bored, even. “What else do you wanna discuss?”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, um, I don’t fucking know. Last week?”

Joel takes a swig of beer. You take it as reply enough.

“I don’t have any clue where you’re at, Joel. You pick me up from Frank’s, beat a dude up for me, put me to bed, ‘n then when I wake up, you’re gone. Oh, but you left your fuckin’ shirt. By accident? Or for me? Who the fuck am I to know?”

He holds back a smile. “I had work.”

“Right,” you nod, “Andrew Curtis.”

“That guy’s an idiot. You’d probably like ‘im.”

“I bet. I’m fond of idiots, apparently.”

This time, he can’t hold it back. A smirk spreads across his lips, soft and shy, but there. Right there. You could reach out and fucking touch it.

And then he nods. Leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and nods. The smile begins to fade.

With it, goes the breathing space between you. The fog starts to thicken again. The web tightens some more. Your chest begins to ache. Things feel normal for all of two minutes, and then they’re back to awkward air so heavy that you can feel it on your shoulders, feel it forcing you into a slump in your chair.

This whole thing is built on lies. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. The only truth there has ever been has been between the two of you. Two lonely figures, wrapped in each other’s arms in the eye of a storm. So –

Fuck it.

You sniff. “I thought – that the most we were risking was my dad. I thought the worst that could happen was him findin’ out.”

Your voice is quiet. Unsure of itself. One word carrying you to the next, not totally sure where you’re going with it.

“I didn’t know I was risking losing you, too, and now…now, you’re just gone. Like, you don’t wanna talk to me, you barely wanna look at me. I don’t…I don’t have you anymore, and it’s all fucked up. Do you know, I – I wouldn’ta done any of it if I thought you’d go?”

Joel flinches. Tightens the hold on his arms.

“I want you to come back,” you say, stronger this time. Louder. Clearer. You’re ignoring the tears sweeping across your vision. “Just come back. You don’t even – you don’t even have to touch me or nothin’. We can just hang out and talk, we don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.”

Your voice wobbles by the end. Your lips tighten around it, shutting it off before you can say anything more to embarrass yourself.

Joel’s still quiet. He watches wordlessly as you stand, pile the plates atop one another and make for the kitchen. As you place them gently into the sink, you feel the weight of him behind you, reaching over to set the bottles alongside them.

“I ain’t gone anywhere,” he murmurs, and you twist to face him.

“Joel. This is the most we’ve touched in two weeks. Putting dishes in the sink.”

He repeats himself. Adds, “I’m still here. I still care about you.”

You shrug. “Then – show me.”

He steps back. “Show you,” he scoffs. Your expression doesn’t shift. “Show you? Like I didn’t just almost break my damn knuckles defendin’ you? Take you home in the dead a’ night, deal with all your drunk bickerin’?”

Your head tilts. He’s right. But you want more than that. More than spitting threats and leaving flannels behind. You want his hands, and his lips, and his voice. You want –

“…Lord, mighty me.”

Your dad’s voice follows the sudden jolt of the front door opening. You and Joel are already five feet apart by the time his body appears around the corner, one hand leaning on the wall, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How on Earth that man has his own construction company, I have no idea. Called me halfway to the site ‘n said he found the keys in his damn pocket.”

“Always the scatterbrains,” Joel says, leaning casually against the counter.

“Sure is. You ‘n me oughta start our own, show ‘em all how it’s done. Anyways. What’d I miss?”

Before you can answer, Joel’s speaking again. He sounds in a hurry. “Just tidyin’ up. We were talkin’ about graduate programs, actually. You know what,” he turns to you, “I’m sure Sarah has some old brochures from UCLA. Might have some stuff worth checkin’ out. You wanna come get ‘em?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you. His eyebrows are arched, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. He came up with the lie so damn quick, you have whiplash.

“I – yeah, sure. Yeah.”

Your dad runs his tongue between his teeth. “UCLA. Huh. Well, don’t keep Joel too late.”

“I w…I won’t,” you reply, following at the heels of the swaggering figure towards the door. You dodge his eye contact and dip your head behind Joel’s shoulder, thankful for his protective stance in front of you.

Your dad doesn’t say anything more – instead, he stands back and lets Joel lead you out. You steal a glance back at him as you slip through the door. His face unreadable, his eyes stick on Joel; locked tight on the flannel wandering down the driveway ahead of you. The word loops in your head as though the phone’s ringing again. Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilt–

But then the night breeze is dancing across your cheeks, and you’re following at the heels of Joel again, and you feel light as air in the wake of him. You climb into the passenger side of the truck and watch as he settles alongside you with a sigh. He pulls out of the drive, and his right hand sits idly on his thigh. You think to take it. Joel reads your mind.

He sits it on the armrest between you, palm facing up. You stare straight ahead and let your fingers slip through his. He knots your bodies together, thumb rubbing gently on your knuckle.

Another pound of weight lifts from your shoulders.

----------

Joel drives for twenty minutes before pulling up in an empty parking lot across from a church. It’s pitch-black and deserted. There’s a single streetlight over by the corner, illuminating a trashcan and not much else. You’re shrouded in darkness, save for the soft glow from the lights on the dash.

He switches the engine off and sits back in his seat. Your hands are separated. The distance between you slowly starts to grow again.

“LA,” he says, for the second time tonight, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.

“LA,” you echo, staring at him.

He looks down to you. Smiles. There’s something behind it. You can’t tell what.

“It’s not a grad job,” you say, forcing something up. Your fingers are twisting around the drawstring of your hoodie. “I was lookin’ at grad stuff, but there wasn’t anything I was into. The LA thing is a six-month temp job I saw.”

Joel nods. “What’s that look like?”

“Production assistant. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“Mhm. Sounds like your thing.”

Your brows jump as you pull the tie around your finger. The tip turns white. “Might be. Job ad closes on Monday.”

He sucks in a breath. “Better get applyin’, then.”

Your head cocks. “So eager for me to go?”

“Eager for you to do somethin’ you love,” he corrects.

“But it would get me outta your hair.”

“I don’t want you outta my hair.”

A smirk sneaks its way across your lips. You nod to the view from the windshield. “Why are we way the hell out here?”

“Because your dad bombed our conversation, ‘n I figured we weren’t done.”

“Then talk.”

He licks his lips. Folds his arms, settles deeper into his seat. He turns a little more to face you. The single light from outside catches in his iris, like that same lighthouse beacon you could see earlier. Distant, far off, but there. Still there.

“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I…I thought what we were doin’…What I was doin’…I thought I was causing you more hurt ‘n harm than good. I was scared it’d gone too far. Scared it wasn’t okay anymore.”

“Was it ever okay?”

He shifts again, uncomfortably. In the dim light, you see his face pull. He squints, wobbles his head in consideration. “No. It wasn’t. But we did it anyways, you ‘n me. We made that decision together.”

“Right. And then you went and made the complete opposite decision, alone.”

He’s nodding. He knows. And you think you know, too. It fucking sucked, losing him – but you get it. What was the big plan? How far were you going to let it go? Someone had to pull the plug at some point. Someone had to cut the thing loose.

You lean closer to him. “I just…I wish you’d let me fight back a little. Wish you’d heard me out more. I know what we’ve done isn’t right. I know that. But I – I fucking –”

You sigh. It leaves your mouth shaky and unsure of itself.

There’s something more. Something at the back of your tongue, itching to separate into the dense space between you. Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.

“I missed you,” you concede, shaking your head. “That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes fall shut with a wince when you say it, like it physically hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. But he’s clearer, now – the fog is slowly shrinking away. The words behind his eyes seem to light them in a warm glow. Missed you too, baby.

His hand opens up on the armrest again. Yours falls into it instantly.

He clears his throat then, and says, “Also owe you an apology for – for the Lois thing. I know I should’ve explained a lot sooner, ‘n I’m sorry I had you thinkin’ what you were thinkin’. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. Thought you’d know I wouldn’t…do that.”

“I think I did,” you tell him. Your nails run up and down his fingers. “Deep down. Wasn’t so much about her as it was about me.”

“About you?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Me, us, this. It was more of a, Why wouldn’t he want someone like her?, y’know? No lying, no secrets. And she’s old, like you.”

“Easy.”

You smile. “She’s nice. I know she is. My dad went on for five whole minutes about how good you’d be together when I asked ‘im. So – why wouldn’t you wanna be with her, right?”

It’s rhetorical. Joel knows. But he answers it anyways.

“She is nice,” he agrees, “but I ain’t interested. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I was a little preoccupied worrying my ass off about you to even look twice at the woman.”

You freeze for a second. Stare at the outline of his jaw, the jagged bristles of his beard; the soft sweep of hair silhouetted by the moonlight outside. He’s still Joel – even in the darkness, even in the fog. Even when you can’t see, hear, or touch him – he’s still there. Thinking about you. Worrying about you.

“Well,” you sniff, “you don’t gotta worry anymore. I just…I didn’t like the thought of it.”

His head tilts. Beckons you to continue.

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”

His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –

“I don’t want nobody else.”

And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

“But,” he continues, almost immediately, “this has gotta be – I’ve gotta do right by you. Gotta be honest, now –”

“Wait,” you interrupt, “can you just – stop acting like it’s all you?”

Joel falls quiet. His brows knit together.

“Stop saying things that make it sound like you’re the only one in this. I’m in it, too. I want it. I want you.”

“Baby, it’s not as simple as –”

“Joel,” you take his arms and pull yourself closer to him, legs propped against the center console, “I want you. This. I want us. All of it, I want all –”

Your body is being tugged closer to him, lifted nearer, and his chin bumps against yours, and his eyelashes almost brush against yours when your foreheads link, and his breath sweeps hot and needy across yours, and he – he kisses you.

You stop breathing. You don’t care whether or not it ever comes back. Oxygen replaced by him. Everything replaced by him.

His tongue slips past your lips, his hand glides across your hair to cup the back of your head. He locks you into his body, lets you rest your arms across his shoulders. Your lips find a rhythm against one another; warm, wet, tender.

His free hand cups your cheek, holds your mouth to his just a second longer, before he pulls away, and gives you one last kiss. Softest of them all. Seals the fucking deal.

“We okay?” he mumbles, and you lift your head from his palm. You sit frozen for a second, just looking at him. Looking and looking and looking.

“We’re good.”

He smiles then. A genuine smile. “I thought,” he whispers, glancing around the quiet parking lot, “I could take you on a date.”

So that’s why he brought you out here.

“A date?”

“Mhm. Never been on one, have we?”

“Never could.”

He nods in agreement. “Just ice cream. For now. Thought I’d show you some of my moves.”

“You got moves?” you snicker.

“I’m a catch, darlin’. The ladies swoon for me.”

“Alright, never say that to me again.”

Joel laughs. “There’s a place right around the corner. ‘s go.”

He climbs out of the truck and wanders off towards the sidewalk, and you follow. He looks down at you as you walk. His cheeks swell with the smile on his face, dimples at the edges of his lips.

It’s quiet; quieter than you’d expect, not that you’re complaining. With the sun almost set, you’re doused in light only when you wander under a streetlight. So, it’s no surprise when Joel’s eyes quickly scan the street up ahead, and his hand reaches down for yours.

Your stomach flips. You’re doing everything you can not to let him feel your pulse in your wrist, but you’re pretty sure you can, because he leans his shoulder against yours and asks if you’re okay.

“Good,” you choke out, relieved to have just passed a streetlight that might give away the blush on your cheeks.

Approaching on the right is a sickly-sweet, pastel-painted store front; fairy lights decorating the window, wireframe tables and chairs dotted outside. A bell dings when Joel pushes the door open, holding it open for you to step inside.

It’s…dainty. Sweet. Everything is either teal or pink or white. There’s a giant ice cream cone stood in the corner. There’s a gumball machine opposite it. The lighting is a little garish – kind of reminds you of sitting in the dentist chair, eyes squinting up at the bright white light overhead.

You’re fucking surprised to be stood in here with Joel Miller, of all people. He sticks out like a sore thumb; his worn jeans and crumpled flannel against the minty gleam of the parlor like an earthy tree sprouting in the middle of that same dentist’s office. It makes you giggle, as he leads you over to the counter.

A boy with a teal uniform meets him over a glass case full of different ice cream flavors. His name badge reads Ben. “What can I get you?” he asks, scoop in hand. Your lips press against one another to stop your laugh from escaping.

Joel turns to look at you. He nudges you with his elbow when you don’t return his glance, too focused on Ben’s pink baseball cap, the logo of the shop printed on top.

“Uh,” you consider, glancing down, “I’m good with any.”

Joel sighs, lips thinning. “Am I gonna pick a flavor, ‘n then you decide you don’t like it?”

“Nope. Promise.” You smile innocently, and he turns back to the server.

“I’ll take one scoop of the cookie dough, and, uh…one of the coffee, please.”

When Ben dips to scoop the order into two little tubs, you mock gasp at Joel.

“What?”

“Coffee?”

He shrugs.

“I took you for a vanilla man.”

Ben stands straight and punches some numbers into the cash register. Joel hands him a ten.

“What about me makes you think I’m into vanilla?” he asks in a low voice.

You bat your eyelashes at him. A dark thought crosses your mind, but you think better of voicing it and save Ben the embarrassment of potentially hearing you.

Joel thanks him and takes both tubs in one hand. You make for a booth by the window, but his hand quickly slinks around your waist, diverting you back to the door.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What?” you ask, spinning around.

Joel continues walking, backing you out of the shop. “I am not sittin’ in here. Got a fuckin’ headache already from five minutes in the place.”

“But it’s so cute,” you protest, giggling. “You don’t want your picture taken with the giant cone?”

“Get the hell out,” he mumbles, shoving you across the tiled floor back out to the sidewalk. He can’t mask his own grin, spilling out behind you, taking your hand in his.

You snort as he drags you back along the street. “Maybe I should forget about LA and get a job in there. Drive myself insane.”

“Maybe you should,” Joel agrees. “Least then you’d have an excuse for it.”

You slap his chest. “Where are we goin’?”

“’s just go back to the truck. Quieter. Less fluorescent lights.”

He unlocks it a few paces away, but you stroll past your door.

“What are you doin’?” Joel asks when you pull yourself up into the bed.

“C’mon,” you call back, settling against the back window, “it’s a nice night. Who are we hiding from?”

He tosses it over in his head and cocks one eyebrow. Fair enough. He climbs up and passes you the ice cream, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. He throws it over your bare legs and sits down beside you, grunting as he does.

You smirk when he rests back.

“I’m almost fifty, darlin’,” he warns, reaching for his tub.

Your lips curve and you nod, digging the little plastic spoon into your dessert. You stretch your legs out and cross your ankles, watching in quiet contentment as the cars roll by, squealing to a halt at the traffic lights. Lights are coming on in windows, curtains are being drawn. Joel’s legs lie against yours, joined at the hip, shoulders brushing off one another.

This is the most peace you’ve had in a fortnight. Sat in the back of his truck, no eyes on you, watching the comings and goings of some back street in the city. You talk about nothing, for the first time in what’s felt like forever. You talk about films, and music, and all the stuff that seemed so unimportant before. Now, it all feels imperative. Feels like a life-or-death thing. What’s your favorite movie? You know my favorite movie, baby. But tell me again. Just so I know for sure. Just so that – if anything happens.

You listen when he answers. You watch his mouth as he says the words. For all the times you took it for granted before. For all the times you thought it was insignificant. It’s all significant, now. It all means something. It’s just more strings to the web between you, each one knotting you closer and closer together.

And you talk about what you’ve missed. The two weeks you’ve spent apart. You catch him up as if he was only gone on vacation. As if he was always meant to come back in the end.

“The guy with the weed – same guy you punched – he was –” gulp, “– what was his name again? Knicks? No –”

Joel snorts, spoon scraping around the edge the tiny pot in his huge hand. “Knicks?”

You close your eyes, waving your hand like it’ll urge him to remember the name of a guy he took no time getting to know before he floored him. “No, it wasn’t Kn…Knox! It was Knox, and he –”

“Kind of a fuckin’ name is Knox? Knox?”

“Are you gonna let me talk, or what?” you quip, and Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth to mask his laugh.

“Sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead. Knox had the weed.”

“Knox had the weed, and…he…Fuck, I can’t even remember where I was goin’ with that.” You shake your head and lean it back against the windowpane.

He laughs. For real. A Joel laugh. His shoulders jerk with the force of it. “You were gonna tell me about his friends, I think. Somethin’ about his friends.”

It sparks back up in your brain – the memory. “Right! Right. His friends – that dude with the glasses? That was Zack.”

Joel stares at you blankly, tongue in his cheek. “Zack?”

“Big guy, red face. Buck teeth. From Costco?”

His jaw slackens. He remembers. “I fuckin’ – I knew I’d seen that kid’s face before. That was him?”

You nod. Uhuh.

“Damn.” He chuckles. “He looked at me like I was a wild bear.”

You toss your head, roll your eyes. “Well.”

He laughs again. Knocks your legs with his own.

“Good call, by the way,” your lips mumble around the shape of your spoon, “cookie dough. it’s nice.”

“Wanna try mine?”

“Really?” Your face contorts, eyes screwing. “Coffee?”

“’s good. Here.”

He holds out a spoonful.

“Yeah, nice to you, who drinks, like, thirty of ‘em a day.”

Joel responds by pushing the spoon to your lips and you oblige, opening up and letting him feed you the ice cream.

It’s not bad. It’s ice cream, it can’t be bad. But it definitely isn’t good, and the way your lips purse and your neck jerks lets Joel know exactly how you feel about it. He scoffs, wiping a little from your lips with his thumb and sucking it clean.

“You don’t like it?”

“Why is it…bitter? Eugh.”

He laughs to himself as he loads up another spoonful. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well, I am not interested in acquirin’ it. You want some of the cookie dough?”

He shakes his head. “You enjoy.”

You both turn back to the street ahead. Joel’s arm is warm at the side of yours, his shoulder right there for you to lean your head on.

He places a kiss to your head when you do.

“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”

You’re not sure where it comes from. Neither is Joel, apparently, from the way he clears his throat and squirms ever so slightly. He knows exactly who you mean.

“I, uh…I don’t like to imagine.”

“It scare you?”

He takes a deep breath. “Naw. I just got better things to do with my imagination, is all.” He prods your arm with his. Picturin’ you.

“Ha. You reckon he’d kill you?”

“Probably.”

“He couldn’t kill you. Wild bear.”

“Well, I reckon he might try.”

“I think he’d call the cops.”

Joel’s head lifts from yours and falls back against the truck with a laugh.

“Help, Officer,” you mimic your dad’s twang,“my grown adult daughter is sleeping with someone!”

Joel’s shoulders slowly stop moving.

“Is that all we’re doin’?” he asks.

“Huh?” You lift your head and look at him. His dark eyes reflect the city lights in the distance.

“Is that all we’re doin’? Sleepin’ together?” His voice is gentle, honest. Genuinely asking, seeking out what you think.

You consider it, tryna sound casual. You know what he’s getting at.

“That’s all we’ve been doin’. Help, Officer, my daughter’s grabbing ice cream with someone? Better?”

He hums. Looks down at the empty tub in his hands. Looks back up to your lips. Draws nearer to you, holds your chin with one finger, looks you dead in the eye, and whispers,

“How about, Help, Officer, my daughter made someone fall in love with her?”

Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp into your lap. You blink away tears.

“You – No, that’s – You gotta say it. You gotta actually tell me, ‘cause I’m not – I don’t wanna misinterpret – We haven’t –”

You’re buffering. Your brain malfunctioning. Your tongue can’t decide which of the words at the back of your throat, all desperate to escape, to let through first.

Joel’s just smiling, watching you stutter and stammer your way through a sentence that leads you nowhere, desperately trying to compute what he’s just said because he’s finally fucking admitted it. He’s finally letting you know, giving you access to a part of him he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long.

Even though all this time it’s been the one thought running through your head that hasn’t passed your lips, it reverberates around your ears like it’s the last thing you ever expected him to say.

Joel’s hand moves to your neck, just below your ear. “Baby,” his thumb rubs your skin, “you know I love you.”

A gasp flees from your lips. Your ice cream is thrown to the truck bed, probably spilling over, and you don’t care. You leap into his lap, arms around his neck, and kiss him all over.

Joel’s laughing, returning what kisses he can, squeezing you with his big hands.

“I love you,” he says again when you come up for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard in your life. You sit your forehead against his, whispering breathlessly,

“Fuck, I love you, too.”

You two stare at each other, eyes scanning every part of the other’s face, mapping every mark, line, scar, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other.

Guess it is, right?

This is the first time you’re looking at the man you love and you’re not afraid of it. The first time your chest swells and you don’t gulp it back, the first time you let him feel your heart pounding against the wall of your chest.

It’s the first time you look into his eyes, dark eyelashes and fine lines decorating deep warm brown, and think those three words…and know you can say them. Know neither of you will be spooked, neither of you will try to push them back down where they came from.

I love you. That’s all there is between you now. Your cards are flat on the table, Joel’s, too. Game over. You know everything there is to know about each other. You know each other.

You’ve sunk down his body, turned so your back curves into his chest, his chin resting on your head. Safely encased in his body, sat between his thighs. His hand runs up and down your thigh, lighting drawing lines and circles and writing words you don’t care to guess, ‘cause you probably already know ‘em.

Love hums between the two of you, keeping you warm; your bodies pressed together, hearts beating just inches apart. You blink your eyes open and the single streetlight sails back into your vision – bright as the moon, stirring you from your tranquil bliss.

“Do you,” you turn, and Joel fixes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, “do you tell all the girls that on the first date? Was that just one of your moves?”

He snorts, and answers by pulling you in to give you a tender kiss.

No. Just you.

“You ready to go?” he asks when your lips part.

“Mhm. Take me home, cowboy.”

----------

His house is dark against the dusky sky. The headlights illuminate the garage door as he pulls up in the drive, squeezing your hand once as the truck comes to a halt.

“And then…” Joel says, holding a finger up to you. Wait right here.

He gets out of the driver’s side and you watch the shadow of him jog around the truck, stopping at your door. He opens it, and holds a hand out for you to take.

You choke on a laugh. “That is…”

“That is what?”

“…so cheesy. You really do that?”

“Uhuh. C’mon.”

Your fingers lace through his and you hop out of the truck. Joel shuts the door behind you and extends his elbow, and you link your arm through his. His hand warmly rests on top of yours.

You both wander over to his porch where he stops, letting you walk up the steps alone. When you reach the top one, only just taller than him on the path, hands still interlinked, you look down.

“Then I say, Thank you for a lovely evenin’, and,” he lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “then…” Joel holds his arms out. Voila. Just like that.

“Wow. I feel…honored.”

“You should.”

“Not even a proper kiss?”

“I just kissed your hand, baby. You didn’t like that?”

“You don’t ask to come inside?”

He scoffs. “Nope. What would I want to come inside for?”

You grin. Shrug your shoulders. Start walking backward to his door.

“Well, I am exhausted after our date, Mr. Miller. I do think,” yawn, “I should be gettin’ ready for bed.”

Joel lowers his head, eyes trained on you, smirk growing on his lips. “Is that so?”

You nod.

He starts to climb the steps.

“I’m sure I’ll be expectin’ a call from you,” you mewl, exaggerated Southern accent crooning to him. Your back bumps against the front door. Joel’s on the porch now. You bite your lip.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he returns, his shadow creeping over you. He reaches your body and his arms come to rest on the frame right above your head.

You hook your hands around his shoulders.

“You really don’t wanna come in?” you whisper, and his jaw ticks.

“I wouldn’t want to be ungentlemanly.”

Leaning in, lips against his ear, you whisper soft enough to shake the breath as it falls from his lips.

“And what if I asked you, nicely, to take me inside and fuck me good ‘n hard until I can’t walk?”

Joel’s eyes pool black when you lean away, head resting back on his door. Your gaze is heavy with lust, eyelashes batting slowly.

“Hm,” he grumbles, body beginning to press against yours. His head cocks. “You don’t wanna be treated like a lady?”

“Nope.” You smirk, hand falling down to cup the bulge quickly forming below his belt.

“Want to be treated like a fuckin’ whore, do ya?”

Chest heaving, you nod, massaging him.

“So dirty, darlin’, feelin’ your date up on the porch,” he tells you, dipping his jaw to run his lips along your neck. “What ‘m I gonna do with you?”

You shrug again, and your fingers find the door handle at your hip. You push, and the wood behind you falls inward.

As you plunge into the dark house, Joel’s rough hands clamp down on your waist, taking you in his tight grip and throwing you against the wall. His lips find your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue caressing tenderly as he sucks a bruise into you. Heat spreads across your core. You clench your thighs around the feeling.

“Joel,” you whine, hands surfing through his hair. “Fuck, take me upstairs.”

He hums. He’s going to. He’s just not doing it quick enough.

You lift your leg to his hip, and his left hand scoops under your ass. He pulls your center flat against the swelling in his jeans, ruts slowly against your body. You hear a deep groan from his throat.

“Upstairs,” you say again, growing impatient, and he growls, taking you with both hands and lifting you two steps at a time towards his bedroom.

He kicks the door open, loosening his grip on you as he walks over to the bed. Light streams across the room in splinters, peering through the shades from the streetlights outside. Your legs drop and you dance along on your toes, turning him midway until his calves hit the bottom of his mattress.

Your lips part for mere seconds, allowing one reflected expression between you, before you’re pushing him by the chest onto the bed. His body springs when he hits the sheets, staring back up at yours between his legs. His breath courses from his mouth, thick with want and need.

You lay him flat on the mattress, knees either side of his waist, hands curved over his shoulders. His own find your waist, holding on tight as you straddle him, playing with the tie of your shorts when you settle.

You dip your head and brush your lips against his. One long, sweet kiss, and his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, pulling it free, lifting it over your head. You groan as it separates your bodies, let your tongue find his again as quickly as it was pulled apart from it.

“Let me see,” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts to rub circles into your hipbones.

You smile as you straighten, fingers dancing along the hem of your tee.

“Let me – see,” Joel grunts, when your core grinds into his.

You peel the tight fabric from your stomach, higher, higher, until it lifts your breasts, catching on the curve of them, and as you whip it over your head, they bounce back down. Joel groans from below, staring at the perfect peaked shape. He lifts one hand to cup your tit, runs his thumb over the quickly-hardening nipple.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

“I know,” you tell him, watching as his thumbpad circles the delicate skin. Your back arches into his touch.

And then his hands sink into the mattress either side of his body, pushing himself closer to you. He wraps a strong arm around your back and pulls your chest to his mouth, lips pressing wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. His teeth graze across the round shape up towards your nipple again.

His tongue slips over the hard bud, swirling and soaking all over it. Your head falls back, fingers grip onto his hair. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes. Joel sucks harder.

“S– fuck,” you whisper, nearly voiceless. His tongue is flicking now, lips pulling more of your body into his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuck, I need you, I need you,” you whimper.

He releases your sweet skin, lips shining with saliva. “Tell me where.”

You writhe on top of him, hands pushing your shorts down over your hips. “You know where.”

Joel holds your body steady. “Tell me.”

You whine, trying to rock against him. He doesn’t let up. “Joel, fuck. Betw– between my – fuck.”

“Between your legs?” he taunts, pushing you harder against the hard folds of denim below his belt. “That where you need me? Between those pretty legs, babygirl?”

Your fists ball around the fabric of his shirt, clinging on to him. “Ye-ah,” you whimper, and his weight falls from your grasp.

You feel your shorts tug over the crests of bone by your hips. “Step out of ‘em, baby,” he instructs, and your knee lifts.

He pulls the cotton down one leg at a time, telling you to shift your weight as he curls a finger around the lace of your panties and tugs them down after. Before you can think about it, you’re naked, soaked cunt making a mess over the crotch of his jeans.

He looks up at you expectantly.

“What–?”

He flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion, a Come here, either side of your thighs. You hesitate.

“Darlin’. Up.”

“Joel.”

“Up.”

You take his open hands and shuffle up the mattress, knees pushing into the soft sheets either side of his head. You glance down at him.

“I don’t know –”

“’m not gonna tell you again.”

And he doesn’t have to. You steady yourself, locking your fingers through his behind your ass, and slowly lower yourself down to him. His jaw lifts to meet you, and you think about pausing again, telling him he doesn’t have to do this, asking instead to do something else, something he’ll enjoy as much, something you can both –

But then his lips open around the sweetest part of your body, and your lungs freeze. His tongue slips between, daring where you need him most, and your body sighs in equal parts relief and pleasure.

You’re so fucking wet. You can feel it, leaking onto his lips, spreading around your own as he kisses you, licks you, takes in every drop of you. Your back curls, lips fall open to the ceiling, breath comes in short wisps.

It’s been almost two weeks since the two of you felt like this. Hot, wet, needy. Two weeks of waiting for the other to come back, two weeks of reaching for the phone and deciding against it once the number’s dialed, two weeks of nothing.

And now – everything. Everywhere. Every part of your body ignited for him. You feel him fucking everywhere.

You lean all of your weight onto the palm of your hands, pushing all of it into Joel’s. He’s steady, strong, letting you rock and swirl your hips as he laps at your core.

“Right there,” you whisper, head rolling back. “Keep – keep – oh, fuck, Joel. What the f–?”

He slowly lowers his hands, letting you untangle your fingers and place them on the bed. His own come to hook around your thighs, clamping you as close against him as you can possibly be.

Two weeks of nothing. And now, five minutes of everything. The shards of light from outside blur across your vision; heat starts to prickle up your spine, tickling the back of your neck. You’re smiling, filthy and desperate.

“I’m gonna –” you breathe, and Joel hums. “’m gonna c– come.”

You can hear his response, though he doesn’t say a word. Then, come.

Your hips motion forward. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel’s tongue slips between your folds, warm on the inside of your cunt. And you rock back. Unwind. Unfurl. Exhale. His bottom lip puckers against your clit.

“J-oel. Joel, I’m – you’re – fuck.”

He moans against your sex. His hips shift behind you. Buck upwards, carefully.

Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Tighten – inhale. Unwind. Unf-url. Ex-hale. Tighten. Inh– clamp. Fuck. I’m there. Unwind. Warm. Wet. Tongue. Exhale. Tongue. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel –

Your fingers curl around his bedsheets, nails dig into the cotton. Your orgasm sends a flood of hot pleasure across your cunt, rains down over Joel’s lips, and sets fireworks off through your body which explode into the dark room in the form of a throaty moan.

You’re not sure when you come to. You’re not sure your arms can bear the weight of your body. But when your eyes blink open, he’s kissing the inside of your thighs.

His mouth is glistening. Moustache and beard covered in you. Soft lips pearlescent with your spend. Your body feels heavy, unbearable. You lift your leg and tumble onto the mattress by his side, pussy throbbing when you land.

“I love you,” you whisper, and not for any particular reason. Not because of what he just did. Not because you’re naked in his bed.

But maybe because it feels like this is what you were made to do. To love and to be loved – by him. It feels like this entire thing has been, from its genesis, an exchange. An understanding. Immediate and certain. Here are all the parts of me. You know what to do.

As if there needed no further explanation. No instruction, no tutorial. You just knew.

He pushes himself up, leans over your frame. His jaw lowers, and he licks into your mouth tenderly.

“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he says, and at the same time, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “Gotta feel you again.”

You nod against him. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

Joel’s hands are on his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. Your help him tug his jeans off when he undoes the button. The material of his underwear rubs against your sex; your creamy arousal smears all over the black fabric. You can feel the weight of his stiff cock beneath. It dizzies your head.

He lets your fingers sneak below the elastic, lowering it until he springs free, slapping against the bottom of his tummy. You could fucking drool at the sight of him – the pink tip, beaded with precum; the thick vein on the underside of the shaft; his balls below it, heavy and waiting. Your hands wrap around him and pump slowly as he drags his boxers down, kicking them off at the foot of the bed.

He groans, hips thrusting gently into your palms as you squeeze him. Your fingers slip between your folds, collecting your own slick, coating him in it as you fist him.

“So good, babygirl,” Joel breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “You gonna take it all?”

“Mhm,” you reply, tongue slipping against his.

“Yeah,” he says, “my girl can take it.”

You let his hand shadow over yours, the two of you guiding his cock towards your entrance together. It glides between your dripping folds, the head sifting effortlessly from your clit to your tight hole and back again. Joel laughs, teeth clashing with yours, as he dips in and out, teasing you.

Your ass lifts from the mattress, any movement to draw him nearer. “Stop,” you gasp.

Joel pauses. “Stop?”

“No,” you bleat, “don’t stop. Just – fucking do it.”

“Do what, darlin’?”

“Fuck me.”

And he sinks in.

You’d be lying if you said all you’d done for the last two weeks was cry, mope, and stare at the ceiling. That’d be discrediting everything that this little affair was built on. It’s impossible to forget how the thing fucking started – your hands between your legs, Joel watching from the doorway.

In the moments you didn’t feel the mind-numbing tsunami of heartache overcome you – you felt something else. Memories of his hands on you, the trail of his tongue between your legs, the swell of his cock deep inside you. You tried to replicate it a handful of times with your hands. But nothing – not your fingers, not two, three, or four – nothing stands a chance against him.

He pushes in slow at first, drawing out when he’s halfway, and then in again as he covers himself in the wet his tongue left behind. When he’s soaked, glistening and gleaming, he thrusts. Hard. His tip catches on your cervix, and your back arches in a mix of pain and delight.

Something throbs deep inside as he bottoms out. You feel your opening stretch around his base. You feel your legs widen as if by instinct, accommodating the size of him, the width of him, the pace of him.

You throw an arm over his shoulder, elbow hanging on the nape of his neck. His sweaty forehead sticks to yours, and your hand cups his cheek.

“Harder,” you tell him, and he listens.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight. Oh, my – I ain’t gonna last.”

“Don’t – want you – to,” you cry, body jumping as he fucks you quicker, quicker, harder, deeper. “Want to – come – together.”

Your head tips back against the bed, and Joel’s lips attach to your neck. He’s moaning into your skin, teeth biting down, breath hot and quick. He’s not gonna last he’s not gonna last he’s not –

“F-u-ck, Joel,” you sob, your walls starting to close in around him, “feels so – f-fucking good, oh!”

“I know, darlin’, I know. C’mere.”

He takes your cheek and pulls your face back to his, lines his lips with yours and kisses you. It’s messy, haggard, fucking all over the place as your bodies bounce together, but he tastes like sweat, and sex, and you, and him.

“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, hips pounding. “Missed bein’ inside you. You know how bad I needed you?”

“Tell me,” you slur, echoing his own words back to him.

He smirks. “Best fucking pussy I ever had, sweetheart. Best – I ever – had.”

“Don’t pull out,” you hum against his lips, and his jaw pulls back a fraction. “Don’t.”

“Baby,” he says, strained, and your head tilts.

“Need it,” you tell him. “Please. Need you.”

He nods, leaning back into you, letting you connect your mouths again. His lips shudder when you pull away, the thought translated clear as day from your mouth to his. And he knows, and he drives in harder, and he fucks the image from your mind. Who the fuck is Lois, when you’re under him and he’s this deep between your legs?

You look up into his eyes, and you find your answer. She’s nobody. There’s only you.

Your body feels liquid, your mind like fog. You pull him into your body, deeper and deeper, until you’re sure you’re one, and there is no place where he ends and you begin, and you’re sure this is what it feels like, this is what those words feel like, not just the sound of them, not just the way his lips move around them, but the shape of them on and in and around your body. Something deafening, something blinding, something screaming from the pits of your lungs as you come all around him, and you feel him come all around you.

His warmth spurts deep inside you, filling you up, dripping down your walls as he collapses into your shoulder, a loud moan drilling into your collarbone. He slows, thrusts in and out gently, pushing his spend deeper and mixing it with yours.

It's everywhere. The feeling. The pulsing, the humming, the singing. He’s everywhere. Him. In your brain and in your lungs and in your body and in your cunt. And you want to keep him there, hold him there, keep your bodies together for five more minutes, just five more minutes.

But then he’s panting into your skin, pressing kisses into that little dip between your collarbone and your chest, and he slowly slips out, come dripping from where he leaves.

He presses his palm deep into the sheets by your head, lifts off of you – but your arm is still around his neck, and you lean with him. Tilted on his mattress, holding onto him, letting him kiss your head; letting his hand move across the surface of your stomach, mapping the gentle slope over your belly button and scaling the tiny mountains of your hipbones. Kneading softly into the skin over which his seed sits, warm and snug, deep inside you. It’s new. You think you love it.

And he’s whispering, “Good girl, did so good for me,” and he nuzzles his nose into your hair, and he tilts your chin back until he can see your face, see your expression, and he smiles with relief when he clocks your doe eyes, your blissful smile, the sweet tinge of red on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he tells you, and you’re staring at his lips.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

You look up to his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.”

You smile. It breaks into a laugh. “Again,” you whisper, and he kisses you.

Slowly, only once you pull away from him and your breath steadies, Joel takes your body and carefully shifts. He turns onto his back, settles you on his chest, your hips between his thighs. He runs a gentle hand over your hair and you lie against his sweat-shining chest, his heartbeat whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Love and sex, as far as you knew, were always two different things. Separate. One, you weren’t even sure existed. The other, nothing more than a need to be satisfied. Something deep within you, something no one had ever managed to touch. And then Joel. And his lips, and his tongue, and his hands and his cock.

And suddenly the two – love and sex – begin to blur, their edges touch frantically. They bleed into one another, until there are no longer two distinct forms; instead, one big shape which has the curve of your hips and the cut of his jaw.

You love him. And he loves you. You’ve heard it translated between your minds longer than you care to admit, and now – you’ve felt it. Transferred between your bodies. You love him. Jesus, you love him.

It’s as terrifying as it is thrilling. Enamoring, and yet dangerous.

“So,” you sigh, “what’s next?”

He glances down, lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a shake. His hand lifts off of your shoulder with a shrug.

“Like, your next move. What happened with the other eight?”

“The other eight?”

“Mhm. Me, Sarah’s mom, makes two. There are eight others, right? What’d you do afterward?”

“Kicked ‘em out.”

You lift a heavy hand and slap his chest. He shudders with laughter.

“I dunno, baby. Wasn’t all like this.”

Your brows knit. “Like what?”

He takes a deep breath. Your head rises as his lungs fill. “Lyin’ in bed afterward. Talkin’.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What?” he asks, smirking.

“Who even were they? I wanna know.”

“Why?”

“Just do. I wanna hear about ‘em. When was the last one, before me?”

Joel’s eyes drift off to the ceiling above you, thinking. “May.”

“M–?” You jump up, pushing yourself off of his body. “May?” you repeat, eyes wide. “That’s…so recent.”

“Recent?” He chokes back a laugh. “When’s your last?”

You furrow your brows, dropping his gaze. “We’re not talking about me,” you mumble, thumbs twiddling.

Your last had been two nights before you flew home. You’d gone out with your roommates and dragged home Matteo, an exchange student who you’d worked with on a group project for your screenwriting class. He was three inches shorter than you. He bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you until he came. Then he made himself some cereal, ate half of it, and left.

Joel doesn’t really need to hear about him, you think.

“Do I know any of them?” you ask in attempt to change the subject.

Joel pulls a face. His lips tighten, teeth clench. His eyes narrow to a thin line, looking at you through his eyelashes. He nods tentatively.

“Shut the fuck up. Who is it? Who?”

“I dunno if you know her, but she knows you.”

“What’s her name?”

“Your dad gave us a ride home from the bar. She ‘n him got to talkin’, and he said he had a daughter –”

Your fist lightly drops onto his chest. “Joel, if you don’t fucking tell me who it is, I –”

“She’s an elementary teacher. Long, dark hair. Good few years older ‘n you. Think she said her little sister went to your school.”

“Who – was – it?”

He makes the face again. This time his eyes close over, waiting for the penny to drop. His head shakes lightly.

“You –? No, Joel. Come on. Please don’t…Are you fucking serious? You don’t remember her name?”

“It was a long night, alright?”

“How did you forget her damn name?”

He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I was drunk, baby.”

“Elementary teacher? I don’t know anybody whose sister teaches elementary.”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Joel shrugs, and you shake your head at him.

You’re picturing Joel stumbling out of Frank’s, arm in arm with a brunette, heavy feet dragging along the sidewalk while your dad chitters in his ear about the Rangers, or about some rude bartender, or about…you. The brunette turns, and her face is yours. Your features, your smile. Your hand linked through Joel’s. C’mon, baby. ‘s go home.

You chase the image away. It slips from your mind like dust cleared from a countertop. Would never. Could never. Should never.

You replace it with something lighter. Something to make you forget about the dust.

“Does…Does my dad ever go home with anyone?”

“What?”

You don’t answer. He heard you.

“That’s…No. I ain’t answerin’ that.”

“Oh, come on. If you’re takin’ women home left, right, and center, he’s gotta be seein’ that. Does he?”

“I was not takin’ home women left, right, and – No, darlin’, no. It’s inappropriate.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m known for my appropriate behavior, y’know,” you gesture between your naked bodies, “I’m known for the good life choices I make.”

“This,” Joel hooks his hands under your arms and drags you up until your chin meets his, “is a good life choice.”

“Yeah?” you ask through a giggle, your nose bumping his.

Joel smiles softly, runs a hand over the back of your head. Looks between your eyes, a twinkle in his. Yes.

Your lips crash together like waves on the rocks. You’re the sea; he’s the stone. Two different worlds, suddenly married in some unforeseen twist of nature. And when you pour over him, your body lighting him in a twinkling glow of ocean, it’s as though you never existed apart from one another. It’s as natural as the waves on the shore.

“Alright, darlin’,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Speakin’ of inappropriate. I gotta get you home.”

“Why can’t I just stay the night?” you complain. “Like last time. Tell ‘im we’re watchin’ a movie again…”

Joel’s head rests on your arm. “He’s worried sick about you. Ain’t no way he’ll let you spend the night here. You know that. Plus, Sarah’ll be long done with Rita’s cross stitch by now.”

He sits up and you roll into his lap, head resting on the soft skin of his belly. He looks down at you, head tilted, eyes glowing hazel.

You stare right back. The dimples in his cheeks dig deeper when you whisper, “Kickin’ me out right after we finally make up. I see how it is, Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders hunch. “Happens to all of ‘em. Warned ya.”

He shifts off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You sit up and watch as he pulls his boxers snug over his hips, swipes his tee from the carpet at his feet. As he drapes it over his scruffy chest, your half-naked form meets his at the foot of the bed.

His fingers knot in your hair. You lean into his arms, legs giving as he kisses you gently, breathing you in, stealing any more words of protest from your tongue.

“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls away, tip of his nose brushing off yours. “You know that?”

“Somebody told me somethin’ to do with that, yeah.”

He smiles. “Get dressed.”

You pull the rest of your clothes back on in silence, tossing socks and jeans across the room to one another, giggling like a pair of kids. After all you just did, the palpable pleasure you just sent hammering through one another – this is the part you wish you could bottle. The laughter, the love. The attempts to keep holding onto him, even as he tries to pull his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, even as he links his belt back through his jeans, as he bends to tie his boots.

The fun of it. The hope of it.

The foolish, foolish hope.

“Hoodie.” Joel flings it up towards you, crouched as he tightens his laces.

You pull it on over your bra. Flatten your flyaway hairs, stand straight before him.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You got your phone?”

Your hands instinctively pat your body down. “Oh, nah,” you realize, “musta left it at home.”

Joel nods and heads into the hallway, you at his heel. At the bottom of the stairs, you glance around his house, like it’s the first and last time you’ll see it wrapped into one. It looks different; two weeks of absence and you notice things you hadn’t before.

His coat hanging by the door, probably untouched since early spring. The bowl on the side table where his and Sarah’s keys live. The guitar in the corner of the room, the books in the shelves above it. All him. Every little piece of it. He’s reflected in every object in the room. He’s reflected in you.

You drive back to your dad’s place in silence. Comfortable, sweet silence. Your fingers ghost across his palm the entire time, watching out the window as the dark neighborhood soars by in a blur of porch lights and mailboxes. All too quickly, you’re back in front of your own house.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and through the darkness you see Joel’s smile fall.

After a moment’s silence, heavy and contemplative, he looks back up. Softens when his eyes land on you.

“We’ll be alright,” he tells you, and you believe him.

You lean forward and press a quick but tender kiss to his lips, and your fingers latch around the door handle. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head, keeping your mouth on his.

“Gotta – let me – go,” you mumble between kisses, and he hums a laugh in response. “Joel.”

“I know,” he whispers, finally pulling back. “I know.”

You smile, head tilting into his palm. “I’ll text you.”

He nods once. “See you, babygirl.”

You slip out of the truck and wander past to your front door, twirling as you click the handle. Joel laughs, and the truck reverses back onto the street. You wait for it to disappear before closing the door, and step into the unlit hallway.

The TV lights the living room at the opposite end. You stop by the kitchen, feeling the grumpy rumble of your stomach. Your dad’s armchair is sat facing the screen. You lean over to double check he’s not sat in it, fast asleep while Rangers highlights play on loop before his eyelids.

When you swivel the plaid pattern towards your knees, its only occupant is the remote. You flick the TV off and pad back over to the kitchen, filling a bowl with some chips. You’re hunched over at the refrigerator when his footsteps clunk slowly down the stairs, and he materializes like a specter around the doorway.

“Hey.”

You straighten up, lit in a nervous blue hue from the fridge. “Hey, yourself.”

“Joel gone?”

“’bout ten minutes ago. Where’ve you been? You left the TV on.”

“Just…y’know. You get those brochures?”

Fuck. You were at Joel’s under the premise of picking up fucking UCLA pamphlets – and you’ve come home empty-handed. The lie doesn’t form on your tongue as quickly as Joel’s did earlier. Something else on your mind.

“…sure. Some…interesting stuff.”

Your dad nods. “Good. Good, I’m glad. We can take a look in the mornin’.”

Your eyebrows flinch. “Yeah. That’d be – yeah. I’m…gonna head to bed, alright?”

“Sure,” he says, nodding.

With a can of soda under your arm and your bowl of chips in the other, you nod and cautiously shuffle towards him. His lips are a thin line. You duck by him and trot upstairs, and make it as far as the landing before he’s calling out again.

“Oh, hey.” He holds a hand out, and disappears in a jog towards the living room. You drop back down a couple steps, watching him swipe something from the dining table and pace back over. “You left your phone.”

He’s presenting it like a jeweler shows a Rolex – or maybe more like an investigator handles evidence. Holding it out in almost trembling fingers, afraid to mark it with his fingerprints. Your eyes flit from the phone to his, unsure which of the two frightens you more.

That’s not where I fucking left it.

You lean over and take it from his palm. “Thanks…”

“I think maybe you got a text, just then. It was lit up. Maybe I’m seein’ things.”

You force the corners of your mouth upward. Your cheeks inflate with nerves and shame. “Thanks,” you repeat, and then: “Everything okay, Dad?”

“Everything’s fine, kiddo. Sleep well.” He makes back for the living room.

As you turn, you unlock your screen.

Joel: Left your shirt here, and your bikini from last week. This mean I get to be the one wearing your clothes now?

Panic spills over your head, a wave of freezing cold washing over you when you read his words. Did Dad read them, too?

You continue walking, feeling the weight of your dad’s strange voice on your back as your feet drag you one by one up the stairs. When you make it back to the landing, your cool flees you, and you take the rest of them two at a time until you’re leaning against your bedroom door, panting.

You: Problem. I think my dad saw that text

Joel: How so?

You: When I got home my phone was next to his chair, and he’s being so weird

You: Joel I think he knows something

Joel: I’m sure he doesn’t. He wouldn’t read your phone baby.

He’s trying to reassure you, telling you he wouldn’t even know what it means, maybe he’ll think you spilled something on it, but no matter how many ideas Joel comes up with, none of them slow your heart rate.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach forces you straight back up. Pacing doesn’t help, knowing your dad is directly below you probably hearing the floorboards creak with every step you take.

Your head dizzies with doubts, fears, worries, all frantically throwing themselves against the walls of your skull. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of your window, eyes screwing shut, stars in your vision. Nothing is calming you down.

Joel takes too long to reply back, whether he’s running out of explanations or just fucking forty-eight with an iPhone, but every time your phone buzzes with a new attempt at comfort from him, it only convinces you even more that – no, it wasn’t a stain, it wasn’t a joke, Joel has your top because you took it off for him an hour ago, and then let him fuck you in his bed.

And your dad fucking knows it.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #dad's best friend #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #cowboy like me #smut #fluff #angst

[lendeah]

The currents of destiny

Chapter 3: Guilt and remorse.

Summary: In his third vision, Astarion observes himself trapped in a relentless cycle of thirst, remorse, and yearning within the shadows, witnessing others moving forward while he goes back to familiar patterns of the past. Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader/Tav Word Count: 3.6k Tags: Heavy Angst, Psychological Trauma, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Psychological Torture (kind of), Emotional Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, but just chapter 2, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending.

a/n: tysm to @tinystarfishgalaxy for helping me with this chapter <3

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[AO3 Link]

Astarion wept, as his body shook uncontrollably. His thoughts and emotions were swirling, Tav's agonized screams still echoed in his mind, haunting him. And those staring, lifeless eyes... they would forever haunt his darkest dreams. He shuddered at the thought of what he could have become: a soulless monster who would have used and abused Tav without remorse. The weight of guilt and regret bore down on him like a heavy cloak, suffocating and unrelenting. He wanted to kill that version of himself, he wanted to erase him from existence.

He briefly believed they were returning to the vast emptiness of space. But before he could process that thought, he was being violently pulled once more. Then, everything went black.

Astarion's heart clenched with fear as he quickly realized that he was inhabiting another body, once again a different version of himself. His mind was still spinning from the previous vision, but he forced himself to calm down and focus on his current reality. None of this is real, he told himself, you can still change everything.

The first thing he noticed was the emptiness in his head, the silence. The lack of parasite buzzing over his senses. That explained why his limbs felt heavier and slower, without the surge of power he had grown used to. He was back to being a vampire spawn.

We won, then. We beat the Nether Brain.

He would have laughed, had he not noticed the feelings coursing his body: regret and a deep-seated remorse. It was a stark difference from the empty void of emotions that had possesed him while inside his Ascended body. This version... this future Astarion, was filled with nothing but guilt. And hunger, so deep it shook his frame to its core.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was crouched against a damp stone wall, his body weakened and exhausted. The putrid stench of the city sewers filled his nostrils, adding to his misery.

His clothes, ragged and wet, were clinging uncomfortably to his body. Hells, he looked like a wild animal.

Disgusting.

Astarion's senses heightened as his body caught a whiff of fresh blood, human blood. His stomach growled and he could feel the thirst coursing through his veins, demanding to be sated. How long had it been since he last fed? Judging his estate, he estimated it had probably been weeks, if not a whole month.

He hadn't felt this feral in years. Since...

Since Cazador buried him alive for a year. Have I been starving myself?

His body forced itself to stand up, legs shaky and weak from lack of nourishment. He stumbled through the dark corridors of the sewers, following the scent of fresh blood like a predator on the hunt. The sound of voices echoed off the walls, growing louder as he neared his destination. He froze at the end of the tunnel, straining to make out their words.

"There's another body. How many innocent civilians have to disappear before someone takes action?" A woman's voice said.

"I know. We're doing our best to find those damned bloodsuckers. But the Dukes seem to have other priorities at the moment." Another male voice responded wearily.

Astarion's heart sank as he realized what they were talking about. Shit, the spawn. They are in the sewers too.

From behind the corner, he could see two Fists standing outside. Their weapons of choice were stakes and swords, a comical sight if he wasn't in so much pain.

He crouched down, trying to gather his strength and formulate a plan. But before he could process everything that was happening, his body was wracked with searing agony. His vision blurred as he fell to the ground, clutching at his stomach.

Then, everything was a blur.

His body launched itself at the unsuspecting guards. The sudden attack threw them off guard, their shocked cries echoing through the darkness.

What are you doing? Stop, you bastard!

Astarion willed his new body to halt, but it paid him no mind. With ruthless precision, he sank his fangs into one of the guards' necks, and tore the soft skin in seconds, hot blood pouring all over him. The other guard scrambled for his weapon but Astarion was too fast, too desperate. He struck again. However, the guard managed to slide the sword out in the process and lunged forward. Astarion barely managed to dodge it, the blade grazing his arm instead of piercing through his heart. The pain shot through him like lightning but did little to deter him.

He buried his fangs in the man's neck, relishing in the warm rush of blood as it filled his mouth and quenched his hunger. The guard struggled against him, but Astarion was far too strong in his primal state.

It wasn't until both guards lay lifeless at his feet that Astarion snapped out of his bloodlust-induced haze.

The silence was deafening. He released the limp body from his grasp, letting it slump onto the cold stone floor. The hunger had subsided for now, and he was left with a chilling emptiness; a void that echoed with his victims’ last moments.

He felt…dirty. Disgusted with himself and the monstrous actions he was forced to commit while under the control of this abhorrent future self once again.

The future version of Astarion sat in a corner of the room, his back against the unforgiving stone wall. He crouched over the blood-soaked floor, holding his knees tightly to his chest.

A bitter laugh escaped his body. "Look at what you've become," he muttered, "A monster...a butcher." His voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the steady drip, drip, drip of the sewer pipes.

Oh, hush, Astarion supplied inside his brain, you are just trying to survive.

Survival was indeed his main priority now. With no friends or allies, Astarion had to do whatever it took to stay alive. And if that meant giving into his vampiric instincts and becoming a ruthless killer, then so be it.

But even as he tried to justify his actions to himself, guilt gnawed at him from within. One thought kept resurfacing in his mind - Tav. The one who had shown him kindness when all others saw him as nothing more than a tool to be used.

How could he face her after what he had done? Would she still see him as someone worthy of forgiveness or would she turn away in disgust?

How did you even get to this point? he asked himself.

Astarion's future self felt a strong urge to chase after her and make amends, begging for her forgiveness and asking her to take him back. But his pride wouldn't allow such a display of vulnerability. Instead, this version of himself reveled in the anger he felt towards her for not helping him complete the ritual. After all, it was her fault this had happened. If only he had ascended, he wouldn't have resorted to killing innocent people now.

No, he told himself, you would be killing her, you idiot.

But as always, he didn't listen. Didn't know.

As his eyesight blurred and shifted, Astarion found himself in another scene. It was late at night, and he was slowly making his way to the Elfsong tavern. Astarion felt a sense of unease, concerned that future him might harm his companions. But then it became clear: he was there to beg for forgiveness at last.

He watched for a moment as his body hesitated at the entrance of the inn. From within, he could hear the sound of laughter and music spilling out into the night. Through the dimly lit window, he saw his companions seated around their usual table, their faces glowing with warmth and camaraderie. There was Wyll, spinning tales of his latest exploits while Shadowheart listened with feigned indifference. His heart ached as he saw Tav, alive and well, her eyes sparkling as she shared a story with Lae'zel and Gale, her laughter more enchanting than any song sung in this tavern.

His heart swelled at the sight of her, revealing on seeing her unharmed, happy. If he had been in his own body, he would have cried of relief. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to hold her in his arms again, to feel the warmth of her embrace. What he would give to feel it right now.

But instead, he felt future Astarion's heart sink. A sense of longing for the life he could have had if he had chosen a different path. He could have been sitting with them, laughing and sharing stories instead of being haunted by guilt and regret, like a wild animal, resorting to living in the sewers to escape the sunlight.

The weight of his shame was too much to bear, and he couldn't bring himself to ask for their forgiveness. He convinced himself that they were better off without him anyway. As tears threatened to spill from his eyes, he glanced one last time at the scene before turning away from the window. He didn't want them to witness his broken state - humiliated, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self.

And a part of him, real him, thought it was true. They seemed so happy without him, like he had never been there to begin with.

Do they even miss me?

His consciousness was pulled away once again. When he came to his senses, he found his body standing pressed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned alley. He took in his surroundings, trying to make sense of this new place. Through his future self's eyes, he sensed he was scanning the darkened streets for potential victims. His gaze lingered on a handsome young merchant, who despite his drunken state, still exuded a certain innocence. His body stepped out from the shadow, a charming smile already playing on his lips. The image was too familiar, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he had somehow traveled back in time instead of forward into the future.

The merchant's eyes, predictably, lit up at the sight of him.

"Well well, what do we have here? A handsome stranger wandering about all on his own?" he purred, trailing his finger down the man's arm. "My dear sir, it's far past bedtime for such daring adventure on your own."

The merchant blushed and stuttered something about getting lost. Astarion chuckled softly and offered to escort him back to his lodgings - an offer the man happily accepted.

His real self could only watch everything in disgust and shame; he had reverted back to his old ways. And this time, he wasn't even under the influence of his master.

Guiding him down an even narrower alleyway, Astarion couldn’t help but curse himself inwardly for what he knew he was about to do. Astarion wished he could look away as he saw his body lean in close, his voice a smooth whisper in the man's ear. He could see his blush and giggle, taken in by Astarion's false charm.

Oh, how he wished he could warn him of what was to come. But all he could do was watch on helplessly as his body continued this dreadful performance he had practiced so many times before.

I am back to being a puppet.

"Astarion?"

His body stiffened at the sound of his name, and he turned to face the voice.

"Tav," his body breathed her name. Their eyes locked, and for the first time in a year, he felt something other than the hunger that had become his constant companion. A sly smirk danced across his lips as he effortlessly masked his true emotions. "Well, well, what brings you to this enchanting alleyway?"

"I could ask you the same," Tav replied, her voice filled with a mixture of concern and shock. She glanced at the merchant standing next to him, stumbling in his drunken stupor. Her eyes filled with sadness as she took in the scene.

There was a tense silence as they stared one another down. Astarion swallowed hard, racking his brain for an excuse that would believably explain his current situation. Before he could come up with a response, Tav spoke again.

"Astarion," Tav uttered again, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you... are you okay?"

No, I am not.

"Of course, darling," he replied smoothly, flashing her a charming smile. "Just enjoying a late-night stroll with this... gentleman." He gestured towards the drunk merchant, who was now leaning heavily on Astarion for support.

Astarion's heart, however, constricted at the concern in her voice. He desperately wanted to tell her the truth, to hold her close, to kiss her breathless.

Do it, tell her. Kiss her. Save yourself.

"Are you sure you're okay, Astarion? You... you can tell me," Tav asked once again, her voice tinged with worry as her eyes flickered between them, clearly not buying his explanation. Astarion could feel her searching gaze boring into him, trying to read him like an open book.

Just as he was about to confess everything, Shadowheart appeared behind her, sliding a hand around her waist.

What?

"Love, what are you doing in an alleyway? You are asking to get murd-" her eyes suddenly locked on Future Astarion. Recognition and shock flashed across her face before it hardened into a scowl.

"Shadowheart," Astarion acknowledged her presence coldly. His gaze was caught on the way Shadowheart's fingers rested possessively on her waist; a sight he found increasingly difficult to stomach.

What is the meaning of this?

For once, Astarion felt the same way as his future self; confusion and hurt mingled with betrayal and anger. Shadowheart and Tav... together? When did that happen?

Tav turned around to look at Shadowheart, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. "I was just..." she began nervously, gesturing towards Astarion and the merchant. "I saw..."

"Astarion." Shadowheart's voice interrupted, cold as ever. Her grey eyes looked past him to the merchant who was almost passed out at this point. "You have poor taste in company these days."

Despite the icy edge to her voice, Astarion could make out a hint of worry in her eyes as she looked at Tav. It was a concern that echoed his own, one that served only to intensify the bitter taste of jealousy creeping up his throat.

"Perhaps," Astarion finally replied, his voice filled with false cheerfulness."But at least he knows how to appreciate a good drink." He then mumbled, "Anyway, I should probably take him home," gesturing towards the unconscious man.

As he started to walk away, Tav weakly protested and broke free from Shadowheart's grasp to approach Astarion. "Hold on!" Tav interjected, still unsteady on his feet. "You still haven't answered my question."

A tense quiet settled over them as they locked gazes once more. Astarion could see the mix of emotions in her eyes - confusion, pain, and yet a glimmer of hope. His other self didn't understand, but he did. He saw right through her.

She wanted him to ask for help, because that would mean he was ready to rejoin their group. She needed to help him. To redeem herself and close the wound he had opened a year ago.

He desperately yearned to do it, to return to his friends, to her. Instead, his body betrayed him and spoke on his behalf, "I assure you, Tav," he declared with stiffness in his voice, fighting to keep his emotions in check. "I am doing perfectly well without you."

Like hell you are!

Tav's face fell at his words, her eyes widening in shock and hurt. But before she could respond, Shadowheart spoke up again, her tone sharp and accusatory. "Oh yes, Astarion. You are the very definition of perfectly well." She directed a pointed look to the boy, who was sobering up and looking utterly confused, "You should go home," she said firmly.

The boy stumbled away, casting a final bewildered look at Astarion before disappearing into the darkness. Astarion watched the boy leave and turned his gaze back to Tav. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, but he couldn't explain or apologize, trapped as he was inside his own mistakes.

Tav hesitated for a moment before talking again

"Why didn't you return? We could have searched for a solution together."

Astarion's heart was heavy with the pain in Tav's voice. However, watching them together, watching how they had moved on without him, was stirring up a sick and ugly sensation within his chest. He could feel the longing consuming him, but his future self chose to focus only on the anger instead. Focus on the pride.

"Yeah, looks like you all missed me so much." Astarion quipped bitterly, glancing between Tav and Shadowheart.

Tav flinched like she had been hit. Astarion wanted to hit himself for it.

"Astarion, we didn't mean to hurt you, I-"

"That's not what it looks like. In fact, it seems like you both have moved on quite easily without me."

"Enough, Astarion," Shadowheart snapped, her patience clearly at its end. "Stop playing the victim. You disappeared without a word. What did you expect us to do? Wait for you forever?"

Yes. Maybe.

Tav's words were softer, her face etched with worry and regret. "You could have come to us... we would have helped you..."

Astarion scoffed. "Like hell you would." His tone was bitter, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes. "You were the reason I left in the first place. Your betrayal."

His body had expected to feel relief upon seeing them again... but all he felt now was an overwhelming sense of loss. The sight of Tav and Shadowheart together brought a reality crashing down on him – they had moved on and he was stuck in the past. In the same toxic cycle from his time with Cazador.

There was another tense silence between them as they stood there in the dark alleyway. Astarion could feel their gazes burning into him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes again.

Shadowheart spoke up again. "What are you going to do now?"

Astarion shrugged casually. "Who knows? Maybe I'll just find someone else who actually keeps their promises," he said with a tone of bitterness.

But that was far from the truth. He felt completely isolated and alone, with no one to turn to for comfort or support.

Tav glanced at him once more, her head shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," she said brokenly.

No, I'm the one who is sorry.

The need to reach out was overwhelming. But he could just watch in despair as his body decided to keep quiet, and observe as she silently turned around and left.

Shadowheart, however, stayed put, looking at him dead in the eye.

"I thought you'd come back for her, you know?"

I almost did, he told himself, I almost did, but I am a coward.

"You know, I thought you of all people would understand why I left. How could I stay after she ripped me off my only opportunity at freedom?" Astarion responded, finally meeting Shadowheart's gaze.

He expected anger, but was instead met with deep sorrow.

"When you left, something in Tav... it broke. She cried for you, night after night. For months, Astarion."

Of course, he knew. He had seen the scene at the Elfsong Tavern. However, this version of him hadn't.

He scoffed in an attempt to hide his pain, but Shadowheart continued relentlessly.

"She suffered so much because of your selfishness," Shadowheart said, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I had to pick up the pieces, Astarion. I had to convince her not to... not to lose herself."

Astarion felt a wave of guilt wash over him as Shadowheart's words hit him like a physical blow.

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say, his voice breaking with emotion.

Shadowheart's expression softened for a moment before hardening again. "Sorry doesn't fix what you've done. What you said," she replied, her tone biting.

"I know," he mumbled quietly, feeling the weight of his mistakes crashing down on him.

They stood there in silence for a few moments longer before Astarion spoke again. "She's hard not to fall in love with, isn't she?"

Shadowheart's eyes opened in surprise, and the softened slightly.

"Yes. Yes, she is," she replied under her breath.

Astarion shook his head.

"Is she happy?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Shadowheart sighed. "She’s getting there," she admitted quietly. "But she won’t be if you drag her back into your mess now."

And he knew what that meant. Let her go. She is happier without you.

Astarion hung his head, feeling a familiar pain bloom in his chest. He was quiet for a long moment before finally looking back up at Shadowheart.

"I won't," he promised, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

Shadowheart’s gaze bore into him for another moment before she nodded, and finally turned to leave.

"And Astarion?" she called over her shoulder, causing him to look up at her again.

"Hmm?"

"I hope you find your happiness too. You deserve it."

And with that, she walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Astarion watched as she sauntered towards Tav, who was standing a little ways off. He could barely make out the details of her face from where he was standing but even from the distance, he could tell she was beautiful – more beautiful than he remembered.

Shadowheart gently approached Tav, her hand resting on her arm before leaning in for a tender kiss. Astarion couldn't help but feel like an outsider, witnessing this intimate moment between the two. As he watched them, he noticed the way Tav gazed at Shadowheart with such adoration and love - the same way she used to look at him.

He watched their retreating figures until they disappeared into the night. And his heart threatened to break into smaller pieces at the thought that this had probably been their last conversation.

In a flash, Astarion was once again standing in the void, surrounded by darkness. He felt a sense of unease wash over him as he waited for G'axir's voice to come through again.

See now... Astarion? G'axir's voice echoed around him.

See what? All I see are stars. Astarion asked, feeling frustrated at the cryptic messages.

Amidst the shroud of remorse and longing... lies the opportunity to redefine. Hope's whisper still lingers... in a realm unseen.

Tag list: @tinystarfishgalaxy, @imaginarypetlizard, @nanamisfriedstick, @stuckinaoaktree, @madislayyy, @cosywinterevenings, @fandom-garbage, @generalstephkenobi

a/n: I kind of hate G'axir. If I was Astarion I would be throwing hands, ngl. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the last angsty chapter! Thanks for the support! And lmk if you want to be added to the taglist☺️✨

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#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #astarion x you

[purgatory-if]

demo (tba) | faq | masterpost (you are here.) | art cred @aykaypee

You’re in danger, and every fiber of you knows it.

You’re sure, by now, that no matter what you do you won’t be able to stop it. Maybe that’s a good thing.

...This is the end.

You wish you had something that would remember you.

... YOUR life is a mystery to you when you wake up in the sunny fields of Purgatory. Apparently death isn't supposed to be a full memory wipe to the soul, but that's no problem, right? There's usually some sort of record kept of this kind of thing. If not for special cases like yours, then at the very least for organizational purposes. You're told all of that, assured that nothing is wrong and that this jsut 'happens' sometimes up until the moment they look for yur death and find nothing to speak of. Nothing of your life, either, just to make a bad time even worse.

Without knowing anything like this, it's safe to say that it'll be impossible to pass on. The underworld isn't built for fringe cases like you and even if it was, not even knowing who you were is disconcerting at best and cause for crisis at worst.

So alright. It shouldn't be too hard to find out how one person died, right? Detectives and story characters do it all the time- and now you have all the time in the world.

You should, anyways.

... FEATURES include:

play as a seriously unlucky pc whose cause of death depends on which route you decide to pursue

be whoever you want to be! standard for ifs nowadays; things such as pronouns, general appearance, personality all that jazz

8 romance options (mostly fem/non-binary, 1 option you can choose the gender of) and the ability to play as aro and/or ace

at least 4 poly romance routes!

love me some good vanity stats! vanity stats

get recruited (read: forced) into a 9-5 where time isn't real

beat up time

really symbolic mythology! i could write a goddamn essay on these fuckers

... PURGATORY is recommended for players over the age of 15, though I’m not going to police what you do on the internet. The game will contain major character death and death of all kinds, what is probably sacrilege, memory loss, fantasy violence, potentially sexually suggestive scenes and dialogue (hi ama.), morally dubious behaviour, and more. In-depth content warnings for each chapter and specific routes will be released at a later date.

... 'MAIN' CHARACTERS

THE DIVINE.

Angel (prns selectable) / Witty, charismatic, more than a little bloodthirsty, there's a certain volatility about someone who is Fate embodied. While they take their time on the many, many field missions necessary for stability in the multiverse or whatever very seriously, they'll put their restless passion into anything if it catches their eye for long enough.

Achlys (they/them) / Death itself, stoic and sharp and more than a little intimidating, it's hard not to let their mere presence get under your skin. While it would be nice to say that's not an intentional effect, the only unintentional thing about them is the fact that they're down here, of all places. They seem to be making the best of it.

Esme (they/them) / An angel in what is certainly an analogy for hell, classic, isn't it? They're little more than a shambling mess in a skirt if we're being honest, oh so scared of any shadow that moves in the corner of their vision. They truly do wear their heart on their sleeve, which seems to be an invitation for some to try and stop its frantic beat.

Amaterasu (she/they) / Don't let her meet your parents, is the only advice I'd give, because she'd be gunning for at least a threesome by the time starters are served. Unflinchingly forward and seductive, they're horribly charming in the most impermanant of ways. There's nothing she'll shy away from trying sooner or later, it seems, in or out of the bedroom.

THE MORTALS.

Viviana Alatorre (she/her) / Businesslike. Some people really don't change when they die, and going to this office just means you see the sun less on your coimmute. She doesn't appear to be dead, or alive, something in the middle. Out of everyone here, she's probably the most terrifying. Even more than the death god, probably because she's actively working towards terror.

Ailbhe Kahinu (she/it) / There's nothing that troubles Ailbhe, and it wouldn't be concerning if she was... y'know, dead. In the face of certain terror, it faces things with a shrug and a sigh. At least she's good-natured about this whole thing, being dragged down here by both her girlfriend (Vivi) and her sister (Rahley). The prices here are better than aboveground, anyways.

Rahley Kahinu (she/her) / Rahley's been compared to a robot more than one time, and while the comparison probably wasn't in good faith that doesn't mean it was necessarily wrong. She's intensely focused on her work, and her skill in that department seems to have drained her ability in things like basic conversation and empathy. So it goes.

M Blankenship (prns selectable) / Previously called 'Hit 'N Run' in the world of roller derby, the violent nickname seems odd on someone as cheerful as M. They act as a sort of tour guide for souls entering the Underworld proper instead of hanging around Purgatory, and it's hard to say their easy extroversion makes them anything worse than great at their job.

THE CONSTANTS.

Stratos C. Lusse (he/him) / The eternal guide to Purgatory for souls lost, souls found and all who are inbetween. He seems to have been here the longest--minus all of the deities, of course.

Octavia Hardin (she/her) / The part-time guide to Purgatory. She seems more likely to throw your soul into damnation if you cross her or anybody she cares about. Stay on her good side!

Salem Astor (she/her) / She would be a romance option if I had the energy to code in a shop feature. But I don't. So she runs free through the city.

Abbadon (prns selectable) / Personification of the past. If anyone can help you figure out what the hell happened to you, then they should be the one to go to. Sometime in the next 5 centuries would be ideal.

Maliel (prns selectable) / Personification of the future. Again, probably someone who can find out in a second what you'll know when you figure out this mystery, if you're able to find them at a good time. The woes of being a primordial deity.

...and more! Probably. Co-workers, pirates, other deities but this is running long.

#if: intro #interactive fiction #if game #if wip #choice of games #interactive game #twine game #twine if #interactive novel #twine wip #purgatory if #masterpost

[catchingdaydreams]

Sleep paralysis demon Miguel - Part 2

Part 1

(not proof read)

It was little over a week until any forms of sleep paralysis was forced upon you. During then you had time to think of the whole ordeal. That 'grumpy shadow', you unofficially named him for now , didn't appear the following nights either. This led to your conclusion that he only showed up with one of your episodes. You weren't looking forward to them even more now. After the last encounter you have no clue how he would react to you. You did upset him for not acknowledging his menacing gaze. But it's not your fault that just continuously staring is awkward. Its human nature.

Besides the point you needed to come up with a plan. You have no clue what that shadow man is or what caused yourself to be haunted by him. If this was becoming a frequent thing then there needs to be a way you can communicate to him. Maybe you can fix whatever bad blood between us. Maybe you could tell him to leave?

You just hope you won't provoke him....

...But that wouldn't be half enjoyable.

As the nighttime was looming over, you hopped into bed. It took you a while for your body to feel at ease but eventually you were falling to what appeared to be your slumber. But coldness of the room etched within the sheets sending in goes bumps. You tried to bury yourself further within the covers but your body was completely frozen. You signed irritatedly about your discomfort with the temperature. While tossing and turning before, much of your left leg and chest was exposed to the cold air. Every passing minute seemed to feel colder and colder. This wasn't normal, the coldness increased to the point that you could see your breath. Something supernatural was a play and you had a good guess who.

But he didn't show himself, not right away though. Miguel had bigger plans this time. It wasn't just hunger anymore. He was determined to make you fear him.

The coldness that etched into your room spewed an icy mist that made you sight hazy and dulled the rest of your senses. You tried not to panic. You really did. However, subconsciously fear had stricken you as the room grew darker and darker. The only sense that remained was your hearing. But that wasnt reliable as all you could hear was your heartbeat thumped louder and louder in your head. The only warmth that lingered was your body sweating bullets as a million thoughts were running through your mind.

Why was this time so different? Is it even the same entity doing this? Oh god, what if whatever this thing is trying to hurt you?

The last thought terrified you. Especially how exposed you felt when half your body wasn't under the sheets. Your paranoia sparked nasty ideas of something grabbing your feet and dragging you down. You thought that this terror might break your stillness, trying to move your body once more, though proved fruitfulness. You huffed at this mental strain over a flight response. Your sense we're being tested. Played like a fiddle while you were so helpless.

During your internal dilemma, you didn't notice the tapping above you. Walls groaning and creaking until it grew into a banging, vibrating the walls so violently that it shook the picture frames above.

Your mind was cleared from thought when the banging boomed above your head. You rolled your eyes up to witness who was doing it but from the angle you couldn't see anything.

What you did see was a flicker in the corner of your eye. On for a second flashed red. You blinked, focusing your vision in front of you.

There he was. Hunched over you on the bed. Almost as if he was pinning you down. What you didn't notice was that you didn't feel any weight of his body pressed onto you. You didn't know he was simply a shadow. But it's not like you knew nor cared at the moment. You were too preoccupied with how this fucken man was above you, given you looks that would kill.

You didn't know how you could be even more frozen in fear. His face was just an arms length of yours. His red glowing gaze still obscured his shadowed face, yet with being in closer proximity you could make out a scow. He took notice of moving away from his gaze to the rest of his face. He smirks, flashing his bright white fangs at you.

Miguel has been having dinner and a show with you. This time he made sure your fear persisted during his feeding. His little tricks seemed to do the work. And he certainly got a kick out of you not being a little arrogant bitch this time around when you saw him again.

Even now as he grins wildly your fear keeps growing. He thinks that you're scared of his teeth, which came up with an idea.

He leans closer to you, his mouth opens wide as he growls deeply. He aims at your throat. While he couldn't actually touch you, you didn't know that he wasn't gonna rip your voice box out. He could see your pupils dilate as a small scream emits from your closed lips. Its was almost too comical to Miguel, he grins, trying to keep in character and not laugh at you.

He might as well be drunk on your fear right now from how much you were emitting. His breath glazed over your clammy skin as he could hear how fast your heart was bumping.

Moving closer, he paused

He Noticed something above you. Miguel found your little letter that was taped on the wall above you. Glancing over it, he saw it was a message to him.

Hey shadow man, can you please stop being a creep leave me alone. I'm not into being watched by a prevy rando.

Okey thanks

It pissed him off.

Arrogant little bitch, he thought Who the hell thing they are? You were going to-

*Slap*

"Creep!!!" You cried

"Ow-fuck!!!" Miguel curses with a snarl, fangs blaring in offence. He rubs his face to ease the sting.

'She...slapped me?' He couldn't believe it.

'I slapped him' You couldn't believe it.

You both stared at each other, completely dumbfounded. It took you a few seconds to release that 'oh hey you can move now' and 'get the fuck out of here instincts' kicked in.

And get the fuck out of here you did.

With one swift motion you kicked him in the gut, causing him to fall back in surprise. Finally with him off you, this was your chance. You rummaged the sheets off and ran straight out of the room.

All the while Miguel was left on the bed to collect himself.

What the hell was going on?

#miguel spiderman #miguel fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #writers on tumblr #demon fic #demon man #demon summoning #sleep paralysis #sp #miguel o'hara spider man #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n

[jedipoodoo]

Jump Then Fall (Sergeant Hunter x GN!Reader)

Notes/Warnings: Character almost-death, fear of heights, canon-typical firefight. Injuries, stitches, first aid treatment. Hunter is a Dad™. Hunter gets the chance to use his grappling hook.

I'M BACK BISHES

It was hard to watch your step while dodging blaster fire in the rickety, obsolete staircase of a skinny Coruscant high-rise. You dove around a corner to catch your breath as the lasers shot past your head. You shot a few more back in retaliation, and the Trandoshan pirates whose base you'd invaded shouted in indignation.

"Where are you?" Hunter demanded over the comms.

"Uh, I think my distraction worked...a little too well," You laughed nervously.

One of the pirates, with rectangular irises in his sharp red eyes, lunged at you, and you drew the knife Hunter had given you, slicing it wildly in defense. The pirate cried out and you saw red on the blade. Using his body to shield yourself from the blasters, you shoved him back towards his friends. They all stumbled back down the stairs, and you turned and ran.

You heard blaster fire over your earpiece, or maybe it was the blaster bolts that were being shot at you.

"What's your position?"

"I'm on the top level. Running out of stairs, and they're hot on my tail."

Hunter cursed over the comms.

"How many?"

"Too many to charge back through. Have you got the treasure, at least?"

"We've got it, sweetheart, but maybe tone it down next time?" Phee's suggestion made you flush.

"If there even is a next time," You muttered to yourself. You reached the door to the roof and closed it on the blaster fire. A few more shots from your own blaster flimsily promised to hold it shut, at least for a moment.

The wind blew past, making you shiver as you pulled your jacket tighter around your arms. A few steps brought you to the edge of the roof, where the side of the building disappeared between layers of traffic.

You could barely hear the pirates shouting obscenities beneath the noise of all the speeders, and you swallowed nervously. You were running out of time.

"We're headed your way!" Omega promised, but the scrapyard where you'd parked the Marauder was too far away.

"I'm gonna jump!" You blurted out. You looked down at your knife. It was crazy, and it wouldn't take you to the ground, but it was a durable blade, it had saved your life more than once thanks to Hunter's training. It might just be enough to help you slide down the side of the building to a lower floor, where the pirates weren't looking for you.

"What!? No!" Hunter screamed.

"It'll be okay! I know that I'm doing!" You envisioned your controlled fall in your mind and stood with your back to the edge of the building, gripping your knife in both hands.

The door burst open.

"There!" one of the pirates screeched. A blaster bolt hit you in the left shoulder.

You inhaled sharply, wondering why you couldn't feel the pain in your shoulder. Your arm went slack, and you stumbled backwards, still holding the knife in your uninjured hand.

"What's happening!?" Hunter's voice echoed in your ear as you began to fall. You couldn't form the words to reply as the windows flew past your field of vision.

You were falling. Blaster fire continued to rain around you, but somehow it didn't hit you. You had the knife in your hand, but you couldn't lift your arms to dig it into the wall to slow your fall.

Somewhere far away, you heard glass shattering, and the shadow of a guardian angel burst out of the side of the building, falling after you.

The angel drew closer, falling faster than you were. Hunter's face emerged from the shadow, his brows furrowed in determination above his dark eyes as he reached for you.

His arm wrapped around your waist, hoisting you tightly to hisbody

"Hang on!"

Your ears were flooded with sound, the air rushing past and Hunter's voice in your ear.

"I got you," He whispered. You wrapped your arm around his neck, squeezing your eyes closed as they began to water against the wind. And not a moment too soon, Hunter's body went taut, and suddenly you weren't falling anymore.

Hunter's grappling hook was secured to the floor he'd jumped from, and as the rope reached it's end, it swung you back towards the building, sending you both crashing through the window.

Hunter shielded you with his body as you rolled across the floor

"Gah!" Your wounded shoulder landed on a tiny shard of glass, agitating it further with a painful pricking sensation trickling up and down your arm as feeling returned to your limb.

"You alright?" Hunter asked, propping himself up on his hands and knees. He took his scarf and tied it around your shoulder to keep pressure on your wound.

"F-fine," You gasped as he tightened the knot around your shoulder.

Hunter placed both his hands on either side of your face, lifting your face so that he could kiss your forehead.

"Don't you dare scare me like that again, you understand?" Hunter shook you gently, all you could do was nod as the glass shattered around you.

A trickle of dark red bled out from beneath his bandana, and you hesitantly raised your fingers to examine the wound.

"You're... You're hurt," You murmured.

Hunter hung his head, and his hair fall in front of his face so that you couldn't see his expression, but you swore you could hear him chuckle.

"You just fell a thousand feet, and you're worried about me?"

"It wasn't a thousand..." You protested weakly.

"Sure, cyare," Hunter smiled in spite of himself and traced his thumb across your cheek. He looked up abruptly, glaring at the door of the room you'd crashed into. He yanked you up to your feet, pushing you behind him as the door burst open. Several more pirates, but notably less than the group that had been chasing you, charged in blasters blazing.

With a hand on your back, Hunter guided you behind a gaudy piece of furniture. The room you'd crashed into appeared to be a lavish living quarters. It looked exactly like you'd expect a greedy pirate's home to look like: ornate wood furniture covered in plush, elaborate draping and the softest carpet. One of those wookie pelt rugs could earn you a fortune in the Trandoshan black market.

The brylark desk held up under their fire, and Hunter made a few shots back at them. You were still uselessly holding your knife, dazed as to what to do.

"Tech, I'm not sure what floor we're on. lock onto my signal."

"You got your cyar'ika?" Wrecker asked, and you felt heat rising in your face at his teasing tone.

Hunter sighed and knocked his head against the wood. "Yes, Wrecker, they're here with me."

Hunter pulled you closer, his muscles and body tense as he prepared to run. You tried to get your feet beneath you, to bear some of your weight in an effort to help in your escape.

The Marauder swooped up to the window, ramp extended. Phee and the others were already on board, calling for you to hurry

Hunter hauled you to your feet, and one of the pirates tried to get the jump on you, digging a clawed hand into your injured shoulder.

Hunter was ready for them, though. He sunk his knife into the pirate's wrist, setting you free.

The pirate shrieked a reptilian cry of pain, and his compatriots tried to rush you in an effort to avenge him. Unwilling to let that happen, Hunter swept you up into his arms, sprinting towards the broken window. For a fleeting moment, you were soaring through the air, high above Coruscaunt traffic. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face in Hunter's shoulder.

Your moment of airbourne flight seemed to last forever and end too quickly all at the same time. You and Hunter tumbled head over heels yet again into the ship, and Hunter landed in a crouch with you cradled in his arms.

"Get us out of here, Brown Eyes!" Phee called. And just like that, you were safe.

The ship was quiet but for the heavy breathing on the heels of a collective adrenaline rush. Tech piloted the ship under Phee's directions while Hunter saw to your injuries.

"Hey, we actually got it," Wrecker said in disbelief, holding up the necklace you'd gotten from the Trandoshans. According to Phee, the pirate's captain, Rodak, extorted it from a family of Bothans in their attempts to flee the Seperatist invasion. They'd be overjoyed to have it back.

"Gotta admit, succeeding in these treasure hunts beats any wild brezak chase Cid ever sent us on," Hunter shook his head, his hair tied back to keep it out of his eyes while he cleaned each of the tiny cuts across your face and arms, making sure none of them still had glass in them.

His bandana made a sort of makeshift bandage for the cut on his head, and all the blood you could see was dried up, but you still worried about him. When you tried to lift your arm, even the uninjured one, it felt like you were trying to deadlight a starcruiser. So you stayed quiet for now.

Once your blaster wound was cleaned, it was time for stiches. Hunter settled on the bench behind you with the suture kit and you braced yourself.

"Here!" Omega sat on the bench next to you, holding out Lula, "Since you can't hold Hunter's hand for this one."

You laughed softly, taking Lula in your hands, tracing the tooka's ears between your fingers.

"You ready for this, Sweetheart?" Hunter massaged your upper arm to distract you (barely) from the sedative injection.

"Not really," You said.

"Well you seemed ready enough when you jumped off the top of a building," He muttered.

"Fell!" You insisted, "I was calculating the safest route down, and then I got shot and-"

Hunter pulled the first stitch through and you gasped, gritting your teeth against the pain. The sedatives you used now definitely weren't what they used to be during the war.

"Easy, cyare," He murmured. You bit your tongue and tried to breathe through the pain.

Omega stood by, watching with rapt attention that would have been creepy if it were anyone else. But Omega, you had learned, had been a medical assistant. And being a medical assistant meant that she knew much more about things like administering injections and securing stiches than the boys did. They may have taught her how to shoot a blaster and pilot the Marauder, but she was still teaching them basic first aid, and she was incredibly smug about it.

You heard Hunter grumbling under his breath as Omega scolded him for not making his knot tight enough. Phee was telling Wrecker the history of the necklace and the sizeable gem on the pendant, so you tried to pay attention to that rather than the throbbing in your shoulder.

Hunter's warm fingers traced the stiches to see if they'd hold, and then he placed a cool gel bacta pack on your shoulder, wrapping clean bandages around it to keep it in place, rather than just his scarf.

"Feel any better?" He asked.

You sighed, leaning back against his chest, "A little."

He had the audacity to smirk at you. "Would a kiss make it better?"

"Are you offering?"

Hunter pulled you closer, mindful of your injuries, and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Really?"

"What?"

"You know that's not where I-"

Hunter's lips gently brushed yours, not enough to really make you stop speaking, but enough to make the butterflies in your stomach get lodged in your throat.

"What was that for!?" You snapped, not sure if you were more angry with him, or with the heat that flushed your cheeks. Omega and Wrecker, used to this whole display by now, were laughing at your expense.

Hunter just shrugged. "I'm still mad at you," He said, lacking any venom in his voice.

"I'll be smarter about my distractions next time," You meekly promised, pressing your face against his shirt, as if that would wipe away the heat.

Hunter chuckled softly, pulling you closer as he placed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Still, seeing their reactions to being called a bunch of lily-livered bantha brains was pretty funny."

You smiled, chest swelling with pride.

"Can I please have a kiss now?" You begged.

Hunter chuckled softly, and cradled your chin in his hand, tilting it upward to meet his lips in a real kiss.

It was brief, but gentle. You kept your eyes closed for a moment longer, breathing in his presence as his forehead rested on yours.

Then is was your turn to give him a mischievous smile.

"Maybe I should fall for you more often."

Hunter sighed, and squeezed your hip.

"Don't even think about it."

#lizart writes #hunter #tbb hunter #the bad batch hunter #hunter x you #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #Hunter is a Dad™

[dragonnan]

Secret

May Prompts 2024

Full disclosure this is a completed story on AO3. However this fit the prompt perfectly and this is not a story that has seen much attention so double bonus! Haha!

May 12: "Secret"

It had all started in Dartmoor.

It had nearly been 2am by the time they'd finished up at the field and had staggered back to the hotel. Sherlock had left hours earlier so John had offered to remain behind with Greg while they had filled in the local constabulary; a greying man a year out from retirement along with his replacement-in-training. Well out of his jurisdiction, and glad of it, Greg had suggested a stop at the hotel bar before heading off to bed. John had been more than happy to erase the evening in alcohol and they'd ended up having several drinks before finally splitting off towards their respective rooms. The room he shared with Sherlock was dark when John wrestled his key into the lock and swung the door. Opting to spare his vision, he switched on only the bedside lamp – filling a corner of the room with a warm yellow glow. The bed was empty, of course. The bar had been empty of everyone save himself and Greg so it was anyone's guess as to where Sherlock had wandered off. No doubt burning off the events of the night in his own way, John didn't dwell on the other man's fluctuating mood – moving instead towards the loo... only to find the door locked.

“Sherlock?” A double rap of knuckles met only silence. “Sherlock, you alright? Open the door.”

“John?” The soft warble of his voice was enough to pump a shot of adrenaline through John's chest – alarm pushing him to rap the door a bit more firmly. “Sherlock, let me in.”

“John? What's wrong?” The voice came from behind him, this time; Greg rubbing at his forehead and looking about as knackered as John felt and far worse than he should be feeling after just two pints. Granted, it had been preceded by drugged mist, explosions, and giant dogs.

“It's Sherlock. Not sure what's going on,” he filled in softly. Greg, for his part, moved to rubbing his eyes.

“Well, aye, he's probably just paggered.”

An odd scramble followed Greg's comment. And then there was the sound of breaking glass.

“Shit,” setting his feet, John didn't hesitate in throwing his shoulder against the door – forcing it open onto another shadowed room. More scrambling followed – like something hard scraping against wood – and then Sherlock gave a short yelp and the shower curtain collapsed just as Greg blasted the room with the overhead light. John winced at the retina blinding afterimage – groaning as he pressed his palms against his eyes.

“Christ, ta for that...”

Eyes slow to adjust with the near blinding, it took John a moment to focus on the figure wrapped up in plastic. The curtain, with its pattern of small frogs in sailor hats, jutted up in a way suggesting something sharp was tenting it. Now fully in the tub, Sherlock had curled into himself as much as the limited space would allow.

“Please, don't... I'm fine.”

“Bollocks, you're fine,” John muttered; reaching for the curtain and pulling it aside...

Greg actually stumbled back – knocking something over that John couldn't be arsed to care about because his focus was completely on the figure huddled before him.

It was Sherlock... or... what looked like Sherlock. But...

“Good Christ, are those antlers?”

John shook his head, hard, with eyes squeezed tight. That fucking mist. No doubt still in their systems and an evening of drinking couldn't have helped matters. “Dammit, we're still hallucinating.”

An unexpectedly wild giggle burst from Lestrade. “Oh, ya think, do ya? Naw, I was thinking Sherlock literally turned into a bloody antelope!”

“Faun.” Both of them, now, looked back to Sherlock who still had antlers and, from the waist downward, a heavy layer of reddish brown fur, a scattering of dainty white spots, and...

“Hooves. He's got hooves.” John made that statement with the observation of someone of whom fate had delivered into madness. Of course he had hooves. He was half a deer, apparently.

Groaning, Greg staggered back towards the main room to drop into a chair. “Is it normal for a drug to last this long? I mean, I've done a fair bit of reading on the effects of stuff like cocaine and marijuana and even methamphetamines but this just seems...”

“Potent...” John offered – still transfixed by the absolute realness of the fantastical nature of Sherlock's form; as well as the fact that, aside from the rapidly fading buzz of alcohol, he didn't feel the least bit high. That said, the drug they'd been exposed to was completely unknown and it occurred to him that all three of them should have headed straight for the nearest hospital to be placed under observation.

“John, you are not hallucinating.” Sherlock had finally managed to tear the curtain free from his – well his... yeah. He remained crouched in the tub, however; his hooves... feet... slipping on the smooth porcelain.

It was then that John noticed the streak of blood on the rim of the tub.

“Damn, you're bleeding.” Pushing away all thoughts of deer people, John stepped forward to grasp Sherlock's upper arm – preparatory to helping him from the tub. This close he could feel the tremble running through Sherlock's body. He felt nearly hot to the touch and John cursed again at the realization Sherlock had been alone and sick while he'd been off making an evening of it. “Come on. Let's get you lying down so I can take a look at that injury.”

He refused to acknowledge the sensation of soft fur brushing against him as he helped Sherlock to stand. Between them, they managed to get Sherlock to the other room – Greg moving forward to help when the two of them emerged from the bathroom. Soon Sherlock was stretched out on the bed and John was examining the three inch gash across his right forearm.

“I cut it on the mirror when it broke.” His voice had resumed shaking – his whole body consumed with tremors.

“Yeah, well, its gonna need stitches. My kit is in the back of the car. Greg, do you mind?”

Grunting his reply, eyes still a bit dazed, Greg went to collect the bag while John gave the rest of Sherlock's body a scan for other injuries. Of course, this also forced him to confront the... less than human aspects.

“It's not real.” And maybe if he said that enough it would be true.

“I assure you it is. And had I the ability I would have changed back in order to avoid all of this. You weren't... humans are not meant to know of us...”

Cold bathed down from the crown of John's head to pour into his belly. “No. Nope. This is the side effect of a very powerful drug! Nothing more!”

“Do I look like a hallucination, John!” Sherlock roared – pushing himself to stand just as Greg returned from the car.

“Hell’s bloody bells...” Greg breathed.

Both men stood frozen as sobriety finally asserted that what they were seeing was actually, terrifyingly, real. And then Sherlock jerked, spun towards the nearest bin, and vomited.

An hour later, Sherlock sat, huddled and miserable, beneath the comforter while John and Greg finished up cleaning the bathroom of broken glass, scattered toiletries, and the torn remnants of Sherlock's clothes. Compartmentalizing had gotten them both this far but now, with no other activities to distract them, they were forced to confront the reality in the other room.

John could admit that he felt... well, terrified... Not of Sherlock, specifically but more... as though he had had the floor drop away – revealing a black and endless depth. It was apt that he felt he couldn't find his footing. Sherlock, for his part, had been very quiet during this time. Now, though, he sighed.

“Mycroft tried to warn me this would happen – eventually.”

John swallowed. Of course, Mycroft. He was one of these... these beings... as well. How many were there, then? Seeing the question on his face, Sherlock answered.

“There are more of us than you would think. As you can understand, however, it has been crucial to our safety that we remain hidden. If it weren't for what happened, yesterday, you would never have known about me.”

Trying, very hard, to get past the gut twisting wrongness, John moved to the chair directly opposite of the bed. Greg, for his part, still stood near the door. “You mean the mist?”

Sherlock shook his head; his antlers catching the soft light. “It's a reaction to coming face to face with a predator to our kind.”

John frowned. “Do you mean... the dog? I don't understand. I've seen you interacting with dogs, even patting then, dozens of times. Why would this...?”

“It wasn't a dog,” Sherlock swallowed, “It was a werewolf.”

Desperately putting the fur, antlers, and bloody hooves out of his mind, John scrambled for normalcy in the best way he knew how. By arguing.

“No... no I saw it. It was a dog. You said it was a dog.”

“Yes – I said it was a dog. But what did you see before I said that?”

He wasn't quite ready to accept that his flatmate was hooved much less that fairy tale monsters roamed the moors. But then the other part, of what Sherlock said, registered in his mind.

“Hold up – what do you mean by 'before you said that'?”

And here, Sherlock looked down, fingers pulling at the duvet. “I... our kind... we have the ability to alter perception. Not much – less so the younger we are – but enough to make you see a dog instead of a werewolf simply by speaking an absolute imbued with Power. It helps that you already expected to see a dog.” Here he looked up through his lashes. “Did you truly believe any drug would give everyone the exact same hallucination?”

John, though, still wasn't ready for all of... that. “That dog had an owner. Two owners – they admitted to creating this entire legend. Are you saying they had a werewolf and didn't know about it?”

“They knew exactly what they had. They thrive on trickery and no doubt were ecstatic over the chaos they caused.”

“So how did two, uh, humans end up in possession with that... that... that creature?”

Sherlock's eyes squinted shut. “They weren't human. They were satyrs. Similar to faun in appearance but far more powerful. They, too, can speak words of Power but unlike faun they can cloak their true nature from all creatures – including my kind. I didn't realize what they were until a short time ago.”

Hunched over his knees, John braced his hands on his thighs and breathed.

Finally giving in to the madness, Greg walked to the other chair where he dropped down with all the exhaustion of a man who hadn't slept for two days. Both hands scrubbed over his eyes. “So, what, you just speak one of these power words and we go back to seeing you as a human?”

Sherlock's lips pulled back, briefly, and John caught a glimpse of sharp canines. “No. At least not for a long duration given my form would merely be hidden from sight. The actual nature of my true body would still leave traces behind. As it is, faun are required to alter their shape in a manner which allows for full integration with humanity. It is, rather, a more physical process. And a painful one.”

At John's tipped head, Sherlock wrapped his arms about himself. “I can transform my shape. Well, once the adrenaline surge wanes enough to allow for it. It is not pleasant, however.”

“Does this happen a lot? Whenever you encounter a... well... a, ah, werewolf?”

Sherlock leaned back against the headboard – antlers tapping the wall. “Fortunately they are quite rare, nowadays. This is the first werewolf I've ever encountered. The last known sighting was more than sixty years ago.” Then, stretching, Sherlock swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Now, if you don't mind, I need some privacy.”

It wasn't until he was back out in the hallway that John realized he'd just been kicked out of his own room.

Greg offered a pitying look. “I've a roll away in the closet if you want.”

John was about to accept when both of them startled at the sudden groan from the other side of the door. This was followed by what John could only imagine as the spongy snap of wet bone – immediately followed by a muffled scream.

“Jesus-” Without thought on the matter he immediately threw open the door and rushed back inside... to find Sherlock nude, soaked, and fully human, collapsed in a heap next to the bed.

Read the rest of the story on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @sgam76 @helloliriels @sevdrag

#sherlock #may prompts 2024 #secret #fanfic #please let me know if you don't want to be tagged!

[tremendum]

twin suns ; your shadow at morning

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part three of the Twin Suns series  ;  prologue  ;  part i ; part ii

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc) rating: eventually explicit in future chapters. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)  

warnings: canon-typical violence, themes of hunting/being hunted, fear, a brief mention of vomit twice, pretty bad injuries and descriptions of reader's blood/injury,, temporary blindness still, mean!Mando, lots of sand description like anakin would h8 this, slightly possessive themes

synopsis:  “the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing. 'good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation.'” 

word count: 4.7k. 

notes: hii :) silly how i haven't posted in months??? sorry ive been away, just having a hard time rn. but here's part 3, it's still going a bit slow because i love a good slow burn but we're getting to some yummy parts in the next few chapters ;) lmk if ive missed ur tag, i lost my taglist.

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for what may be the first time in years, you don't wake up with a start.

this visit to consciousness is pulled rather slowly from a lone yearning sensation. you're not sure what it is - or if it's even real - a feeling deep in the corner of your brain that urges something along the lines of wake up! wake up! 

and when your brain finally starts to stir, it's with a heaving breath of pain from deep within you, as if someone had taken the spongy material and hurled it against the dartboard of a cantina.

your face twitches against something gritty. oh- there's kriffing sand in your teeth. on your tongue.

it feels heavy, dusty. wake up! 

your eyes open slowly as you let out an exhale into the rusty ground. 

they slide open like dry, grating sandpaper against your tired irises, but to your shock, you're met with nothing - nothing changes, besides a shift from black to mauve. 

in a moment of sheer panic, your head reels upwards from the sand and, despite the screams of protest within your throat, you twist your head around.

wait- wait! you can make out a bit of light. there's... two faint dots in your vision, faint and searing at the same time. 

twin suns. 

you resist the urge to scream or gasp in fear - yet the burning sensation from holding back both still evokes your body to twist slightly from your stomach to your side. it is mere seconds before you are expelling all the remnants of fear and confusion and rage from your stomach to splay across the small mountain ranges of eroded sand carved by wind. 

the ringing in your ears ebb when you can finally make out a squeal, a cry - something between the two - less out of pain or horror, but of concern.

green comes into your mind, for whatever reason - then shortly and likely consequently, the faint realization that you cannot fucking see a thing. 

oh. oh. 

the suns. the miserably lonely nights. stale wind whistling through empty valley corridors. a lonely girl in an abandoned apartment ripped open by the forces of galactic war years ago; blaster at your hip, blades on your thigh. 

unfriendly company. a vision of your own face plastered on a holo just to the side of a Neerok table. 

that strange metal hunter and his little green accomplice. a tickle of excitement in the shadow that followed you for weeks. a cat and mouse game. 

happy hunting, Mando. 

a lasso. the headscarf wrapped around a small baby. the carbonite chamber. 

maker's mother - Maracavanya. 

they'd shot you back down into Tattoine's dunes. 

oh Gods, you're wrecked, with the hunter, back on Tattoine. 

perhaps your eyes roll back into your head as you slump back - no way to know for sure - a gasp of pain from the left side of your skull. you weakly pull a hand to your brow and it's vaguely warm, wet, sticky when it pulls back. oh. 

you wince, your nostrils flaring as you pick up the thick smell of smoke and sharp jetfuel burning. 

kriff, those suns are searing behind your unseeing eyes, your legs are still pins and needles, you're- oh, your face is throbbing dully with the numbing agent. maybe carbonite wasn't the worst thing to happen to you in the last thirty minutes. 

your hands grasp at the ground, handfuls of sand which slip right through your dry fingers as you keel over again, expelling nothing but bile and then after a few moments nothing but choked, burning air that you fight to suck in and out of your lungs. your head doesn't feel right; be it the blindness or the crash? 

the bounty hunter calls your name from far away, as your ears buzz - but the grip you have with your right hand sends a shooting agony through your entire being and a yell of pain ripples through the air. 

crying, after that - the baby. you startled him with your roar of pain. fear strikes you - is he okay? he wasn't strapped in when you crashed, was he? you can't remember.

leathered hands wrap around your chest and for a split, childish moment, your arms twitch; almost as if you were about to grab him back. but it's not an embrace, you chastise your foolish, betraying mind.

the Mandalorian wraps something around you, a rope. around your waist again. 

it clicks in your head, fuzzy from the crash. how'd you even get out of the ship? 

"wh-" you croak, unable to form words as you grapple with your mind for something to ground yourself. "are we back on Tattoine?" you ask, voice much too meek; the blistering heat sure feels like Tattooine. silence, besides a grunt of his own pain from the man who tugs you up onto staggering legs, leading you up through what you imagine is the hull and past the thick burn of smoke that cause you to cough so deep your body starts to sway.  

his hands are sturdy and unforgiving on your upper arm until you're guided to what feels like a cot, a severe absence of light causing your mind to panic, heart beating wildly at the sudden loss of sensory cues. it's all black, now.  

"is..." you sound so unlike yourself it almost knocks you off your feet. "is the child okay?" you ask, throat burning. it's silent for a moment too long and fear strikes down on your heart, assuming the worst.

"yes." the Mandalorian finally confirms. you let out a shaky sight of relief, nodding as your body is then pushed until you sit on weak legs. "if you're going to pass out, try to stay upright." the voice says, unforgiving. 

his footsteps are heavy as he stalks away, your lips screaming silently for water.

a hesitation in the footsteps has your heart thundering in fear, your arms swallowing yourself until you're curled in on your chest. you're too weak to try and protect yourself from him.

the gaze you've come to know is burning though your unseeing eyes; you can almost see that glint of the helmet in your mind. he says nothing, just stares.

you wish he would just leave.

the quiet is so absorbent, it hurts your numb mind. the baritone breaks the silence, again. 

"-and if you're going to throw up again, do it on the durasteel." 

you're not sure how long you sleep for. 

when you wake, you're on your side, slumped against the side of the cot; your neck creaks as you slowly stir upwards, eyes cracking open slowly. 

a peek of light creaks in through the hull as you groan, eyebrows furrowing as far as they can. you're puffy, you can feel it. your brow and temple are swelled and likely bruised. looking down out of habit, you can tell that the aching, searing pain in your hand has only worsened - the numbness of the carbonite chamber wearing down too soon.

you're fucked when it's completely gone, realizing now that not only do you likely have a broken hand and several broken ribs, but that your brow bone is surely chipped, your brain bruised from knocking too much against your skull, and you're right and proper screwed. 

there's a gash on your thigh that has since stopped bleeding, but you're sure if it's not dressed and attended within forty eight hours, you'll succumb to the sand mites that infest the plains outside. you're too busy assessing your injuries to realize it; when you do, you let out a sharp screech, shaking your head as your hands fly up towards your cheeks. 

you can see again - sort of.

light sources peek out at you through a blanket of thick fog. 

it's as if you'd taken semi-translucent paint and slathered it over your retinas - especially in the low light, it's hard to catch anything besides a faint glint and the outline of metallic shapes in the hull. still, it fills you with some sort of giddy elation; perhaps spurred on by your head trauma and the sheer shock of the events, you huff a short laugh to yourself. your fingers on your good hand wiggle slightly, you can see the motion as you wave up at yourself. 

maybe this isn't a permanent blindness, then. 

but a twitch from your bad hand has you gasping in sheer pain, biting down on your lip to keep quiet in fear of stirring the Mandalorian from whatever corner of the ship he lurks in. your stomach flips at the fleeting thought that he could have been there, watching you this whole time in the darker shadows of your sight - and you'd have had no clue. 

your moment of joy is over when reality washes over your entire body: you're stuck with the Mandalorian with a severe disadvantage: sure, his ship is wrecked, but you have impairing injuries and little to no sight. 

he's likely injured, too, but not enough so that he's unable to use a hand - or his brain- like you.

you deftly get to work, your movements like a well oiled machine after months of repairing yourself on your own. you can't shake the creeping fear that the Mandalorian is watching you; you swear a movement from the corner of your limited sight moves and you nearly jump out of your skin. 

if he's there, he doesn't move a muscle as you slowly start to tear at the material of your tunic, ripping the bottom hem until there's one long strip. biting down on your lip, you apply pressure to the points in your hand that you're sure are broken, knowing the better wrapped it is, the better it will be for you.

the hardest thing you can find on the floor near you to bite down on is shoved between your teeth as you swiftly start to push your fingers back, aligning knuckles that'd been sprouting from your hand like gnarled tree branches. 

you groan out anyways - muffled, yes, but only by the long, cool, durable object between your teeth as your head falls against the wall in pain. 

fuck. 

as you assess your wounds in the dark, trying futilely to wipe the blind fog from your eyes, the thoughts swirl around your mind. 

doubt creeps into your head from the cracks in your resolve; because you're not a fool. there's no true way that you could warble your bottom lip a bit, blindly insisting that you were innocent, and the Mandalorian would just fold when faced with an entire ship of pirates who were willing to pay him his entire weight in credits for you. there's no way you were that good. 

so what was it that'd snapped in that emotionless helmet of his that prompted the escape attempt?

the money? the Maracavanya clan is not nearly as trustworthy as whoever casted a puck to the bounty guild for you; he has to feed himself and the child, maybe he really is strapped for cash. sure, the beskar goes for a very pretty pence or two nearly anywhere in the galaxy, but you're also fairly sure there's something very sacrilegious about a Mandalorian selling his own armor. 

so you're the means to an end - not the first time, and probably not the last, given that you somehow escape the Mandalorian's grasp alive.

there's no way, as a rational person, that you can realistically imagine beating the Mandalorian in combat in your current state. he'd throw you down to the sand within seconds; you can try to outsmart him, considering you've been evading him for weeks up until this point, but it will be much more difficult to do so in the middle of the desert plains with such injuries. 

you're fucked. 

and you realize, as you dap away at the wound on your head with a strip of cloth, that if it's the child's mouth you're indirectly feeding by being turned in, then that's an externality you aren't terribly furious about... but the Hunter, on the other hand...

you're feeling less dizzy as you finish doctoring yourself in the dark of your blindness, but the numbing agent is surely wearing off; aches and stings and gasps tear from you as the minutes wear on. you're too weak to stand. water and food would go miles for you right now- maker, if you could just- 

you shift accidentally and a searing pain rips a tearing yelp from your raw throat. the object you'd shoved between your teeth falls with a cland onto the durasteel floors.

your hand flies to stabilize yourself on the object you'd let fall - a vibroblade, the hilt wrapped in a sharply oiled leather and blade serrated; oh. 

at least you'd had the wherewithal to stick the hilt side of the blade between your teeth. thanking your lucky stars, you quickly move to sheath the blade in the waistband of your pants. you'd felt less than whole ever since the Mandalorian had taken your blades; you'd only ever carried a small blaster.

you wonder where he'd discarded them absently - clearly, he was not one to waste a weapon, had he taken yours and added them to his arsenal? a trophy, for one more notch on his ammo-belt? bitterness floods your mouth as your lips shape into a scowl - in a world full of blaster pistols and rifles, you'd preferred a more agile melee skillset when training. it wasn't well equipped for the rolling and harsh isolation of the sandy wilderness; arid and desolate just as the people you've met here. it was much more suited for where you grew up, and maybe you were too.  

nonetheless, this vibroblade feels like coming home and your heart cools as you feel the cold of the blade against your spine. 

"don't." 

you jump out of your skin in shock, hand instinctively flipping the blade until it's concealed up your forearm, the hilt upside down against your palm. 

you resist a growl of irritation at his slinkiness; when did the Mandalorian show up? you crane your neck upwards towards where you'd heard the word, your jaw tightening. "do you have any other words in your vocabulary?" you snap. you feel as though you've said this before.

"give me the blade."

he's not asking- he seems like the kind of man who's never had to ask for anything in his life. you roll your eyes out of habit, shaking your head. 

what are you going to do, anyways? swipe blindly towards a man covered head to toe in impenetrable metal? you have a decent grasp on up and down purely based on gravitational pull. in a moment, you consider spitting, like you were taught to do in the rumbling avalanches of the cold season back home to orient yourself, just to spite him - you bite your tongue in fear of losing a hand lest your spit graces the Mandalorian's sacred armor. 

a moment of panic sends you into a desperate lurch to plead with the Mandalorian. "I don't have a weapon," you insist, "if I could just-"

roughly, his gloved hand pries the blade from your grasp with a harsh tug. "what makes you assume you deserve a weapon? you're my prisoner. just because I didn't freeze you doesn't mean any different."  

his words are final; besides, you're reeling through pain on most surfaces of your body and many spots internally; there was no chance for you to put up a fight, so you drop it.

for a moment you expect him to whirl around and disappear from your faint field of vision - but there's a faint motion; a shine above your eyeline and then too soon, a click. 

kriff. 

you don't have to see to know the click of a safety when you hear one. 

"I'll only ask one more time." the Mandalorian's slow, cold voice crackles through the static of his modulator. "who else is after you?"

you can tell this is not turning out to be the bounty capture he'd anticipated - you feel half triumphant but half regretful. 

upon first instinct, your mouth creaks open to spew some half-planned lie, but knowing better, you just grit out, "why were you after me?" 

he's a statue of a shadow in your faint sight - body large enough to cover most of the cot's lights as he towers over you, staring down the barrel. "what else aren't you telling me?" he asks, voice crackling with danger and frustration. 

defiantly - as if you aren't incapacitated in his broken ship, barely able to breathe without yelping in pain - you sneer back at him. "why do you care?" 

"I'm trying to make sure I don't get shot out of orbit again." he snaps, hips moving as he shifts, blaster still pointed at your forehead. "there are far worse people in the galaxy that could have gotten to you."

who is he to tell you that? he tried to freeze you in carbonite. you can't help as your brows furrow in skepticism, "well, forgive me if I don't take your word for it." your voice drips in sarcasm. 

he shifts, starting to rustle with some blaster pistol on the side table, finally moving his weapon away from you. "you should've told me about the others. I could've prepared better."

a bitter, ironic laugh tumbles from your raw throat, "oh, and what? you would've graciously shared your bounty with me?" you mock, rolling your eyes. his grandiose attitude is grating deep into your nerves. 

the Mandalorian's voice is firm. "I protect my assets. it ensures you're alive to give me what I need." 

your veins light as you hiss, furious: "I'm not some object you can just take!" you snap. you're aching, furious.

you're sick of people in this galaxy stepping their boots over your spine and trading you around. 

"if you're so sure you're not, why do I have this?" he retorts, sarcasm slipping through his mask. 

he tosses a small object just to your side onto the cot and the mere shape of it makes your mouth sour. you don't need to see it to know what it is.

your puck. 

you exhale harshly, feeling angry, cold, in pain, and miserably alone in the universe. once again proved wrong in your short string of optimism of the good in people, you deflate.

"I'm not someone you can deceive. I took this job because it's my Creed, not for personal gain." he adds after your silence.

the tension in the room is palpable - you feel as though you could pass out in any moment, and Maracavanya, the Mandalorian, your old partner... a cell, guards with vibro-clubs,  galactic court - all of it beats down on you, striking freezing fear into your heart.

it is perhaps through this fleeting weakness that you allow yourself a small whisper to him, "you don't understand what's at stake for me." 

"you're right." he says.

he walks away silently, but you can tell he's gone. the words he doesn't say linger still, cold and lonely and harsh in his wake. you close your eyes, knowing only rest could help you heal now - but the unspoken words of the cold man haunt you waking and asleep. 

you're right, I don't understand - and I don't care.

he arrives just as quietly as he did the first time. 

your sight is coming in slowly - it's been hours, likely, of you lying still in the rock-hard cot, staring at the nothingness, willing the sparse bacta spray and ointments you'd kept saved on your person to kick in and relieve you. 

he says your name. 

it startles you. 

you don't dare respond, not nearly bothering to rise and welcome your captor into your (his, your mind reminds you) quarters. he comes in anyways, walking with a stiff, uncomfortable swoop. 

"we have a follower." he states, leaving you to pull up your brows, sitting slowly. your shock must be evident on your face. a sleeve falls over your shoulder as you sniff, "we?" you mock.

he doesn't take the bait, as always; turning on his heels, the man stalks out of the cot, down towards where rusty, hot wind blows sand over the dilapidated entrance to his ship. he must've just returned.

the entrance to the ship had taken just as bad a beating as you; more than once in your miserable moments of recovery you'd wished quite bitterly that the Mandalorian had considered upgrading his ship with the same precious metal shell he wrapped his nearly-unscathed self in.

you have to scramble to follow him, squinting as if it will help your impaired vision. a dark wall of metal moves just out of your field of vision, and you chase it. "where have you been?" you ask then, not nearly as concerned by his first sentence as you are with his sudden arrival. 

when you'd woken, you'd crept out of the small cot, feeling with your hands on the walls to keep you upright and trying to avoid your hips from encountering a spare corner. it was then, with feelings of both relief and anxiety, that you determined he wasn't anywhere on the ship, and neither was the Child. 

"in town." he sounds impatient, urgent. "w-" 

you're shocked. "-you left me alone?" you ask, incredulous as your brows raise. the shine of his beskar can just barely be made out through your blindness. you nearly laugh - at his stupidity, or of the irony that you had your chance to escape and slept through it. 

"the Crest locks from the inside." he retorts. your brows furrow, "what?" 

"when I tell it to, it locks it from the inside." it's clipped, his voiced laced with irritation and a hint of condescension. your blood boils, but he has no time for your mocking tone. 

"listen." he utters, voice closer than you expect - instinctively, you jerk back, widening the space between Mando's helmet and your face. "I was in town buying parts. a man followed me back here - about a click away. saw him in the cantina a while ago, and again at the market the other day. he's been following me, so I led him here. you are to stay on the ship." 

it's the most words you've ever heard from him - if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was doing this to protect you. bitter fear curls into you as your brows furrow under your scarf, twinging in a bit of pain from your healing injuries. he's not protecting you - he's protecting his assets. making sure he's the one to win the prize of your capture. 

and he doesn't seem like the kind of person who keeps as many friends as he does enemies.

it's like clockwork - a slamming noise shuts off whatever retort was building on your lips.

Mando whirls around, whipping his blaster out as he stalks towards the entrance to the broken ship. as quiet as possible, you slide down the rungs behind him, blatantly ignoring his orders; just then, a voice calls out. 

"Mandalorian?" a moment of hesitation in the hunter's shoulders. then, chillingly, you gasp as the voice calls out a second name. 

yours. 

from what your weak eyes can make out, the man standing outside the wreckage of the Razor Crest is a Rodian - his emerald skin contrasting sharply with the desert. you stare in shock from behind the Mandalorian's frame, hoping you're far enough away that the large, multifaceted eyes of the man can't detect you. 

he wears earth-toned robes that blend with the desert surroundings, a testament to his familiarity with the unforgiving terrain; peculiarly, his attire is practical, with layers of fabric offering protection from the twin suns' scorching rays and the harsh winds that sweep across the dunes, but upon his waist, a belt secures a small satchel - and, more bizarrely - and an emblem for the city of Mos Espa.

his movements are deliberate and measured - posture unwavering despite the blaster pointed towards him. a few feet down the ramp from you, the Mandalorian stands vigilant, his beskar armor glistening under the twin suns and reflecting into the sensitive layers of your eyes.

"who are you?" he asks, voice low and chilling. 

the desert winds howl, carrying whispers of the unforgiving sands across the barren dunes of Tatooine and your weak skin tingles against the particles. finally, the man speaks.

"I come on behalf of my master. he requires your presence at his palace."

palace? your bones chill; what palace in this miserable rock would have business with the Mandalorian? his helmeted gaze bores into the messenger, giving you a split moment to take a deep exhale.

"who is your master that he can't come find me himself?" Mando's voice is gravelly, edged with caution, though he lowers his gun with a hesitant recognition in his voice. 

the messenger's eyes flicker, betraying a trace of unease. "not just you. he requests both of you."

your stomach flips. oh, Maker. 

before you can stop yourself, you take a staggering few steps until you're next to the Mandalorian, who gives you a cold stare. 

with your eyes narrowed against the faint sights in front of you, the gears of your mind whir. "and if we refuse to go?" you ask, voice scratchy. fear pounds in your chest like a wild beast needing escape. 

the man folds his hands diplomatically. "the Daimyo has requested your presence at his palace, both of you. he does not extend such invitations lightly - he has his reasons, and you would do well to hear them from his own lips."

oh. oh, kriff. recognition floods through you - a combination of relief and utter fear. 

your brows lift, "the Diamyo?" 

an old friend, your mind whispers, sardonic and teasing. 

a tense silence hangs in the air, broken only by the distant cries of native creatures and a cooing at the Mandalorian's side. a breath of hope is breathed into your chest at the realization that the Diamyo's palace could be just what you need to escape this metal shadow; a shift in the breeze sends your hair around your face and you're soon filled to the brim with anticipation - you need to do this. no matter the danger it entails, what tricks may lie within the halls of the palace... 

it's your only hope. 

out of pure accident, your eyes land on Mando in what is a fleeting glance, a silent conversation that neither of you intended. it's as if both of you know that this meeting could change the course of both of your journeys, somehow - a threatening veil soon placates your mind, knowing the Mandalorian has surely already considered your plans for escape.

with a sigh heavier than the beskar he shrouds himself with, Mando nods. irritation is laced through his voice. "fine. we will go to the palace."

the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing but a slight air of relief that notches a bit of anxiety into you. "good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation."

and with that, the messenger turns and retreats into the unforgiving expanse along with the dying suns, leaving you to face the remnants of Mando's ship and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

the man is long lost to the fading horizon of the desert when slowly, the hunter pulls a pair of cuffs from his belt; your stomach drops as you hang your head in frustration. 

"may I at least use the 'fresher, first?" you snark, sending the cold statue a false smile. you haven't bathed in days - your hair needs a cleanse desperately and you're sure there's more than enough blood, dirt, and grease caked into your skin. 

his grunt is angry as he slams shut the ramp, sealing you into complete blindness in the lack of bright lights. despite his anger, the Mandalorian pulls your incapacitated self into the fresher and slams the door shut. 

as you shower and relish the last moments of what little, bizarre freedom you had since being captured, you wonder if he's still right outside, waiting for you to step out. 

he is.

it's with a pit of misery at the bottom of your stomach that you sit in the corner of the cargo bay with your hands bound together and watch him clean and prepare every single weapon he can fit on his person.

whatever reason the Mandalorian has to listen to the request of the Diamyo, he doesn't tell you. he doesn't do much except run his gloved fingers slowly over the vibroblade you'd tried to steal - the glint of your harsh teeth marks barely detectable to your impaired vision. he sheathes the blade on his hip, to your surprise. a daunting reminder of his power over you.

and as much as you try, you can't ignore the feeling that the fate of your soul is about to rest in the hands of Boba Fett and the mysteries that await you within the walls of his palace. 

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taglist (message to join). @silkiers @leithatnight @totallynotastanacc @afandomidiot @bbyanarchist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @notsosecretspy @djarins-cyare @satireclub @famefoxx @sunnywithachanceofjavi ​

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian smut #the mandolorian x reader #mando smut #mando x reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction

[thecameronchronicles]

Going Full Kook

TW: Smut. Language. Soft!Dom

SUMMARY: After your boyfriend, JJ, cheated, you get revenge by giving yourself to The King of the Kooks, Rafe…

WORD COUNT: 2300

*Requested*

Going Full Kook

You knew you should have listened to your friends when they told you that JJ Maybank was bad news. And yet, the way that he made your heart inflate when he called you 'princess' and smiled with those dimples that made you weak in the knees, their words became non existent. But now, the evidence was something that was undeniable. After having given him the majority of this summer in monogamy and compassion, he was wrapped around some touron with his lips having seemingly dissolved into hers. But that wasn't even the worst detail. This would come in the way that his core friends had all seemingly known, looking to you with that 'oh shit, we're busted' look, which left you feeling the depth of this betrayal. 

And this is what brought you to sitting on this particular curb of Tannyhill, your eyes too focused on the street and your thoughts to notice the shift of shadows at your side. 

"Finally decided to kick those pogues to the curb huh?" Rafe's voice, usually a means for a smile, was sharpened by his choice of words. 

You pulled your legs to your chest, the pain returning tenfold. The thing was, you had one foot in both lifestyles; Kook and pogue, not necessarily more one than the other as you were adored by everyone for your caring heart and ability to vibe with either crowd. But this would not always be without comment, however, as both groups would question how you could be friends with the other, and none more than Rafe himself. Yet, at this moment, you couldn't seem to trust or favor anyone as you were too hurt. 

"Oh shit, what'd I say?" 

"He…cheated on me..." Rafe sat in silence, complete disbelief washing over his expression as you sucked in those stubborn tears that continued their cascade. 

"And everyone covered for him...They all looked at me like I was the odd one out-" 

"Well...I mean you are..." You glared at Rafe. 

"I mean you're too good for them. I never understood why you ever hung out with them to begin with..." Usually you would defend them because of JJ. But you couldn't. And for the first time you didn't want to. They all knew about this girl and they just let it happen. They let you hurt and the only time it seemed to affect them was when you questioned them by nothing more than your vision alone. 

"Fuck it. I'm going full kook-" Rafe's brows lifted in amusement. 

"'Bout time...Now we can corrupt you like you were always meant to be." He teased as you found yourself focusing a little too long on his smile, that constant comfort now turning to arousal as the heat pooled between your thighs. 

"So where should we start? Running up a bar tab? Maybe go sit at the Wreck while they are there, make Kie having to run her ass off and keep sending stuff back-" But as he continued to list all of these methods of vengeance, you had one of your own. Before you could think twice, you were set over him in a straddle. 

"What are you-" 

"Make me your girl, Rafe..." The words wore heavy on him, almost as if they had made him into cement or even been spoken in a language he didn't recognize. Either way, he remained in place with the only movement having been that of his eyes falling to your lips. 

You would advance forward, realizing you would have to take the initiative. And so you would, fingers softly set at either of his shoulders, you pulled him into you as he was quick to reciprocate, lips slack to let you control the moment you clearly both wanted. He brought you further against him, doing so by just pulling you to him via the grip on your waist, before you wanted to show him your truest desire. With a hand to his jaw, you directed him away so you could kiss the corner of his new smirk, down a clenched jaw, and to his neck. 

"I want you to fuck me, Rafe..." With a growl, you were lifted around him and into Tannyhill in an effortless stride. Once in his room, he kicked the door closed with his foot before leading you onto the bed. But as you were prepared to have a distraction session of quick but rough sex, you found his intentions to then rival you. 

"This isn't a rebound. If we do this, it means you're mine." He explained while guiding your legs tighter around his hips as you looked back up at him. He was aggressive and dominant, yet in a way that was still compassionate. 

"It means you're my girl through and through. No talking to pogues. No going to The Cut for ANY reason-especially to see any of THEM-" He lowered over you, hand on the back of your neck as he brought you in to him. 

"And in return, you'll have all of ME." You swallowed hard at the thought. Rafe was a rare breed in many ways. He was born under privilege but always felt emotionally undeserving, which made him lash out with the use of specific vices. But you knew that if ever a girl were lucky enough to keep his focus, he would devote himself to her. But you would turn out to be the lucky one as his devotion was set to you. 

"Tell me you understand, sweetheart, and I promise you'll never need anyone else ever again...I'll take care of you in every way..." You couldn't believe your ears. As you had craved these words from JJ, only ever been met with a kiss in its place that distracted you enough to ignore those red flags of distant emotion. But now, you had it spoken to you in abundance, behind a pair of intimidating sapphire irises as desperate for your acceptance as you were to give it. 

You nodded as he tightened his grip just enough to not cause pain, but to send your nerves firing on all cylinders. 

"I need to hear you say it. Not just because you're hurting...but because you want me. I want to make sure you understand." You nodded. 

"Plesse Rafe, I want you..." To this, he led his thumb across your bottom lip to appreciate your kiss-an action you made sultry by taking it between your teeth and sucking on its edge. 

"Shit..." You bit softly onto the pad of his finger before he withdrew and pulled you into a deep kiss. A tongue passionately rolling across your parted mouth warranted a moan to which he'd smirk, before he would pull your dress up and over your head. Once nearly bare, you reached for his shirt to find him to stop you, doing it himself, before you were able to trail your touch down his abdomen. 

"Fuck..." You breathed, made aware of the figure he held beneath those polos and buttoned plaids until now. 

"All yours...and I want you to leave marks, baby...I wanna wear you." 

"Rafe..." You breathed into a moan as he'd offer one final kiss before pulling your legs higher against him until you were on your back. 

"Did he make you come this way?" You didn't answer as JJ had done and introduced nearly every sexual action possible to you. But even his most erotic of movements didn't compare to Rafe's kiss. This was because his was done out of pure emotion with your release foremost on his mind, as he may not have been patient with much, but eith sex, he was meticulous. 

"Well I'll just have to make you come every way I can until you forget you even met him, let alone let him touch you..." 

"Oh God..." You moaned as his tongue made it's way from your ankle to your sex, teasing the fabric as your back pulled into an arch. 

"I wanna hear my name so I know you're thinking of me baby..." He paused until you looked at him, the most devilish of smirks now on his face. "And then I'll make you scream it-" 

You gasped as your panties were literally torn from your hips and he was between your thighs in seconds, tongue at a vicious pace to your clit. His name came through each breath as if it had been the oxygen itself as he then inserted his fingers. One to start, a single circle made just to test your limits before a second would then join, curving into your g-spot as your toes curled to the sensation. 

"This feel good, baby?" 

"Yes! So good!" 

"And this?" He added a third, stretching you well beyond what you were used to as JJ had touched you enough for preparation, but not in longevity. It was clear Rafe was making this about you, and he was nowhere near done. 

"Please Rafe-" 

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart..." 

"You!" 

"Not very specific, there..." 

"Fuck me!" The desperation made him chuckle as he turned you around and pulled you up until your back came to a rest against his chest. 

"Not until I've touched every inch to erase his..." And he would. Every inch from your hair pulled into a grip as you kissed in deep circuits of tongues and interrupted breathing to the polished toes that curled as his fingers returned to your pussy, sobbing for release. Between this, for what seemed endless, he fondled your breasts with care, devoting time to twisting and kneading the nipples while his lips found yours between sets. 

"Oh, God, Rafe, please...." You groaned. 

"Say it. Say what you want." 

"You....to..fuck me..." You struggled as his fingers remained relentless, deep strokes and curls making your body nearly transcend from this moment with him. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yes!" 

"How? How does my girl wanna come?" 

"Any way!" 

"No-" He pulled a wrap around your neck. "This isn't about me. This isn’t to appease me. This is about you. About making you mine. So tell me how you want me to make you come-" 

"On top. I wanna be-be on top-" Before you could even blink, you were over him in a straddle. 

"You sure you want it this way? I won't go easy on you just because you're mine now..." 

You threw your head back, claws marking his chest and inciting a growl before he lined himself against you. 

"Take it all, baby girl...it's yours now..." You bit your bottom lip upon using him at your pleasure. The way his hips flexed up to meet yours drove you both into perfect rhythm as he groaned beneath you and you moaned above him. 

"Look at me..." He ordered as your wrists were taken by only one of his hands as the other stayed on your hip. 

"I want you to ride me until you're dripping...let me come inside you...and then you're gonna come sit on your new seat so I can clean you up, okay?" He explained as he liked his lips as you whined as he kept your hands bound before lifting and releasing your hands. 

"Good girl, you tske my cock so fuckijg well. See, you were made for me...not some dirty fucking pogue who can't make you come like me...right?" 

"Yes!" 

"And this is only the start baby...I'm gonna leave you so sore every time I'm with you and you'll take it with a smile because you know it's because it means your mine." 

"Yours-" 

"Then come for me sweetheart...clench that tight pussy for me...and make me come inside you...come on...jyst like that...oh yeah...yes...fuck...." He spoke as you accelerated your speed, your body reacting to his in arches and groans before he drew lines on your thighs as his own spine bent in pleasure. 

"Oh God, baby...keep going...use me to make it feel good...use that cock, your cock, yeah?" 

"Yes, Rafe! I'm close-"

"Yeah? You gonna come?" 

"Yes! It's right there! Please!" He pulled your hands behind your back with one hand, taking your neck in the other. 

"Fuck, I'm close, not gonna last long once you cream, baby-but I want it...give it to me, yeah?" Your body trembled as that release washed over you. His dirty words and his angelic features comprising in this moment as you reached your high and unlocked his own. 

He would hold you in place, keeping himself inside of you before taking your face between his hands, the softest of kisses sealing this exchange with perfection. 

The swelter of summer rivaled the heat of your passion. There wasn't a moment when you were together that your bodies weren't somehow intertwined. Even more so at functions with any pogue's involvement. And the bonfire of the summer would bring both groups together, allowing Rafe to show JJ just what he had lost. But the hotheads they were, a physical altercation would lead to a brawl of busted knuckles until Pope and Topper became the dividends between the two groups. But where you should have felt guilt or even disgust teetering in annoyance, you were solely aroused. Blood splattered across his cheek and that need to defend you behind eyes blown in aggression had you moving to him in passion. 

"Come here..." Rafe directed you to his lips, his hands quickly in acceptance to your body as you were shamelessly affectionate. And this was how you would exist from this moment out. Embedded into one another. Passionately intertwined...

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-ls @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

#rafecameron x reader #outer banks #obx #outerbanks #drew starkey #rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #rafecameron #netflix

[cephalonserotonin]

Devstream 178 Notes

Megan has cool pants! Rebb has a cool earring!

Dante Unbound

next week!

"We wanted to bring lore! Important for us for people who want some texture… with their food…?" lol

Hence, even though there's no quest with this update, lots of lore! Drusus and other leverian stuff

Dante prex:

They mentioned no sticky corners and someone in the audience cheered.

Styanax deluxe

Nipple talk

Gauss Prime's little goofy run is gonna be an emote! for plat! "This is only a microtransaction panel" - Rebb

Banshee, Loki, and Nekros voidshells!! And some Loki QOL: some buffs, customizable invisibility, and an augment!

Easter bunny ears have FUR (using tech for the companion rework) and are now PERMANENT! "Nobody could stop me," - Rebb (Geoff boos)

Protea prime! Including her gear!

And Velox prime, Okina prime, Rhoptron prime syandana (this is GORGEOUS), a bonus alt helmet that moves, and an ephemera (no asset for this yet)

Yareli deluxe!, the Kompressa deluxe

"If you haven't played Yareli, maybe depending on where you get your warframe news…" LMAO the subtlest shade. I've liked Yareli from the beginning and definitely thought the initial backlash to her kit was overblown, so

blah blah soulframe

New update between Dante and Tennocon featuring the Stalker: Jade Shadows

Jade, our 57th warframe

Cinematic quest update from the Stalker's point of view!

J is the second to last letter we need to cover the alphabet, we're just missing U Audience member: what about Umbra? Rebb: No, that's Excalibur Umbra. If your arsenal said Umbra Excalibur you might stand a chance in court.

Warframe 1999

Very much a Warframe update, but a different style of update. New lore, lots of content, a new Warframe chapter. The gorgeous Arthur is our poster boy.

It's not a single player Warframe spinoff, a "Warframe 2" (I confess I was among those theorizing this). Those nipples stay on.

and now, waking up from his nap… it's Ben Starr! "Arthur is a very mysterious character who I am bound by NDA to say… VERY little about!" He's SO cool. and REALLY sexy. He's relatable. He's gonna be a badass, he's got a samurai sword.

Excalibur is a frame. Arthur is a PROTO-FRAME.

Just as an aside, Ben is adorable and hilarious, very fun to watch.

Stuff about Conflict between humanity and the non-human.. "you don't perceive humanity without how it reacts to others."

a first look at Aoi, our proto-Mag, and I am GAY SCREECHING

Bike: the atomicycle

Q&A

Audience member in a (Uniqlo?) metal gear rising revengeance shirt that Rebb recognized and appreciated: when is my man Caliban getting buffed? A: If Pablo were here, he'd say ask me at TennoCon.

Q: any other warframes getting reworks? A: Inaros rework coming with Dante unbound. Loki rework not planned.

Q: What inspired proto-Mag's design? A: Liger did Arthur and Aoi. We had a very specific vision for those two protoframes: Arthur being the "man scout," and Aoi we wanted a nice contrast to Arthur.

Q: Two questions very well worded I didn't get them down in time because I was nodding along. About stat sticks / pseudo-exalteds and trading. A: Stat sticks: we've talked about it but no changes planned. Trading: we've talked about maybe adding riven filters but not much more than that.

Q from guy in Dante DMC trenchcoat: Drifters? Maybe new outfits? A: In Unbound we are bringing one more operator outfit to drifter.

Q: I've been playing Warframe for 10 years, and I'm legendary 4. Any additional benefits for high rank players? A: The social benefits of being a high-rank player are unexplored. In terms of more mechanical aspects… we're thinking more social benefits. congrats on being legendary 4!

Q: When's infested liches? A: Steve is that you

Q In the second metal gear shirt: warframe 1999... dark sector? A: A lot of what Warframe was built on was the scifi part of dark sector that was never meant to be. So it's poetically coming full circle, that 1999 is dark sector inspired. Q: is there a plan for the dark sector remaster? A: 1999 is the dark sector remaster.

Q: Is there going to be fashion protoframes? A: Actually, yes… And that's all I'll say on that.

Q from Leon Kennedy: is squad link coming back? A: RIP scarlet spear. Not coming back in the way you might think, but we're experimenting early days with something you might like. It's in an urn. Geoff: that's pretty dead. Rebb: Someone hasn't played Baldur's gate 3! It's not totally dead, but mostly dead.

Q: Has anyone at DE considered a TTRPG or even a war game? you could blow games workshop completely out of the water. I'd rather give money to you than them any day. A: We're all fans of that kind of content, we'd endorse fan content, but we don't have the time to pursue it. Q: Has anyone considered modular ("kit") frames? A: We have considered it, but it didn't seem shippable. Seemed scope-scary.

Q: Are you, Rebb, personally happy with the way movement works at this very moment? A: Are you asking pre- or post- sticky corners? Q: Post. Also is Soulframe taking from the movement in Warframe? Geoff: Soulfame is very much in the opposite direction of Warframe, movement-wise. Rebb: I always thought it'd be fun to explore wall running in Warframe. But other than that, I love it. I think it's the best movement system in the third person games space. Every other game I play I try and bullet jump and aim glide. Questioner agrees.

Soulframe question I used to catch up on my above notes

Q: If you could go on a date with a warframe, which one?… me, it's Grendel. Ben: what would you do on that date? Questioner: just eat :) Geoff: Excalibur? (Rebb: that's very Raphael-coded of you. Little Baldur's Gate reference for you) Mag: Probably Valkyr. Rebb: why choose? All of them >:) Ben: pick one for me. Rebb: Mirage. Ben: What would I do? Rebb: Circus act. You are the circus.

Q: What was your favourite part of developing 1999, and Ben, what was your favourite part of voicing Arthur? A: Some stuff we haven't announced yet. As with most characters I play, there's something lovable about him despite his rough exterior… rough but he's nice about it. He's gonna do something to you, but he's gonna kiss you afterward. Rebb: I think it's quite sacred to introduce protoframes like this. We're being quite sacred about it (it's not Mag and Excal, it's Aoi and Arthur). Ben: The ways in which you're exploring that dynamic is very cool, and very 90s.

Q: Rebb, what are the things that plague you? A: My plagues are supported by the development team. I'm not alone; whenever I have an ailment, I have someone that to help support me with it. Geoff: I've genuinely never seen someone care so much. He gets teary. \*audience cheers as REBB DESERVES\* Same asker: when is my girl Titania getting buffed? A: Controversial question, she's pretty strong. I could see Tribute receiving some QOL to be easier to use (some Tribute). But those dex pixia, they do kill.

Q in a Warframe sweater with a Warframe backpack!: Which NPC would you be most likely to be besties with? Ben: Fibonacci Rebb: We love you Neil! Ben: If you don't have a cranky fish as a friend, what are you doing. Megan: I love Ordis :) especially little trash can ordis Rebb: you better say Lotus, Geoff >:) Geoff: Lotus. Rebb: Hard not to love Little Duck. We'd be besties for sure, drinking in the back room.

Q: if Teshin can have his head crushed and come back, what about Veso? A: He died a hero, I'm sorry.

Q: When can we get points to Dante his brother? A: ??? audience member yells out "VIRGIL!" Rebb: \*laughs\* maybe the bike is Virgil (This is a devil may cry reference)

Q: clan to clan interaction? Haven't had that since solar rails? A: Ok so in the urn we have squad link.. \*laugh\* We are trying to do more clan events. They work for by the book tasks. There's opportunity there we haven't explored. No leaderboards. I'll try to do more.

Q: I'm curious how you develop characters as a Warframe team. I've noticed a lot of references to mythology. A: it's a library of devs that have passions. The team is just really diverse and loves really cool shit. The amount of inspiration we get to name things thematically, we have touched lore I didn't know existed. When it comes to Warframes, we're still looking at old Keith Thompson drawings… he's built different.

Q: I'm sorry to take you back in the morgue. Void keys. Will there be a return to the old void and endless missions? A: We're not in the morgue here, we're in ICU. Visiting hours are open. I loved the old voidkey system. We did a soft tease with Dagath keys, it had wins and losses… There were user experience problems. But it's not totally dead. The omnia fissures are kind of that vibe. You can bring any relic to an omnia fissure and just haul ass.

Q: Can we get a toggle for Protea's visor? A: The rigging artist working on it talked about it. Maybe. You're right, it would be nice.

Q: Fashion frame question. Have you considered a DE color palette, like, Megan's greatest hits? A: That sounds like a great idea :) We're doing it.

Q: Are we ever going to see new necramechs? A: I hate saying probably not. No new ones in 1999 at least. We're touching up the ones we have before we go to the morgue, and grab a skull, to make a a new one. Sorry

Q holding a Clem plushie: when more Clem??? A: We'll see. Clem holds a special place in our heart. He's not in the morgue, I promise.

Q: I've been coerced into asking a question on behalf of someone who's not here. He's made it clear if I don't get a satisfactory answer I won't see my family again. Are there any plans to look at spawn rates for loot and reactants? A: I'm gonna keep talking until you can get your family out safely, I'm filibustering. There's performance issues, we want to get safe on all platforms. The worst offenders we can probably fix. We can increase reactant drop rates. Loot rates is harder to solve.

Q: if you have Drifter selected, can you use drifter melee? A: We thought it was important to keep drifter melee in duviri, but… why not? We could try. Drifters can't mod though. It's not impossible, but it'd take some time.

Q: Warframe being predominantly PVE, has there been talk of collaboration among clans? A: I implied it with the other question, but a social benefit would be great. I'd love to see you make friends with other clans

Thanks to the DE team for your hard work <3 supporting us for 11 years!

visual assets are either my own stream screenshots or from DE's devstream overview

#warframe #devstream 178 #sera's devstream notes

[just-my-type-x]

can you write something about being at the conjuring house and something happens to the reader and colby and reader are dating so he comforts her please!!

Evil Lurks Here

It felt so bad cropping Sam out :( I'm never doing that again

We step inside the house, taking in the smell of wood and old house, everything creaking as we take more steps inside. I look over at Kat who is already looking at me, both thinking about the same thing: how creepy and dangerous it feels. I tug on Colby's longsleeve and he turns his attention towards me immediately.

"Are you ok?", he asks concerned

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just feel the need to ask you to protect me", i hug him from the side and Bury my face in his chest. His cheeks turn pink and kisses the top of my head, his arms squeezing me tight. "Thank you, babe", i get up to kiss his cheek before Sam turns on the camera to film the interview and the whole story of the house. Fans know about my relationship with Colby, but we just choose not to be too clingy with each other on camera.

I follow them close behind and keep checking behind me, feeling like we're being followed. I choose not to interrupt the storytelling, everyone being very invested in all the details, but i just can't focus on that. I check out every corner of every room and watch closely every dark spot that might hold shadows inside of them. This place makes me more paranoid than any other place and it's annoying how i can't keep up with the rest.

"Y/n, are you alright?", Sam snaps me out of my thoughts, not realising i was zoning out on a dark spot on the hallway. Because of that, everyone looked terrified until i answered

"I'm fine, yeah, sorry. I just can't keep focusing on anything. I'm keeping ny guard up cause this place is freaking me out", i exhale loudly and right after that, a loud squeak is heard right next to me. I jump and bump into Colby, who is filming. "Sorry, jesus christ, that was loud"

"If you're not ok, we can go outside and take a break", Colby offers but i shake my head and retake my initial position, next to the squeak.

"I think it might like you", Corey says and i feel like I'm losing my shit. My jaw drops.

"That's what i wanted to hear actually", i fake a laugh and everyone laughs at me.

"Yeah, for real. I've heard footsteps behind us. I think it is following you", he says with a straight face and the boys let out a loud wow, but Kat grabs my hand, terrified as i am

"Oh my god i heard those too", my hand goes to my mouth in disbelief, my eyes watering. He nods and i shake my head. "It's gonna be a long night", i say to the camera and Colby chuckles.

We stop in the bedroom to actually start our investigation. We put on the bed some devices we want to use and each of us finds a spot to sit. I sit in the door frame with the emf reader in my hand, my back facing the hallway, which is the worst placement ever, but i lost at the nose touching game. Who even invented that?

Colby sits on the bed, having the night vision camera (i wanted to say about that thing that u actually tale pictures with but i forgot how it's called) , Sam on a side of the room with the spirit box and Kat, closer to me, with the ovilus.

"If there's anyone here with us, please make yourself known by touching or talking into one of our devices. That's y/n in the door frame, if you're coming next to her, she has in her hand a device that lights up when you walk in front of it. Can you light it up yellow for us? ", Colby says and i see him turning the camera towards me and i shake my head in disbelief of what I'm doing.

Door, the ovilus says and we jump

"Yes, I'm right here. Can you come closer to the device in my hand?", i ask and my voice cracks because of all the emotions I'm feeling at once. A cold sweat drop falls down my spine and i get goosebumps all over my body. My body shakes.

"You ok?", Colby asks and i nod my head.

"Just a shiver"

Cold

"Oh my God", Sam shouts

"A little bit, yeah. It's very cold in this room. Are you here?", i try getting in contact with the spirit

Outside

"Oh great, you're behind me", i laugh sarcastically and i feel a few strands of my hair rising, feeling like a balloon was just scrubbed on my head. I jump from my place and look on the hallway with my phone flashlight. It's nothing there.

Scared

Call

Scream

"What happened?", Colby asks, coming next to me and putting a hand on my waist

"Something grabbed my hair."

Colby

"No it wasn't Colby", Kat says to the ovilus. "Why would it say Colby? That makes no sense"

Cold

"Yeah, it's still very cold in the room. Are you here?", Sam asks and the emf starts lightning up after the question. It spikes to red, then to yellow and then red again. He stops the spirit box, not getting as much from it as we get from the ovilus and i retake my spot in the doorframe to continue the investigation.

We ask a few more questions, some of them being answered by flashlights, that were later brought out. As we want to leave for the living room area, a few footsteps are heard right outside the bedroom. Colby goes out to see of there's anything, but nothing. As i pass the place i previously sat in to grab my phone from the bed, i see in the corner of my eye a small shadow peeking inside the room.

"Oh My God!", i jump on the bed and cross to the other side it to be as far as i can from the entrance. I point my shaky finger to the door, trying to find my words to explain to them what happened. Colby grabs my wrists and sits me down on the bed, his hands then cupping my cheeks to calm me down.

"Breathe, baby, calm down. What happened? I've never seen you so scared", he hugs me tight and i inhale and exhale, trying to regain my breath and steady my heart rate. I realise it's bad when i see that Sam's still filming and Colby didn't use my name and came to confort me no matter what.

"Something peeked inside the room", i manage to say and i feel pressure on my forehead and on my chest. I push Colby a little bit and he understands that i need some space. I take in two long breaths and Sam cuts the recording to make sure I'm fine. "It was small, i don't know, it looked like a kid. Maybe he thought we were playing", i get up from the bed and involuntary look outside the room, but Sam turned on the light on the hallway. I sigh relieved.

"What's that on your chest?", Kat points to my exposed chest and walks over to me, loosening my V-neck just so she can see better. "You're scratched", she says and moves away so Colby and Sam can see. Sam starts recording again and gives Colby the camera to film the part of my chest that's marked.

"It felt weird filming that", Sam laughs and Colby chuckles

"Are you ok? Does it hurt or anything?", Colby's concern makes my cheeks get reddish. This and all the sudden attention makes me a little uncomfortable.

"I'm fine, Colbs. I really am. Let's just go downstairs.", i say and grab him by the empty arm, his hand busy holding the spirit box. As we were entering the living room, i feel a sharp pain in my back, which makes me wince and stop in my tracks, not being able to move anymore." Oh fuck that hurts ", my hand is on the spot that hurts and Colby is quick to put an arm around me and help me walk outside.

"We're done here for now", he demands and everyone agrees, too many things happening at once. We all leave the equipment inside and get to the car. "Does it hurt anymore?", he asks and i nod.

"Not too much, but i can still feel it. Wanna take a look? I don't think it's the age that's causing this", i try to crack a joke, but they're all too concerned about what's going on.

Colby lifts my t-shirt up and i feel his fists holding it. I can tell he's angry and i feel bad for putting him in such a position.

"You have a bruise", his voice cracks and i try not to freak out. "A full on purple spot on your back", he let's go of my shirt and walks away, his face covered in his hands. "It's all my fault"

"What? Why?", i ask, walking towards him. I hear Sam and Kat moving away to give us some privacy. "Babe, there's no way", i hug him and he hugs me tight.

"I'm sorry for taking you here. And i know you're freaking out inside. I know you too well not to know that. Just know that i won't let anything happen to you. Ok?", he glues his forehead to mine.

"I know that, babe. I'm just really scared now, to be really honest with you. I lie most of the times that I'm ok, but I'm really not this time.", i barely talk out loud, feeling ashamed that I'm scared and ruining their investigation

"It's ok to be scared, baby. Trust me, we've been through this too, we'll call it a night and come back another time.", Colby says and i shot my eyes up at him

"We're not going anywhere. I'm not ruining the night even more. Let's just stay here for 5 more minutes and we'll go back inside.", i say and watch him look at me really deep in the eyes.

"You know, when we started dating i didn't think you'd be braver than me.", Colby laughs and kisses me on the lips, holding me by the small of my back. He deepens the kiss and i allow him every movement. Taken away by the feeling, his grab on my back gets tighter and i let out a moan of pain when he touches the bruise.

"That was so unnecessary", i grab my back like an old person

"I'm so sorry.", he laughs and hugs me more carefully this time, kissing ny forehead.

"Ok, I'm fine now. Let's go back inside.", i say loud so Kat and Sam could hear me and head to the house. "I'm so lucky to have you next to me, Colbs. Please, never let go of me", i say and intertwine our fingers

"I'll never let you go, baby"

#colby brock #sam and colby #colby brock imagine #colby brock smut #sam golbach

[astromechs]

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation for jyn x cassian plssssss

a little follow-up/coda to this fic! we're recovering from whumptober, one happy ending at a time from this list; still accepting!

She's gone, they say. They've done all they could. The antidote was a shot in the dark, not a guarantee.

Intellectually, Cassian understands the words, and he numbly nods to acknowledge them without so much as glancing in the direction of the medical staff — but he doesn't hear them. Not really, because how can he actually hear something that can't be real?

Death has been a constant in his life, shadowing him, dealt by his own hands; he knows it better than he knows himself. And it's not Jyn. No, Jyn is a fire that never extinguishes, one that had sparked something in him that had long gone cold, and he's never encountered anyone more alive than her. She'd stare death in the face, give it an unwavering "Fuck off" before she'd ever let it take her.

No, the flat tone of the monitor has it wrong; she's just sleeping. Resting like she should be, regaining her strength, but at any second, she'll wake up, and her hand in his will be as warm as it always is. Watching the light fade from her eyes won't be the last time he ever sees them.

It'll be any second.

A hand grasps his arm, tries to tug, and he forcefully wrenches it away. Otherwise, he remains completely still; he'd promised, hadn't he? That he wouldn't go anywhere. That, no matter what, he wouldn't be another name among a long list of them to leave Jyn behind. She won't open her eyes again to an empty medbay room.

The monitor stops. Her hand is still cold; she's still not breathing.

It's as if some invisible hand is wrapping around his throat, choking him. His vision blurs. Well out of his control, tears fall, hot, onto his face.

This isn't real. It can't be real. It —

A hand squeezes his, warm. In the deafening silence of the room, a sharp intake of breath grabs his attention as effectively as the roar of a U-wing's engine would.

Green eyes stare up into his.

They're as pale as Jyn's face, shining with tears. She's still weak, barely just able to lift her head, but she's here. Alive, after he'd so nearly lost her.

He squeezes her hand in return, and leans in to press his lips to hers. It's shaky, clumsy, desperate — and it's everything.

When he pulls away, he doesn't have in him to go far. Reaching up to her face, gently wiping tears away with the pad of his thumb, he whispers, "You came back."

"Of course I did," she tells him like it's the most obvious thing in the galaxy, in a voice that's still hoarse, but gaining strength. A soft smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Did you think I'd ever leave you behind?"

#asks #oh nostalgiaa #rebelcaptain #kiss snippet meme #jyn erso #cassian andor

[playertwotails]

did u write the baby tails post yet? id love to read it

Here you go, my de-aged/time switched feral baby Tails idea so hold your hat cause it's a long one under the cut. Also forgive me and my nonsense, I am not a writer.

Just to set some ground rules on my take on baby Tails so we're all on the same page. First of all I always imagine Tail and Sonic meeting when Tails was 3/4 and Sonic 10/11 (both are homeless kids best they can do is guesstimate ages and roll with it). And our little guy Tails, is the sweet, kind, caring Tails we all know and love. BUT as a baby all of that was buried under the weight of being abandoned, harassed, hurt, half/fully starved and bullied starting from maybe basically birth if not shortly after. So baby Tails is just the most FERAL of little guys. He WILL bite, claw, kick, pull fur/feathers/whatever they got and do whatever it takes if he feels cornered and threatened by someone. And yes he has his inventions even at that young age to protect him somewhat, but he's still a baby and can only build them out of the scraps he finds, so they are little flimsy and get destroyed easily by said bullies fairly often. So bitey time's are aplenty for baby Tails.

Now luckily when Sonic meet Tails one of their first interactions was him saving Tails from bullies so he started out a few steps on the less feral side of Tails. Not that Sonic doesn't/never saw this side of Tails, it just never got it directed at him unless he startled Tails or was calming Tails down when something else brought out that side. I also like to think that Sonic and Tails were together about a year before Eggman ever even found out about Tails. So by the time Eggman and their other friends meet Tails, the feral side of Tails has been pretty much put to rest as, through Sonic's help, Tails doesn't need to rely on that 'cornered feral rabies filled racoon' fight instinct anymore. The Tails they first meet relies more on his inventions, smarts, and how Sonic taught him to fight.

SO getting to the bread and butter of all this.

Sonic, Tails and Co. are fighting Eggman or maybe another villain per their usual shtick. And when they go to hit Sonic with their "ultimate weapon" it ends up a whole whoopsi daisies situation and hits Tails instead. Now readers choice on if this de-ages Tails or switched older Tails with younger Tails, but result is the same either way. The smoke clears, Tails is still there, to everyone's short lived relief, but there is now a much smaller scruggly looking Tails in that spot

(Now another thought I had just for ultimate angst potential for either scenario of scruffy baby Tails, is that baby Tails has the starved figure, scars, cuts, bruises, matted/patchy fur he had on what ever day he de-aged to/switched with)

The villain then dips cause plan has gone sideways and Sonic and crew are now just left with a tiny little baby Tails. (and the crew I imagine is Amy, Knuckles, Shadow, and Rouge - maybe Blaze, Silver, Tangle and Whisper too just to make it a really party if you want)

I think before even Sonic can react though Amy is the first to make it to baby Tails. Now I love Amy to death but bless her heart she has a tendency to get tunnel vision sometimes (big mood). So before she registers that baby Tails is a bit more ruff around the edges than she's used to, she just sees a cute little tiny baby Tails and immediately goes for the hug cause Tails is adorable on his own but tiny Tails is serotonin directly injected into your veins and her being a whole mood cannot physically stop herself from going for a hug. Plus they've met a younger Tails before so she thinks it's a similar situation so free hugs all around. (Sidenote - I'm just gonna call baby Tail BT for the rest of this cause it long)

Unfortunately BT only registers 'person coming at them fast and getting close' and just uses his reaction to bite Amy all the while hissing and growling like a feral cat in an alleyway.

Immediately everyone is taken aback (except for Sonic) cause that's not a very Tails thing for Tails to do especially to friends even if he's scared.

(And another side note here cause lord forbid my thought process stays cohesive for five minutes - but I see baby Tails being either a Tails that has met Sonic but only has been with him for maybe 2-3 weeks if even that long, so he recognizes Sonic but doesn't really trust him yet. Or for even more 'oh this is sad' it is a little Tails before he met even Sonic, so everyone is starting at the -100 trust line with the feral fluff ball. (i'm moving forward with this with the 'BT knows Sonic but no trust between them' one cause older brother Sonic is my weakness and BT being cute and clingy will not leave my brain))

So BT gets startled at everyone being startled and moves to take off to go hide in a hole somewhere cause "WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE" (if you get the reference let me know) and everyone then makes a move to catch him. Now BT is on fight/flight instincts only and does not even register Sonic. Plus Sonic does not look like the one he knows so he doesn't even recognize him in this state, just is trying to peace the fuck out of there and get to safety. And with everyone now after him BT then proceeds to go into FULL FERAL MODE on all of them.

He is clawing at them, biting everyone, hissing and spitting while making a B-line for what he thinks is an exit. With everyone still being shocked, not wanting to hurt him and with BT being more slippery than grease on pig, they are STRUGGLING. He is giving then the runaround. They're are now all getting more injured than they did in the fight that caused this. All their abilities are doing nothing in helping them catch Tails. BT is that one scene of Jack Jack from the Incredibles levels of fucking them up and he can't even shape shift. He managed to rip off one of Shadows skates, bite through Knuckles gloves, scratch up Rogue and set off her bombs (she threw them all away from her before they exploded), Amy's hands and arms are COVERED in bit marks, and he went for Sonic's shins with deadly accurate kicks (Sonic would be proud if it didn't hurt so much). They all just look like they got into a fight with a wood-chipper and miserably lost but nope it's all just a scared toddler that can and will fuck someone up.

It's only when Sonic shouts "MILES!!!!" at Tails that he finally stops (maybe Tails isn't being called Tails yet at that time so Sonic has to say his name or maybe it's just big brother/parent mode voice gets through to him). BT stops his frantic exit relay race but will not let anyone close and is still straight up growling at everyone. So now they're all just standing in a lose circle around BT not wanting to take their eyes off him but all desperately sending mental vibes to Sonic to take care of this cause what the fuck has gotten into Tails.

Cue soft big brother Sonic stepping up to bat and everyone watches him try and coax a tiny scraggly Tails, that looks 3 seconds from trying to bolt again, to get closer to Sonic and calm down. He does succeed after about 10 mins and gets BT to let him get close enough to look over his injuries. And they watch Sonic look over BT's injuries with the softest of big brother looks but when he's got BT turned around to check his back Sonic gets just a flash of anger but resigned look on his face. Cause Sonic knows those injuries and they weren't from the beam BT got hit with. (He'd forgotten how bad they were due to time and also being so young when they first met but now he's even more pissed off and sad about it) - Meanwhile people on West Side Island "why do I suddenly hear Kellin Quinn singing??"

So from there the crew moves out with BT almost glued to Sonic's side cause he's scared of everyone. Sonic has to fly them all back cause BT is too little to reach the pedals of the plane (to the surprise of a few of their friends cause they either forgot/didn't know Sonic could fly a plane also idk how to fly a plane but my imaginary one has pedals now). Finally they get back to a safe area, Tail's workshop, and the other's stick close but outside so they don't overwhelm BT while Sonic spends time cleaning/feeding/treating BT's injuries and put him to bed.

Once Sonic's got the little orange terror to go to sleep he gets everyone rounded up to talk about this and figure out how to fix it. But not before they all grill him for info cause what the fuck has gotten into Tails, they thought it was just the beam at first that caused BT to act like that but Sonic knew what to do so that theory jumped out the window. Cue Sonic giving them the watered down version of his memories of feral baby Tails, cause a lot of it ain't their business in his mind but they also need to know enough to not trigger BT into going full feral scared mode on them.

Even with what they know is the more sanitized version of events Sonic gives them everyone is shocked to find out this was actually how Tails was as a little baby toddler guy when Sonic first found him. Cause they all know how sweet Tails is. The difference is night and day. They are all also immediately mentally planning murder. (- Meanwhile people on Westside Island again "why do I hear Tyler Smyth now???? wtf??")

They all just get sad and angry cause who could hurt Tails (exceptions being made to this rule for Eggman and the rest of their circle of villains cause villains gonna villain).

I imagine Amy just starts crying cause she's upset that, that happened to Tails. But also she about to bust out that hammer and hunt some people down.

Knuckles is upset and suddenly feels really guilty about some of those early days fights he used to get into with Sonic and Tails when they all first met. But also recalling some small moments where a hint of this came out when he first met Tails but never to the extent he had seen earlier that day.

Rogue already kinda knew about it cause..spy, but not the full extent. Her info was coming from second hand sources that tried to hide the fact that they were so cruel to one of the only people who can/has stopped Eggman. She already got names and faces and she's about to get a bunch of new stuff when she robs all of them blind. And she's also planning on taking Omega with her, let him cause some chaos, blow up a few thing for fun-sies.

Shadow about to march up stairs, pick up BT, tell Sonic "this is mine now" and march out with a new brother. Also pay a little visit to Westside Island with Rogue cause he knew that face she made, she already has names and he wants in. Tails just reminds him so much of Maria and BT got Shadows 'thought to be long gone' protective brother instincts kicking into overdrive now.

The rest of this goes down with all of them just spoiling the hell outta BT, getting told stories from BT about his life and it just being one of the saddest things they ever have heard ever, and figuring out how to fix it by hunting down whoever did it to MAKE them fix it.

Bonus points: They also get to see how destructive BT is with weapons and learn:

1) why Sonic ban Tails from making some types of weapons.

2) that Sonic actually has the patience of a saint for a little destructive BT

3) Tails is way more down to murder than they had previously thought

Anyways hope you enjoyed my rambles. Long busy week so sorry if it's a little all over the place. It was a long post but it's also been a while since I posted.

#miles tails prower #tails the fox #sonic the hedgehog #they're brothers your honor #feral tails #let him bite

[strrkie-art]

HCs with Kyoto kids No curses collage AU

warning! grammar issues

All Kyoto kids call Utahime Mom, everyone pronounces the address with a different intonation (last one was Noritoshi, he said it suddenly and quietly, which did not escape Yori's sensitive hearing)

In addition to movie nights, they all gather together in Nishimiya's room to play poker or mafia 'well, Mom, don't start, we're not going to be long at all, and this time we're not even planning to have a drunk!'

Kasumi finds it difficult to wake up in the morning when there is a lot of sun, so she chose a room with a window on the shadow side. Noritoshi's room is across the door of an empty room from her. I like to think that their dorm rooms are located exactly where the boundary between the male and female wings. Todo chose a corner back room with a sunny side because of the large windows on two walls. In the middle of the corridor next door are the rooms of Arata and Kokichi, both on the shadow side. Momo and Mai rooms, located at the end of the corridor opposite each other in light and shadow contrast, were also chosen because of the spacious windows and the importance of sunlight for Momo's plants All kyoto kids and besto friendo Yuuji chipped in for a full-scale cardboard stand with Takada for Todo's birthday. At first, Todo was very upset when the exclusive product on the site ran out in an instant and he so absurdly missed the opportunity to place an order (Todo growled, walked gloomier than a cloud while others silently watched the suffering of his soul for several days until his b-day)

Miwa and Mai have friends tattoos (this sun behind the cloud on Miwa's forearm, Mai has a cloud with rain in the same place). Nishimiya doesn't like idea of having a tattoo on her body, so Mai draws emoji with rainbow on her forearm with colored gel pens for photos every time)

Todo knows how to weave braids. Once he braided Kasumi's long hair into fishnet braids (popular in 2014). What if he had a free head for hairdressing experiments in the person of Yuki Tsukumo, I think it's funny enough

Arata loves hedgehogs, he throws videos with them to Nobara, even more often than some memes understandable only to him (Kugisaki with a satisfied smile pokes his finger at the phone screen in front of Megumi's face and says look, it's you when Yuuji is not around! But here when Yuuji is in your field of vision! Yuuji : Did someone call me?

Noritoshi likes to look at street cats. Miwa finds it endearing since she once had the opportunity to see Noritoshi sitting alone on a terrace in the backyard of their student dormitory, stroking an incredibly gentle cat on his lap. he looked relaxed. Miwa smiled. She had never seen him so serene and had simply left without daring to interrupt this comfortable moment for him

Mai failed in her attempt to upset Todo with the fact that Тakada-chan is a lesbian and nothing amorous shines for him with her, but he already knew this, and he is not in love with Тakada-chan, he just likes to watch her play out her positive image, inspiring her fans to believe in ourselves, whatever they were doing. Todo and Mai are the type of friends who often quarrel over absurd things, and not because of something serious

Todo wanted to bring Arata out on Takada's show (let him just read his favorite manga in peace), but this does not happen often, unless his best friend Yuuji is super busy, Mai spends time with girls, Kokichi and Noritoshi are reclusive together again and will never take part in it Girls get out somewhere together, it's always shopping malls, pavilions with vintage things, walking in parks on rented bicycles, not missing the opportunity to look into cozy coffee shops to warm up/cool off for seasonal drinks and desserts, trips to the ocean to wet feets in the water

Momo and Mai think Kokichi has Snow White's vibe, he has the same slightly curly dark hair and animals are also magnetized to him without fear, if this could be called a superpower Kokichi and Kasumi listen to true crime podcasts in the evenings in the shared kitchen and discuss them while cooking something for dinner on neighboring pans or discuss new ideas for a photo session with fake katana while Kokichi dyes Kasumi's hair and after a while there are still blue spots embedded in his skin on his hands

Kokichi calls Kasumi a Goddess with katana who does not believe in herself, but he believes in her, her caring hands and her bold ideas (Noritoshi shares this faith with him)

Next to Noritoshi, Kasumi no longer feels tension and fear as it was before. He turned out to be comfortable person and pleasantly cool as a fresh pillow before going to bed, so Kasumi, always warm as a wool sweater, often falls asleep on him, she likes the contrast of their body temperatures (for the first time she apologized for how awkward it was for her to doze off on his shoulder and slide her head into his lap in a dream, but Noritoshi did not express dissatisfaction and did not try to wake her up, being not against taking a nap himself). And she also likes to see his relaxed face in glasses when she wakes up

Noritoshi and Kokichi spend a lot of time together: they study, go on long walks, watch movies (they like to meticulously comment on scenes while watching and discuss what exactly the movie was shitty or vice versa good) and gamefilms (Noritoshi liked part 1 Last of us and Death stranding), they talk about everything and also silence does not cause discomfort (they are glad that Kasumi not only with them spending her free time)

When Noritoshi talks to Kasumi and sees her gaze fixed on nowhere, he calls her to once again indicate his presence and not scare her, asks if everything is okay, and, regardless of the answer, shortens the distance between them, lightly touches the top of her head with his long calloused fingers and soothingly strokes her head (he is not particularly strong in encouraging phrases), just in case, then clarifying whether the pressure of the palm was too strong. For the first time, she froze in the pose of a toy soldier and looked at him in surprise, and then smiled her little smile and lightly squeezed his wide palm so that he could understand with what force he did it, accompanying it with a brief comment 'Thank you and, uh, sorry, uh..It was like that, Kamo-kun'. Momo and Mai, watching this, were taken aback. Really? Noritoshi willingly tactilely interacts with another person? He did accidentally hit his head, or did the alien take control of his body? they pretended not to notice anything, although he was sure that no one saw this little gesture

At the evening gatherings of the girls, Momo does not get tired of theatrically sighing "how sad it is when the chicks grow up and fly away from the nest," and after that she firmly says if something happens, she is always ready to kick the ass of both guys if they somehow offend her dear friend Miwa Noritoshi makes little confessions to Kokichi about how thinks him fascinating. To which he hears once again a request to stop embarrassing him. They are both good at studying. And when Noritoshi asks about his personal methods of prolonging productivity, Kokichi insists that he join the introduction of rest into his daily routine, and not stay up until night without breaks, then he will no longer have to complain about headaches and poor sleep in the morning. Therefore, Kokichi and Kasumi go to Noritoshi to distract him from excessive study. Usually they look like impudent cats with honest eyes, carefully sit down on both sides next to him. 'Someone's smart head really needs a rest' gently whisper in ear. 'Hey, you're already asleep' low whisper in other ear. There is a lot of fatigue in Noritoshi's eyes, and, as always, he will grumble a little, sigh, slamming notebooks with notes and already pulling these two closer to him Kokichi appreciates Kasumi's willingness to keep up a conversation on a topic she doesn't really understand, or to start a monologue about how her day went, or on some topic of interest to her when he himself has exhausted his social battery and wants to be silent, calmly resting his chin on her shoulder or on the top of her head. He listens and listens to what she says, and then, after recharging, discusses with her everything he has heard before, and vice versa. No one is offended if one is silent and the other says

Noritoshi shared with Kasumi and Kokichi his indignation over his father's family, his bold dream to check out of the family registry an problems with emotions (I just adore my hc where Nori was adopted by Chosoyuki, his last name hasn't changed, but Noritoshi doesn't care, it's important that he has already stopped all interaction with his father) In the morning, Noritoshi and Kasumi practice yoga. Kasumi once tried to stand on her head, Noritoshi held her legs, repeating that he was nearby, holding her and she would not fall. And also Kas does not know how to relax in savasana, she fidgets, turns, puffs, sighs, does not know where to put her hands comfortably, it seems a little more and steam will come out of her ears like from a kettle 'You're very lively for a corpse pose. Don't suffer' Noritoshi spreads his arms invitingly to the sides. He knows that in a strong embrace Kasumi will be able to completely relax

Kokichi is trying to quit smoking because he smoke too much due to stress and the frequent purchase of cigarettes hits his wallet, and Nori doesn't like tobacco-flavored kisses. Kas also smoke, but only in two cases: sometimes she can smoke for company or when she is so nervous Kasumi understands aurally english and can speak it fluently. Thanks to foreign visitors in Kusakabe's bar, where she works, the conversational skill are not lost. When she talks to Mai and Momo, they can switch from japanese to english in kombini, which attracts the attention of other people. Also Kas helps Noritoshi with practice speaking, and when she sees that he is tired (Nori can't always recognize own fatigue), she habitually moves closer and murmured various english songs in his ear. The quality time spent with her calms his restless head before the next TOEIC exam. Todo underestimated how physically strong Kokichi turned out to be with his tall and skinny body

Todo: Why did they leave and didn't call us? May: Because they have a date, you idiot! Momo: Mai, we're actually going to go too Arata* holds out her phone to others to see* Guys look: [Miwa posted a photo in stories for friends] 'Sakura is so impossibly beautiful! I took my recluses out for a walk'

Mai and Momo have cottagecore picnic dates and go to the farm to pick strawberries and some pumpkins

Miwa has a good sense of style, in fact she doesn't have many clothes, all the outfits that she assemble look original and fresh every time, as if she really has a big wardrobe, she willingly helps Kokichi and Noritoshi assemble outfits from their existing clothes (they all have similar tastes). Arata turns to her for advice when she doesn't want to bother her big sister for nothing

Nishimiya plays the cello and she and Noritoshi play joint improvisations of cello and piano when there is time and mood

Mai sings well, just likes to be harmful at every opportunity when she is asked to sing something Noritoshi sneezes softly like a kitten (I've only heard twice in my life that people could sneeze like that, hehe it's an awesome sound)

Arata got Todo into dating sim games on behalf of a fem character Todo: Toxic bastard and you pretended to be a decent guy too! Arata: Are you already going through episode X? Nishimiya and Mai *look questioningly at Todo and look at Arata* Todo*nods and turns to the character of the game*: How many such bastards around you! But nothing, he won't do anything to us! Arata*shrugs*: I didn't know that dating sim would affect him so much

Kokichi and Arata play video games and read manga. Kokichi also helps to solve problems with his infinitely clogged internal phone memory

Kokichi in this house is the main one for fixing problems with electricity and gadgets Mai and Kokichi spend money on arcade machines and collectible capsule toys, which they then carefully store 'I see how you want to get this Mechamaru, you're just incinerating with your eyes, though your eyes aren't lasers huh. Here, take it for yourself, I already have one'

Noritoshi and Mai share an interest in surfing for them it is always a competition and a fun pastime

Mai carefully preserves about the storage of gifts (she has this in common with Kokichi), although she always grumbles "who needs these trinkets, except for the growing layers of dust on the shelves?!" Between the pages of the book lives herbarium of small bouquets that Nishimiya gave her, in a beautifully decorated cardboard box with sweets from Kas, she keeps their joint pictures from photo booths in shopping malls, shells found on the shore during their journey to the ocean, and in a cloth bag a pendant with a silver revolver from her sister (she unwraps and she holds the pendant in her hand for a long time when she feels, how terribly she misses Maki. 'Fool' she mutters without malice, squeezing the jewelry in fist harder. Momo in such episodes considers it best to leave her alone so that Mai does not hide and openly experienced this moment of sadness)

Nishimiya is a fan of american vintage clothes and hippie style jewelry, I can clearly imagine how as a child she dreamed of opening her own cute jewelry store

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #strrkie hcs #kyoto students #kyoto kids #I love them #(and tokyo kids too) #utahime iori #todo aoi #nitta arata #momo nishimiya #mai zenin #momomai #noritoshi kamo #kasumi miwa #kokichi muta #mechamaru #kamomiwamuta #in my imagination these three are together and love each other #maybe i'm boring you already how often write that i love this rare ship #too many noritoshi i just miss him #wrap this child in a plaid #since i started reading jjk in 2020 i have preferred to stand apart all this time and not publish my fanon thoughts anywhere #but now i caught myself thinking that i want to share some part of my hcs with someone else

[carbkaiju]

wish I could block all mentions of the SH2 remake on every corner of the internet.

watching the artistic intent of a game be stripped away and marketed as a resident evil-style thrill fest just, kill me. people excited for the "new graphics" as if games only exist to be tech demos. much smarter people than me have already said it better, but the pursuit of high fidelity graphics is a plague on creative expression and stylization, existing only to sell console hardware. silent hill isn't timeless because you can see every pore on James Sunderlands' face and every little tear that wells up in his big sad baby eyes, because of The Bad Thing He Did. silent hill sticks with you because you remember the face of a hollow man disconnected from his own emotions, carved out in shadows, fucking listless as he stumbles around a town filled with monstrosities that are obscured by clever lighting, clever angles, with flesh and textures that your brain can't quite parse. that's the whole point. horror disappears when you put a spotlight on the shadow in the corner.

this game is timeless because an artist elevated it with their vision, fidelity be damned. Takayoshi Sato didn't fucking slave away in detail to hand animate the character's facial expressions just to be disregarded as "stiff and compromising." team silent did so much to craft haunted, derealized people with such inferior technology, so incredible that we're still crowning it today as the king of psychological horror. and in swoops Bloober team, the Masters of Subtlety and Psychological Thrill, to claim the praise. "Ah, this is how the game was meant to look!" yes, now I can finally appreciate the subsurface scattering of James' neon yellow hair. give me a fucking break.

look at Sato's art before I blow out my ulcer. and send me a dm and I will personally help you get a playable copy of SH2 so you can play it for yourself, and not lose your money to another trash HD upscale of a franchise that should be left alone. you're not supporting the artists behind silent hill if you buy the remake. you're supporting konami; a company that's hungry to ride the coat tails of the resident evil 4 remake and cash in on their ips.

#silent hill 2 #takayoshi sato #i was getting ready for sleep but then i was full of rage! #i dont get mad about things because i hate them or want people to feel bad #i get mad because i love these games an incredible amount #in the age where we think artists can be replaced by generative ai we still think more polygons equals better art #long post

[wrencatte]

-scrubs face- we're at the 5.4k mark of this untitled fic and it's time for another round of "is this boring or have I been picking at it for too long" Have a snippet of it anyway!

There’s a memory tucked around the sharp edges of anxiety and betrayal. One of a box with a costume too small for him to wear, but that didn’t matter because it was the meaning behind it, why it was being gifted to him after all this time. And then a slip of paper waved in front of his face. Dick smiling, rueful and a little fond – and Jason basks in it, practically giddy. There’s going to be times when you’re going to want to talk to someone, Dick had said. Call me. I’ve been where you are and I’m a good listener.

Jason had only used it once, that number. Oh, he’d stared at it multiple times, thumb hovering over the call button, chewing on his lip. But only once did he call.

It went unanswered. He forgot Dick was in space.

And then Jason was dead.

Dick has a different number now. One Jason’s called a stupid amount of times, and every time, Dick answered. Sometimes out of breath, sometimes half asleep, sometimes with the Titans in the background shouting like they’re in battle. He answers every time like he’s worried if he misses Jason’s call just once, just one single time, then Jason will end up dead again and this time he isn’t coming back.

But Jason isn’t thinking of that certainty, that guarantee that Dick cares, worries, frets enough to answer his calls no matter what. If he could think, it would sooth some of the paranoid and fear that makes him lightheaded – probably.

No, he’s thinking he needs to, he needs to be in Blüdhaven. He can’t be in Gotham right now. Not with shadows flitting on the edges of his vision. Not with every dark corner hiding a potential nightmare.

#my writing #jason todd