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honeybleed · 4 months

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— ★ BIRTHDAY BOY // PORTGAS D. ACE

content & warnings: fem!reader, canon-verse, spoilers about ace’s family if you haven’t got up to marineford 🚶🏽‍♂️, whitebeard crew member!reader, mentions of alcohol, smut (69, fingering, breastplay) ace has a dirty mouth in this, mdni, past traumas, mentions of grooming, death (maternal mortality), angsty but comfort & fluff

author’s note: happy birthday (01/01) to my freckled sunshine eee

word count: 2.3k

"Eh? What do you mean Ace doesn't celebrate his birthday?" You questioned as you sat with the others for dinner.

"Beats me." Thatch chuckled. "He gets all pissy when you bring it up."

Whitebeard's crew always felt like a family affair, and Ace had always been celebrated. A party animal like Ace not wanting to enjoy his special day sounded completely absurd to you.

Ace was sat on the crow's nest, overlooking the orange hues of the sunset as the Moby Dick swayed in a rhythmic grace on the calm waters.

The last time one of the rowdy crew members insisted on making a big spectacle for his birthday and refused to drop it, resulted in a fistfight where Ace had knocked the poor man's tooth out and left him with a black eye.

He'd learned to laugh it off now.

"Mind if I join you?" You grinned after you clambered the mast.

"Sure." Ace said with his trademark wolfish grin, scooting up. A comfortable silence fell over the both of you as you gazed up at the seagulls calling as they flew.

"Do you remember when we met?" You said, turning to face him.

"Yeah.." He chortled. "You gave your poor sis hell."

Your sister was one of Whitebeard's nurses for his deteriorating health. She often made remarks he was the one patient who would drink while receiving an IV drip.

And there was nothing anybody could do about it. You always snuck on board to get a peep of the colossal figure dubbed "The Strongest Man in the World."

The other members always treated you like a pest, chucking you out every time you snuck on board much to your dismay.

That is until you helped a wandering Fire Fist Ace sneak away from marines, proving your loyalty and worth.

Your sister always struggled with raising you and she knew you were better suited for life on the seas. So she let you go. It was a stepping stone for life, and you were eternally grateful.

"Usually I'm quite good at going undetected by those floozies." Ace chuckled. "I was probably hungover or somethin'!"

"Ace...you mind if I ask you something?" You asked finally mustering up the courage.

"Shoot." He responded.

"...Why don't you celebrate your birthday?"

He tensed up, jaw clenching. Ace had a soft spot for you so he bit his tongue, not wanting to be an asshole and yell.

"Whose big mouth flapped their gums?" He settled on, voice still venomous despite his attempts at restraining himself as he rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Don't blame them, Ace...I was snooping around. I'm sorry."

He made a disgruntled noise as his face crinkled up in disgust.

"Don't say sorry, jeez. Making me feel like an asshat."

You snorted at his comment.

"What's the big flap about birthdays anyways? It's just like any ole day." He said gruffly.

"You get older.." You said softly.

"And it's the day you came into this world. It deserves to be celebrated."

Ace's mind replayed that sentence on a loop for some odd reason as he lay on his bed after most of the crew headed to turn in for the night.

Turmoil was always brewing within Ace. Despite the polite, happy-go-lucky and cheeky front he put out, his mind felt as if he was stuck in quicksand of wondering why he was alive.

He loathed his father. He loved his mother and sometimes, very rarely he would lay in bed thinking about the way she protected him, so much so it had cost her life.

Nobody has memories of birth, but he liked to picture being held by his mother. During infancy. During childhood. Hell, even as a teenager before he took off.

This already stabbing guilt worsened knowing she had died that same day he was born.

He constantly blamed himself. It was irrational, he knew. Sometimes sacrifices are made by a person and as devastating as they may be, they should be respected regardless.

Garp never spoke about Ace's parents to him. He had let it slip after getting blind drunk at one of the mountain bandit's raves that Ace was the spitting image of Roger with Rouge's freckles.

He loathed his father. He loved his mother.

So the information he had inherited something from her sparked joy in his otherwise miserable existence.

Ace was torn away from his dark thoughts when he heard a knock on his cabin.

"Oh...hey Y/N-" He trailed off when he saw you holding a sprinkled cupcake with a single candle planted into it.

"What's all this...?" He asked eyebrow arched.

"It's for you.." You smiled. "I was gonna borrow a lighter but you can light it yourself, mhm?"

"That I can." He chuckled wryly. He stepped to the side to usher you in and closed the door.

The bed creaked as you sat down after placing it on the wooden desk. Ace slumped into the chair, his arms on the rests.

"You don't gotta tell me why you hate your birthday but...make a wish, hm?"

Ace let out a sigh as he shook his head. He could never say no to you. He lit the candle with the tip of his forefinger.

He was stuck on what exactly to wish for but his eyes flickered to you, who was gazing at him expectantly, he felt a surge of warmth in his chest.

After he said his wish in his mind, he blew out the candle. You dipped your index finger in the butterscotch cream, swiping it on the tip of his nose, earning a hearty chuckle from Ace as he threw his head back.

The type of belly ache laugh that makes the muscles in your cheeks hurt. He never thought he could even have a genuine smile today.

He mischievously swiped some of the cream onto your lips and nudged his forehead against yours.

"May I?"

You drew a sharp intake of breath, blood roaring in your ears as his dark eyes glinted with the lantern behind you.

"...Yes." You whispered, and Ace immediately cupped your cheek and slotted his lips against yours. You were still sitting on the bed, his hand pressing firmly against the mattress as he leaned down to kiss you.

The kiss was sweet from the taste of the cream to the tender-like movements of Ace's lips against yours.

When he lapped up the flavor from your lips, he slid his tongue against yours earning a soft whimper from you as heat pooled deep in your gut.

"ACE!" You squeaked out.

Against the pillows, your heart thumped in anticipation. He stood as he unbuckled his belt and let his shorts drop to his ankles.

It was a lewd sight you suppose, and it'd probably get crazier as this went on.

He was on all fours, crawling towards you which was a little funny to see, then he slotted himself between your legs and began to glide his tongue along the skin of the juncture between your shoulders and neck.

You let out a gasp at the sensation of his large hands squeezing your breast.

"Already..?" He whispered in your ear, his thumb flicking the hardened nipple.

Ace by no means was a lothario, and his own sexual experiences had come from the early days when he first ventured out into the sea.

The older women always told him how much of a pretty boy he was and how his freckles were to die for.

At the time he felt his chest swell with pride, especially when his older crew mates propped him up. Saying how much of a real man he was now.

But late at night he often thought back and he felt disgusted with himself. He hated it. He couldn't exactly pinpoint why he felt that way but he couldn't stand it.

So he steered away from intimacy. He could flirt his way out of trouble but when things ever began to heat up when he was on his expeditions around, he knew when to cut and run.

Somehow, as he was about to engage in something so heated with you he oddly felt comforted. As if this was meant to happen.

"Ace..." You murmured as his lips began to suck and lick the flesh of your stomach.

"What is it princess, do you want me to stop..?" He asked gently, dark eyes flickering to yours full of warmth and tenderness.

"No...I want this.." You mumbled, the tips of your ears red as you felt exposed in front of Ace. "But if it's your special day, I should be the one treating you."

A very predatory almost primal-looking glint gleamed in Ace's eyes.

"Baby...do you trust me?" Ace questioned.

You nodded. He made you stand up as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Ace already naked, began to peel off the remainder of your night clothes until you were fully nude in front of him.

He slowly began to lave kisses and sucked on your nipples, causing your breath to hitch in your throat, gripping your hips to keep you in place.

You whimpered his name, goosebumps trailing all over your body as your pussy began to almost sob at the attention. Ace swiped his middle and forefinger between your folds, practically in awe at your wetness.

He looked up to meet your eyes once more, his own swirling with lust.

"All this for me, baby?"

Unsure of what to say, you simply nodded.

"You're mighty sweet, aren't ya?" He chuckled darkly, his thumb beginning to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves, damn near about to buckle.

"You're treatin' me enough by letting me play with that pretty pussy on my special day...but if you insist. Come on. Sit on my face and suck my cock, mhm?"

The crudeness and vulgarity leaving Ace's mouth was shocking you. You've heard a dirty joke from Ace once or twice but this was another level.

Regardless, you'd be lying if you didn't say the filth from his mouth wasn't spurring you on.

As he laid back on his bed, helping you shift into the position to ride his face as you sucked him off.

You gasped when you felt Ace's fingers dig into the flesh of your plush thighs with the added sensation of him burying his face between your dripping core.

He kissed and bit the delicate flesh of your inner thighs before he completely plunged his tongue into your cunt to run it along the wet folds.

You immediately whined. He'd just begun but he was so good at it, you felt a shudder down your spine.

Your nails sunk into his toned thighs as you carefully eyed his hardened cock, the tip already oozing white pearls of pre cum and angrily red.

"It looks like it hurts." You thought to yourself but were immediately dragged out of your thoughts as Ace parted your folds with his fingers, making you squeak.

"What happened to wanting to treat me, huh?" He chuckled, words vibrating against your pussy causing you to jolt.

You never even thought of the idea of wanting somebody's dick in your mouth. Yet Ace's looked so enticing.

Slightly tan with a vein running along the underside. He seemed like such a wild person who didn't care about 'maintenance' yet his pubes seemed to be well trimmed.

It was slightly hard to concentrate on what you needed to do, what with Ace slurping and suckling your pussy obnoxiously. He was making you lightheaded and a moaning mess in his grip.

The pad of your thumb brushed against the slit of his tip, smearing the cum around. He hissed and bucked his hips slightly since he was carried away with the relentless assault of his tongue on your core.

"You goddamn minx..." He muttered with a hazy smile.

Your hand wrapped around his length and began to stroke him tauntingly slow, giving kitten licks on his aching tip. He let out a groan, his raven locks plastering onto the sweat on his forehead.

Soon enough, you slowly but surely took Ace's cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him as the mixture of saliva and precum coated his dick.

You and Ace were cut from the same cloth you suppose. Both of the oral you were giving each other was sloppy and messy, and you both were struggling to keep your sanity amidst the pleasure.

The Second Division captain's cabin was a cacophony of sinful and desperate moans bouncing off the mahogany panelings and skin slapping.

"Fuck...princess.." Ace gasped out, his breath tickling your sticky and puffy folds. "Don't think I can...handle this much longer. Let's cum together, mhm..?"

You nodded, throat a little raw at Ace accidentally hitting the back of your throat with his tip with the over-enthusiasm of you bobbing your head when you increased your pace.

Soon enough, you simultaneously hit your orgasms, Ace's hot seed oozing in your mouth and your juices squirting on his tongue, he eagerly lapped up the essence causing you to jerk away in hysterics.

"You are so damn...greedy!" You heaved out, breaths shallow after you swallowed and rubbed your throat.

"Can't help myself, princess." Ace remarked with a weary smile as he sat up then crawled over to rest on your chest. "You make me insatiable."

You ruffled his jet-black tresses and kissed his temple as he wrapped his arms around your waist, face nestled into you.

"Hope you enjoyed, birthday boy." You smiled.

"Aw...so you sitting on my face is reserved for birthdays only? Suddenly I wish every day was my birthday." He chuckled, causing you to thump his arm.

The next morning, despite the elaborate plan to leave before dawn before anybody saw you leave Ace's cabin you were caught.

"Here." Thatch said sliding a mug of tea over to you. "Marco says peppermint is good for a sore throat."

That was the last thing Thatch remembered before he was scalded with some of the boiling water sloshed on his hand, the rest of the crew in hysterics.

author’s note: if you read this far tysm! reblogs & interactions always appreciated. its like 4am n i wrote this w my pussy n depression so sorry for any grammatical or spelling mistakes

#one piece x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece smut #portgas d ace smut #portgas d. ace #fire fist ace #ace x reader #one piece ace #ace smut #ace fluff #one piece fanfic #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x female reader #one piece angst #⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nara scribbles

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writer-room · 1 month

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I would never actually want Morro to make a return, because good lord let the boy rest I beg, but unironically I think the comedy potential of Morro as a ghost hanging around Euphrasia is insanely underused.

Imagine yourself as Euphrasia: an introverted, quiet kid, who just writes about destiny and listens to the big bosses on their high horses. Now enter Hot Topics most reliable customer since 2015 with daddy issues and a inferiority complex hovering over your shoulder.

Morro is the demon hissing for the souls of the innocent while Euphrasia just wants a bagel. Regularly blows over stacks of very important papers because he was bored. Will not shut the fuck up about how she should go fistfight the guy who sneered at her the other day. Sends in the mother of all hurricanes when someone looks even a little disappointed at Euphrasia. Gets increasingly more violent with the ways he could totally kill someone when she keeps ignoring him. I think anyone would snap and get at least a little more confident with their snark when they have to put down bullshit like that every day.

The downside to this is that Euphrasia has to, you know, deal with Morro. The upside is that she has the full ability to hit him with a "I think somethings, like, wrong with you" in a half-sarcastic half-nervously-genuine way, and it'd destroy Morro so bad he has to sulk in the Departed Realm for a week with his emo music. He might be helping Euphrasia's ego, but his own is getting yanked back down by the ankles, kicking and screaming, whether he likes it or not.

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itevilhag · 1 year

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your brother’s here | neteyam sully

neteyam x sister!reader | neteyam x twin!sister!reader

summary: a group of boys decided it would be fun to call you names, and your brother was not about to put up with it. but this leads to an arguement between a very protective brother and a guilt ridden sister.

word count: 702

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, FLUFF, brotherly love, mentions of bullying and physical violence (nothing in detail).

You were angry. Furious at your brother's utter stupidity. While both of them were bragging about beating the shit out of Ao’nung and his friends and Kiri scolding them from time to time, you remained silent, only focusing on the task at hand- tending to your eldest brother's wounds.

And as time went on, your silence became more and more noticeable to your siblings. And all of a sudden, none of them knew what to do. They looked at each other nervously, then at you. Your shoulders were tense. Your jaw clenched too tight, the unusual sharpness of your ears, and the slight flare of your nostrils that only Neteyam noticed. Gone was the liveliest of the Sully siblings because now she was replaced by a person they rarely get to see.

The uncomfortable silence suddenly broke when you applied too much pressure on the gash in his arm.

"Ow- Ow! It hurts!" Neteyam flinched away from you, but you kept your hold on his arm firm. You thought for a second that he deserved it for his sheer stupidity engaging into a fight with Ao'nung, but guilt immediately consumed you as that he would not be in this predicamanet if it wasn't for you. But your resolve did not falter.

"Kiri, Lo'ak can you please leave us for a moment?"

Kiri and Lo’ak froze at the tone of your voice. Firm and commanding, you sounded so much like your mother that it was enough to scare them into obeying.

"You are in so much trouble." Kiri snickered as she passed by Neteyam, who in turn only rolled his eyes.

Silence stretched between you and Neteyam. The waves crashing upon the shore and the crunching of healing herbs filled the gaps of silence, until-

“Little sister-” Neteyam started.

"Don't you little sister me-" you glared at him as your crushing of herbs came to a halt. "You of all people know better than instigating a fight!" you placed the now bowl of healing salve in front of you and carefully took your brothers arm in your hand and started applying the salve as gently as possible trying with every single bit of your being not to crige at the way he silently hisses everytime salve makes contact with his wound.

"And having a fistfight with the Olo’eyktan’s son? What were you thinking? Not to mention the fact that you and Lo’ak got hurt-"

"But still,” your angered exterior softened as you wrapped his arm in cloth. ”You shouldn't have. I could've handled it myself."

"He called you a freak, Y/N. He disrespected you." Neteyam hissed.

"And let you get hurt? No way! I'm your big brother. It's my job to protect you."

It’s my job to protect you.

His words echoed in your brain as your eyes wandered towards the bruise that blossomed on his cheek. The cuts across his skin. Every single one served as a reminder of what you did. And this was where you realized that your anger was not geared towards your brother but towards yourself. You were disappointed in yourself because you couldn’t protect him from getting beaten by those boys. If you weren’t so different, so unnatural, he wouldn’t have had to defend you. If it wasn’t for you, he would not be hurt.

You cast your head down in shame as tears broke through your eyes and a painful sob made its way past your lips. Neteyam immediately embraced you, and you clung to him like it was your last. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, and yours circled his waist.

"Hey, hey, it's not your fault," he whispered in comfort as he slowly pulled back to wipe the tears that had painted your cheeks with an arm still around your shoulder.

"But it is! If I was just normal like everyone else, no one would pick on me and you wouldn't have gotten hurt." you sobbed on his shoulder. "I curse Eywa for making me like this!"

Neteyam was stunned at the gravity of your words. "You don't mean that."

“You are not a freak, okay? You may be different from everyone else, but what you are is not a curse It is a gift.” your brother assured you with a small smile. “You can talk to animals for Eywa's sake! Who else can do that? No one, but you can. Isn't that cool?" he marveled with a laugh.

You chuckled wetly against his shoulder with a light shrug. "It kinda is."

"So, I will not let anyone make you feel otherwise. No one gets to talk to my sister like that, ever. Okay?"

You smiled up at him. "Okay."

"Thank you," you whispered.

“Don’t worry about it, sis,” he replied as he planted a kiss on your temple.

"Just don't get hurt again, skxawng." your voice may have sounded sharp, but Neteyam knew that they carried no heat. It only made him chuckle.

"There is my little sister."

#neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam #avatar #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #avatar imagine

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punkbarbarian · 2 months

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a family reunion, from fistfight to cigarette

up the wolves, the mountain goats // the elektra complex, joan tierney // all about love, bell hooks // on earth we're briefly gorgeous, ocean vuong // the wee free men, terry pratchett // you're gonna go far, noah kahan // brother of mine, jun miresa // wild geese, mary oliver // lost in my mind, the head and the heart

[image id: 9 screenshots of text on white backgrounds. 1: "[chorus] our mother has been absent ever since we founded rome / but there's gonna be a party when the wolf comes home" 2: "ORESTES: how could you recognize me after all these years? / ELEKTRA: what a stupid question. i was born knowing you." 3: "we can never go back. i know that now. we can go forward. we can find the love our hearts long for, but not until we go grief about the love we lost long ago, when we were little and had no voice to speak the heart's longing." 4: "you realize, at last, that you can change without disappearing, that all you had to do was wait until the storm passes over you and you find that--yes--your name is still attached to a living thing." 5: "he said it was better to belong where you don't belong than not to belong where you used to belong, remembering when you used to belong there." 6: "we ain't angry at you, love / you're the greatest thing we've lost / the birds will still sing / your folks will still fight / the boards will still creak / the leaves will still die" 7: "oh brother of mine, we're no longer alike / though you're still the same dear brother of mine" 8: "you do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles in the desert repenting. / you only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves. / tell me about despair, yours, and i will tell you mine. / meanwhile the world goes on." 9: "won't you tell me, my brother? / 'cause there are stars up above / we can start moving forward." /end ID]

#traveling back to lost with will's brother in tow and feeling so so normal about it #clearly. obviously #anywaysssss #will orville #c: lost township #talking #litstack #described

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minervadashwood · 1 year

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Daryl Dixon x gn!Reader (plus size) - Soulmate AU

Careful

Summary: You have a soulmate you've never met. When their injuries stop appearing on your body, you worry that they're dead. As the apocalypse starts, you're convinced of it. How very wrong you are.

Note: This story is a one-shot AU of the Scars and Stitches (Tumblr | AO3) universe. I think it can be read as a standalone, but if you want to read the whole series first, go right ahead. There is one specific event referenced in the chapter "Safe" (Tumblr | AO3). You can check that single chapter if you’re curious. Huge thanks to @livingdeadblondequeen for giving me this idea of soulmates who experience each others’ injuries and pain. This story contains: angst, scars, blood, a secretive Daryl Dixon, and a happy ending. Word count: 3.3K

Masterlist | Taglist

The first scar happened when you were only four. One day, you were playing outside, just after a summer storm, making mud pies with your little brother. There, up to your wrists in wet, squelchy mud, sudden scrapes appeared on your hands, your knees, and your left cheek. Your brother screamed for your mother, and he started weeping uncontrollably. “Y/N’s dying!” he said, over and over. But you weren’t. Each of your scrapes, including the slashing wound on your forehead that bled profusely, were treated at the kitchen sink. You bawled through it all, but back then your mother was gentle. She soothed you with kind words, a soft touch, and endless patience.

More injuries came after that. Your nose was broken in the third grade, your wrist in the fourth. Not a month went by when you didn’t get bruised or banged up. Your mom went back to work, taking the nightshift with your dad at the local coal refinery. You were racking up doctor’s bills right and left, and the insurance was better with both of them working.

When you were twelve, your mom sat you down one Friday night--morning for her--and told you about the birds and the bees, including soulmates. She explained that the reason you got hurt so much was because out in the world somewhere, your soulmate was getting hurt, too. You cried, worrying about the person who was injured so often.

After that, your own troubles started. Your parents took up drinking, and your cozy little trailer became a nightmarish prison. The first time your mother slapped you, you sent a silent apology to your soulmate. They’d been hurt so much already, and here you were making it worse.

At fourteen, a fight with your mother, who wielded a broken lamp, left you bleeding from a gash in your oblique. Your younger brother got in the family car, barely able to see over the steering wheel, and drove you to the doctor’s office to get you patched up. You had a jagged scar from that, and so must your soulmate. Every night you prayed to that distant person, telling them that you loved them and that you were sorry. Not for anything specific, but just because both your lives seemed to be filled with pain.

But the worst scars came when you were fifteen. You were in English class--your favorite--when your back erupted into a sharp, bruising pain that made every other injury feel like tiny scratch. You wailed, right in the middle of class, falling out of your desk chair and writhing face down on the floor. You jerked as more and more pain hit you, the force of it shaking you right to your bones. Then the bleeding started. Huge cuts formed under your shirt, soaking the garment in seconds. Your teacher ordered all the students out of the room, and she called the nurse on the intercom. You were in a fog of pain and tears, and soon too weak for even that. You woke up in the hospital, laying facedown on a gurney, your little brother at your side.

More came later, bruises on your face from what you eventually realized were fistfights, once a sprained ankle. Another broken nose. Then a third. But as you grew up, left home, and got your library degree on a state scholarship, the hurts came less and less.

You half wondered, through most of your twenties, if your mate hadn’t simply died from all their hard living. But deep down, you still felt a connection to them. Whether that was false hope or something else, you weren’t sure.

Now, you are somewhere in Georgia, staring down miles of abandoned cars. Your arm is in a sling because one of your companions put you in a wrist lock two nights ago. You have two friends here. A stressed out cop and a surly redneck. The latter keeps a close eye on you. He knows about your scars and about your mate, whom you are certain is dead.

After Shane hurt you, somehow Daryl found you. Tipsy from the liquor he’d been drinking, he took one look at you and demanded an explanation. After you showed him your arm, he wrapped it with an elastic bandage and fashioned you a sling from a pillowcase. The whole time, you sat there and cried your eyes out. You went on and on about your lost soulmate, all the pain they’d been through--all the pain you’d been through. Daryl listened, silently, his expression sometimes tense and sometimes soft. He is a man of few words, to say the least.

(You never noticed that since that night he started favoring his left arm, and that he usually sleeveless hunter took to wearing long-sleeve flannel.)

Daryl catches your attention as the group begins to split up to search the nearby cars. “‘M goin’ up ahead to get some gas wi’ T-Dog.”

“Okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll look for clothes and medicine. Maybe find something that will actually fit me.”

“Will ya try ta stay close ta the RV?”

You nod with a half smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’m one handed at the moment, and not looking to be a hero.” Daryl leaves you with a nod, and you watch him walk away from you; his broad shoulders seem large enough to carry the weight of the world. Maybe they do.

Rick approaches you a few minutes later, convinced that Daryl is the one who hurt you. You fall back on the lies you and your brother would spin after your parents had too much to drink. Lori demanded your silence, and you want to keep your promise.

“It didn’t happen to me,” you explain, “I have a soulmate. I thought they were dead, but hey, guess what? Miracles do happen.” The end of the world apparently has made you snarky. You give Rick the short version--not the weeping monologue Daryl suffered through.

“Maybe you’ll find them,” Rick says, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly.

Getting back to your task, you somehow find a suitcase with plus size clothing. Most of it is in floral prints or with obnoxiously bedazzled phrases like “hot stuff” and “super cute” spread across the front. The other options include garish Hawaiian prints and stretched out polos. You aren’t picky. If something might fit, you grab it.

You have a good-sized bundle when Daryl suddenly grabs you and pulls you to the ground. In doing so, he has saved your life, again. Under a jeep, you huddle with him, holding your breath as he glances around and grips a long knife in his hand. The walkers pass you by, miraculously, and Daryl helps you to your feet. Just as he did after the CDC exploded, he holds you close, his arms wrap tightly around your thick middle as he whispers in your ear.

“Ya did real good. It’s gonna be alrigh’.” A moment passes before he loosens his arms and lets you go.

You wonder what he must think of you. Some helpless person who cried and moaned over a bruised wrist. Someone who needs constant looking after because they can’t protect themselves in this world.

Not all of your group fared as well as you and Daryl. In fact, he has disappeared into the forest. You sit with T-Dog, stitching up his arm and digging through long-lost Merle’s stash for antibiotics.

Later, as if you’re some child to be handled, Daryl demands that Glenn take you to the farm, ostensibly to take care of T-Dog. But you know better. You’re in the way and virtually helpless. Daryl doesn’t want you underfoot while he continues the search for Sophia. You can’t blame him.

At the farm, your scant first aid knowledge isn’t much good when there’s an actual physician around. You are partially relieved. Carl has much better chances without you getting in the way.

Carol, practically a walking zombie--no, not that kind--only frets and cries. Normally, Lori would comfort her, but Lori has her own troubles. You help organize the camp, before it gets too dark, pitching tents and making up beds for Daryl, Shane, and Carol. After, you sit with Carol, and she tells you stories of Sophia, some that break your heart and some that make you smile. Her tirades against Rick bubble up in between the tales. You let her talk; it’s not like Rick’s around to hear, anyway.

Night has fallen long before you hear the now-familiar sound of Daryl’s motorcycle. He talks with Carol, and the woman cries and pounds her fists against his chest. The sight affects you so much that you feel pressure on your heart, the repetitive pulsing almost making your ribs ache. You watch as she cries herself out, and Daryl’s head hangs low. Unable to bear the sight, you leave to get some food and water for him.

Carol escapes into her tent, and as she leaves, you bring the food to Daryl. You sit next to him while he eats in silence.

You want to hug him again, like you did in his truck, like you did on the highway, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere.

“Thanks fer the grub,” he mumbles, standing up.

“Sure, no problem. Did you get enough to eat? Drink?”

He nods, biting his thumbnail and looking at the ground.

You know he’s exhausted, but there is something boyish and lost in the way he stands and the drooping of his shoulders. All at once, he reminds you of home, of family. Indeed, a wave of familiarity overtakes you, as if you have known Daryl all your life.

Ignoring the voices of your better angels, you reach up and gently draw his hand from his mouth to hold it in yours.

He lets out a long sigh and runs his thumb over your knuckles. “We got someone keepin’ watch?”

You stare at your joined hands in the moonlight, at Daryl’s thick, calloused thumb moving over your skin. His touch grounds you, somehow. Nothing is okay right now, but with Daryl next to you, this chaos feels almost bearable.

“Dale on the RV, T-Dog in the camp,” you answer. “We set up a tent for you. You need some rest.”

He nods.

Still holding his hand, you lead him to a small copse of trees, where his tent sits, apart from the others. You know that Daryl likes his privacy.

On the way, you tell him about Carl, about Otis and Shane heading out in the morning. You tell him about Hershel, too, warning Daryl that the man is protective and opinionated. You finish just as you reach his tent, and you reluctantly let go of Daryl’s hand.

(You don’t notice how he clenches and unclenches his fist, or how he puts his other hand on that wrist, trying to dull the pain there.)

“Ya got a place to get some shut-eye?” he asks, his voice raspy and soft.

“With Carol. Don’t want to leave her alone overnight.”

He grunts, giving you a small nod. Resisting every urge to hug him, you turn and walk back to Carol’s tent. Sleep comes fast, but Carol’s cries wake you up in the night, over and over. Each time you try to comfort her until eventually she falls asleep again.

The next day, in the late afternoon, the heat has taken its toll on you, so you find respite in a shaded part of camp, drinking from a bottle of water. The grass, soft and tempting, practically invites you to take a nap. Even without Daryl or Rick close by, you are relatively safe, so you give in.

When you wake up, Dale’s face is directly above yours. His hat askew, his brow covered in droplets of sweat, Dale’s mouth is moving, but you blink in and out of consciousness. Another concussion, you think, that would make three, now.

Forcing yourself to focus, to stay alert, you try to sit up, but Dale holds you down, his lips moving even faster now. A shadow moves above. It’s T-Dog with bandages and a bottle of tequila. His voice becomes a muffled sound, then all at once, you hear Dale saying your name, over and over, telling you to stay still. T-Dog shouts for Andrea, but she is nowhere to be seen.

“Wha--”

“Save your strength,” Dale tells you. “We’re just trying to stop the bleeding before we get you inside.”

The throbbing in your head gives way to a white-hot burning in your belly. You hurt from the inside out, as if something has clawed its way through you and left agony in its wake.

A soft touch wipes a cloth across your brow. The blood on it catches your eye. The throbbing in your head must be bleeding.

“Was it a bullet?” Carol’s voice asks. She cradles your head on her lap. “They must have fallen and hit their head, too.”

“Can’t be. We would’ve heard somethin’,” T-Dog replies.

Aches, bruising and intense, bloom all over you, like smatterings of hammer blows on your joints, torso, and legs. A whimper passes your lips, but the others don’t seem to notice these fresh bumps. You start praying, like you did all those years ago, telling your soulmate that you love them, to be strong, to get themselves to safety.

Consciousness comes and goes, at one point your shoulders are caught in a bruising grip, but no one is actually touching you there. Quickly, after that, new agony rips through your open wound, making you scream and moan on the ground.

Dale’s hands are shaky, you feel the trembling at your wound. All at once the three of them turn you on your side. You can’t help the piercing scream that erupts from your mouth.

“Whatever it was, there’s an exit wound,” Dale says. “Didn’t see that at first.”

A pair of hands press against your belly and another at your back.

The new pain has you on the verge of fainting until the disembodied voice of Andrea shouts, “WALKER!”

“Shit!” T-Dog exclaims.

All of a sudden, he lifts you. The world whizzes by, a steak of green in your peripheral and a wisp of clouds overhead.

Something slices across your temple, a quick burst of pain that fades in the wake of your torso being shaken and jostled as you are carried across uneven ground.

You can’t keep your eyes open. The voices around you are silenced and your vision goes dark. Again.

“That’s two more rounds of antibiotics, Rick. Your people can’t seem to stop getting hurt.”

“I understand that, Hershel. A few of us will go out in the morning and look for what you need. For now, I need to know if they’re going to be alright.”

“They’ll need some time to recover, but, yes, they’ll be fine. Eventually. Now, I need to check on my own family.”

You hear a door slam shut, and force open your eyes. “Rick?”

The room is dark except for the light from a lantern near the table. In a chair next to you sits the deputy.

“You gave us quite the scare today,” he tells you.

“What happened?” You try sitting up, but think better of it when you realize you are shirtless under the covers. You have more scars than words to explain them.

“Daryl was tracking Sophia, fell off his horse, and down a ravine.”

You clutch the covers to your chest. “Is he okay? How bad is it?” You tremble in the bed, sick with worry.

Rick smiles and says,, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You turn to see Daryl laying next to you, his head wrapped in gauze. Distantly a door opens and closes: Rick making a quick exit.

Daryl’s eyes are watery as he speaks. “Didn’ ‘spect ya ta find out like this.”

He takes your hand and places it on your forehead. Instead of hair, your fingertips trace over gauze. You realize it's wrapped around your forehead, just like it is his.

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest, sounding in your ears like the hastened beat of a bass drum.

Next to you, Daryl slowly pulls the covers down to his waist. He has a tank top on, but it does not cover the bandage on his stomach. The white gauze has been placed on the same part of his belly that caused you incredible pain before you blacked out.

“All I thought ‘bout out there was gettin’ back to ya. Jus’ thinkin’ of ya hurt as bad as me. I had to pull the arrow out to stop the bleedin’. I know it hurt like hell.” He lays on his side, but under the covers, his hand finds the soft flesh of your stomach and rests there. “‘M so sorry. Fer this, fer everythin’. If I knew before--” his voice cracks, but he keeps talking. “If I knew ya was ou’ ‘ere, gettin’ hurt ‘cause of me, I woulda been more careful all them years. I knew I didn’ deserve ya the moment ya told me all them times ya prayed to your soulmate, worried ‘bout him, ‘bout me.”

You take his hand and use it to pull him closer. His rough fingertips find their way to your upper back and hold you gently.

“I don’ deserve a soulmate, let alone someone like you,” he whispers. “Look what I done to ya. All yer life you been hurtin’. ‘Cause of me.”

Tears fall from your eyes. You cup his face, stroking your thumb on the apple of his cheek. The scruff from his beard pricks your skin, but the discomfort is welcome. “You’re real and here. That’s all that matters to me. You weren’t the one to carve up my back or break my nose. The world did that, to both of us.”

You move closer to him and cradle his neck until your noses almost touch. “I’ve been dreaming of you all my life, Daryl, scars and all. Your life--our lives are told on our bodies. Every scar a story of the time before we met. I want to write a new one. Together.”

He stares at you in the orange lantern light, and a few tears fall down his cheeks. Heart in your throat, you stay silent, watching him watch you. You lose yourself in his eyes, the soft way he gazes at you, unblinking and searching.

“I wanna kiss ya,” he mumbles. “I jus’ want ya to feel somethin’ good from me, an’ not all this pain.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

Daryl’s hand snakes up your back until it cradles the base of your head. The world goes silent the moment his lips touch yours. The taste of him sets off fireworks in your soul, as if part of you was not truly alive until this moment. You kiss him back, all those years of praying and crying over him coalescing so that you can forge this new path, together.

Some time later, you break apart, lips wet and swollen from endless, slow kisses, kisses trying to make up for decades spent apart.

“Was tha’ alrigh’?” Daryl asks, biting his bottom lip.

You smile for what feels like the first time in your life. “Not sure. We better do it again. Just in case.”

The end. Thank you for reading!

==Taglist==

@livingdeadblondequeen @phoenixblack89 @green-eyedladywrites @in-this-minute @takeabreathdeath @ravendixon @gypsytraveler86-blog @xojdmasf @daisy107 @angelrenee239 @sleepyamaya @no-tresspassing @carol @taintedxkisses @bl4ckt00thgr1n @glitch0o0 @micheleamidalajedi @lonelywolfheart @jad3djay @catholicraisin @harringtonstudios @brittney69 @littlelovebug98 @aureolinb

#mdop #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #minerva writes #scars and stitches #dd/xm #nonbinary reader #enby reader #gender neutral reader #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon x gender neutral reader

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jamisonwritestf2trash · 6 months

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minific anon jumpscare! ft. dadspy :3

----------<3

Scout's used to people insulting him for not having a dad growing up. In fact, he used to insult himself for not having a father. And he insulted his father for running away. And then he started to think that maybe his father hadn't run away. He had died. And Scout decided, a dead dad is better than a dad who ran away. He didn't realize how wrong he could be.

There's only one photo of his father that he knows of. It's in his mother's locket, and she only lets Scout see it on his father's birthday.

His father was about 23 in the picture, and he has black (or dark brown, maybe?), smoothed back hair. He has piercing blue eyes, and a slight, warm smile on his face, staring at the camera. Scout was barely a year old when that photo was taken, Ma had said. It's weird to think that Scout had known his father for a little while. He just can't remember his voice.

It doesn't matter to him, anyway. He learned to survive without a father, after all. And so far, he's done a damn good job at it. Until now, at least. The stupid BLU scout had gotten an advantage on him during a physical fight, grabbing their dropped scattergun and firing into Scout's torso, blasting him backwards and off a small ledge. He'd somehow survived getting shot, but the fall had broken his ankle and likely his nose, judging by the blood starting to drip down his face from it. He'd crawled under cover to hide from BLU team. He'd heard them cap the first point, which meant that most of RED team must've retreated so Medic could heal them so they can defend the next point.

And they'd forgotten about him. Or, assumed he was dead. Or figured he was busy fighting. Groaning, Scout sits upright and starts to try and treat his injuries, but his hands are too shaky to hold the medkit right.

"Scout!" Someone's voice whisper-yells from a bush, and he looks up to see the outline of Spy in the treeline nearby. "Come quickly, there's nobody nearby. Bring that medkit."

Scout nods, and drags himself towards the treeline, where Spy puts an invis watch around his non-injured wrist and turns him invisible as well, and drags him further into the trees for more cover.

"Do you want to tell me what happened or sulk in defeat?" Spy asks, somewhat mockingly.

"BLU scout." Scout mutters, wiping his nose. "We got in a fistfight an' they got their gun and shot me."

"A miracle you're still alive. Give me that." Spy grabs the medkit and starts to treat Scout's wounds with surprising precision.

Silence falls between the two for a few minutes. Spy finishes with treating Scout's wounds, and helps him stand, slinging his arm around his shoulders and starting to walk.

"Hey, uh, Spy."

"What, Scout?" Spy looks at him, annoyed.

"...Thanks." Scout mumbles. Surprise lights in Spy's eyes for a moment before he looks away with a huff.

"But of course." Spy narrows his eyes. "Your mother would not want her son returning home in a box."

"Yeah." Scout laughs slightly. "She'd kill me again. And Miss Pauling, too, probably."

"Hm." Spy stops for a second, checking for any signs of BLU before continuing.

"Hey, Spy, do you have any family?" Scout asks. "Like, back in France?"

Spy doesn't say anything. He just stops dead in his tracks.

"Uh... Spy? I get it if ya can't answer, but... why'd you stop?" Scout asks, slightly nervous.

"I don't have family in France." Spy answers flatly.

"Oh... um, did they move to America with you?"

"No. They died in the second world war." Spy narrows his eyes. "But I did have family here. But I... left them."

"Well, why'd ya do that?" Scout frowns. Spy doesn't answer, just continues walking. Scout lets the question hang in the air, instead decided to look at Spy's face. He rarely ever was this close to Spy, as the latter usually was annoyed by Scout and avoided him, and Scout never got to study Spy's face that well. He had drawn all of the other mercs except for Spy so far.

Spy has piercing blue eyes and fairly sharp cheekbones, and his chin sticks out a little bit. His nose is pointed downward slightly.

"I feel like I've seen you before somewhere, dude." Scout breaks the silence. "You remind me of someone."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spy frowns, suddenly defensive. "We've never met until we took this job."

"I dunno. You just look familiar. Like, um, your facial features, I mean." Scout shrugs, and Spy just rolls his eyes, continuing back to the base.

RED ending up being able to defend the last point, thanks to Sniper's quick thinking and eliminating the enemy medic and making quick work of the rest of the team using his SMG.

Scout couldn't shake off the strange feeling of familiarity from Spy. He's seen that face somewhere before. But where? And why was it bothering him this much? Sighing, he rolls over on his bed and reaches for his Bonk!, only to knock something off the nightstand.

His ma's locket. She'd sent it in the mail a few months back, and he hadn't gotten it open yet. But it seems to have popped open since he dropped it on the floor accidentally. Scout grabs it and looks at the photo inside.

His blood runs cold.

There's only one way to be sure.

Running down the hall, Scout makes his way towards the room, pushing the door open as silently as possible and sneaking into the room. He reaches for it, only for Spy's hand to grab his wrist in an icy grip.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Spy snaps, pushing Scout backwards. "And how on earth did you get in without me noticing you opening the door?"

"Doesn't matter! I gotta know somethin'!" Scout holds the locket out. Spy raises his eyebrows.

"About jewerly? You'd be better off asking Miss Pauling---" Spy starts.

"The photo." Scout drops the locket in Spy's hand, and the Frenchman looks at it. And his face falls.

"Where... Where did you get this?" Spy demands.

"It's my Ma's. You look like him." Scout stares at Spy.

"Well... I suppose we do--" Spy hands the locket back. "But I can assure you that is not me."

"Prove it." Scout stares at Spy. "Take your mask off."

"What?"

"Take it off." Scout stares evenly at Spy. "Right. Now."

"I'd rather die." Spy scoffs, and motions for Scout to leave. Scout rolls his eyes before lunging at Spy, grabbing the mask and starts pulling at it. Spy lets out a shout of surprise before starting to fight back, but Scout pulls the mask off. But before he can look, Spy kicks him in the gut and stumbles away, putting a hand over his face to hide it, turning his back to Scout. Scout stands slowly, looking at the mask in his hand, and then at Spy.

"Look at me." Scout whispers. "Look at me, Spy."

"And if I don't?" Spy asks, his voice slightly muffled by his hand.

"I-- I'll burn the mask!" Scout says, surprised by his own words, but he holds true to his words, pulling the lighter Pyro had given him from his pocket, and flicks the lid off. The sound causes Spy to stiffen, and after another moment of hesitation, he lowers his hand and turns to face Scout.

He looks just like the photo, just older and a defeated look on his face.

"Are you happy now, Scout? Is this really what you wanted?" Spy asks, holding his hand out for the mask.

Scout's lower jaw trembles, and he stares in shock. Taking a step back.

"You... You fucking snake." Scout whispers. Spy blinks, surprised. "You're my father--- You fucking SNAKE!" Scout's sudden yelling surprises Spy. He doesn't say a word for a few seconds. Silence fills the void between then.

"You ain't even gonna defend yourself?" Scout scoffs. "I went.... 26 fuckin' years thinking that you were dead, but here you are... fucking alive and well, rich as ever. Was I just--- just not a good enough son for ya, is that what it is?" Scout walks closer to Spy, poking his chest. "Was Ma not good enough for ya?!"

"Your mother is a wonderful woman---" Spy starts.

"Then why'd you break her fucking heart?!" Scout yells. "Huh?! Was she not good enough for you?! Was she just another one of your stupid--- stupid little accessories that you got bored of and threw away?!"

"No--- Scout, let me explain---" Spy pushes Scout away. Scout doesn't want to listen to him. His vision goes red and he punches Spy. In the face. It's a strong enough punch that it knocks the Frenchman to the floor. Spy looks up at Scout, stunned.

"Jeremy..." Spy whispers. Scout doesn't listen. He lights the mask on fire and runs.

------------</3

part 2??? tomorrow Or today depending in my mood :)

Oooooooooh, angsty!!!! Welcome back, anon! I've also toyed around with the idea of Scout feeling not good enough.

#minificanon #tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #spydad

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queerpossumtrenchcoat · 17 days

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Let's talk gender expression, awful haircuts and realisation of who I am! I came out as gender fluid approximately around the age of the third picture above- and I got an awful haircut to match it, but at the time I felt like THE gender vibe; I was 13, or so, and didn't realise I looked like I'd had a fistfight with a weed whacker. It was a stepping stone however, for me to discover who I was; after this time I started to experiment with my look, name and pronouns, leaning more towards he/they and slowly changing my name from Jaimee to Jai and or James- small steps, I know, but crucial ones in me realising my dead name no longer really fit me as a person. James was a family name after all. Finding myself wasn't always glamorous, the look wasn't always particularly handsome or pretty, it was colour the tips of my hair with sharpie markers and conditioner until my hair had a distinctly petrol-and-macadamia type stench or cutting it with a cheap, disposable razor which ended up giving me hair reminiscent of the early 2000s emo scene (which I totally was, even if I only saw 6 years of the 'early 2000s!'). I would hack off chunks, flatten my chest with cheap Duct Tape and wear boxers I stole from my dad in order to feel some semblance of who I was, using makeup to poorly build cheek bones and eyebrows so I could look like my hero at the time, Brendon Urie (God, that aged poorly..) In time I got creative, I learned that my parents wouldn't let me get a 'real boy's haircut' so I'd have to improvise; here came the next 6 months of beanie hats and ponytails pulled over to create a 'boy fringe' which, in retrospect, was giving more Justin Beiber than Emo Quartet, but that all chained when I turned 16 and... Got to dye my hair for the first time!! It was the greatest experience for my gender to date!! My mother bought me midnight blue hairdye for my 16th birthday and helped me dye it; I looked in the mirror at my fairly short ish, dark blue hair and I saw it. I saw him, stood staring back at me with tears in his eyes. I saw ME. I told my girlfriend, at the time anyway, straight away and she accepted me with open arms- I think she was expecting the genderfluid-to-trans masc timeline, which funnily enough he followed in 2022 during lockdown. Lockdown dug its claws into my gender and expression quite deeply; while at home with my mother, father and two very young siblings I came to experiment with my gender a lot more, dressing in more masculine clothes and cutting my hair off for 'sake of ease', or that's what I told my parents anyway- they believed it too, surprisingly. I went through college having to somewhat pretend I was just a feminine man, I was exhausted and on the brink of suicide, as most people my age at the time were, and went by Eden because it seemed more palatable to the others around me- didnt stop me being picked on, but it wasn't by students... It was my own teacher! Shout out to Miss Dunsby! Then I dropped out of college. I picked up a shitty little cafe job as a barista and linecook, cooking meals, making coffees, pretending I gave half a shit about a joke I'd heard over and over again; I dyed my hair neon green and used my pay checks to get it cut SHORT short for the first time- I looked hella fine, in my opinion, but I was also starting to realise something.. Maybe I had been right the first time, because I didn't feel like a man all the time. Back to the drawing board... One shaved head and a job at a gay bar later, I started using the art of drag, performing as a female persona, to realise that I was Masc-Agender, like a boyish presenting genderless person. Easy enough, I suppose. I started wearing makeup, being myself and wearing whatever I damn pleased, uncaring of social cues and rules, I was me. I was happy. I AM happy. If there is anything you can take away from this, once you find the part of yourself you can express your feelings, thoughts and emotions with, go wild!! I did and it made realising my truth so much easier!

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brokestrapmountain · 1 year

Text

dinluke hcs because im holding out for them in s3

-neither of them are big spoons/little spoons. they both like to hold and be held

-going back to that, luke is a literal ice cube and din is a human furnace. they’re both pissed about it sometimes when cuddling because “din get off of me im already sweating”

-they have a lot of little silly arguments and make borderline offensive jokes about the others culture that is literally only allowed for one another

-that is to say tho… they don’t seriously argue a lot, but when they do it’s a fucking disaster

-either one of them goes off planet for a few days just to brood while the other considers burning their clothes

-it’s always about cultural differences within raising grogu. it happens mostly in the early stages of their relationship because they’re Bad at communicating at first

-while they work through their differences, the arguments lessen and they aren’t as intense

-luke has never learned how to fistfight. why should he? he can crush someone’s windpipe with his mind. din changes that

-“i don’t see why this is necessary training. im never going to be in a situation where i resort to using my fists”

-“sounds like you’re afraid im gonna kick your ass”

-“do you WANT me to throw you at the wall?”

-luke trains din with his darksaber. duh.

-they spar a lot. sometimes it’s to release pent up stress and emotions, other times it’s for fun, a lot of the times they end up having sex on the training mats

-luke wins almost every time except for when they go hand to hand, though din puts up a good fight and luke is always impressed

-SLOWWWW BURN before their relationship is established. they’re a little wary of each other at first, borderline slight dislike. but slowly din starts cooking for luke.. luke is offering to train him with his saber.. they’re opening up about their shared experiences with their messy religions.. they have a couple of drinks together.: the force starts to sing around them..

-back to the cooking thing. luke is used to sandy flavorless meals back on tatooine from his childhood and shitty protein bars from the rebellion. din has grown up around spices and intricate dishes from his covert. so when din starts cooking, luke is OBSESSED with his food, even if his spice tolerance is really bad. he holds back his tears at the start. then he gets used to it

-he asks din if he could replicate a recipe his aunt beru would make. of course, he agrees, despite feeling slightly under pressure to make it. it doesn’t taste exactly the same, he doesn’t remember how his aunt perfected it— but it still gave him that same familiar feeling of unconditional love and adoration

-din loves cooking for luke. anything he could do to show his appreciation and love for him, he’ll do it. he’s an act of service kinda guy

-later in their friendship din tells luke the fragmented stories about his childhood living in the village. about how his mother used to craft dolls and his father was a carpenter.

-“they would be so proud of you, din” and he starts to breakdown

if u wanna hear more drop some ideas <3

#dinluke #din djarin #luke skywalker

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lily-orchard · 3 months

Note

Courtney claims she kept accusing your father of enjoying hitting you until he stopped using spanking as a punishment. I don't know how true that is, but I'm wondering if there was any similar action taken to stop him spanking her. She claims she only got hit twice.

If Courtney ever stood up for me, she did it when I couldn't see it. My parents themselves make the same claim, that they supposedly argued about several of my suspensions from school. Conveniently, I was never around when this happened.

I only saw it happen once in 5th Grade when I was sent home, was walking home, and the principal was following me in his van demanding I get in (which is actually really fucked up now that I'm thinking about it, no wonder my mother screamed at him).

Other than that, I doubt Courtney's sincerity. The last time I was ever spanked was when I was eleven, because my father was convinced I had purposefully caused a burn in the carpet.

Ironically what kept Courtney from getting spanked was me. I didn't actively get in the way, just that if she did something that would have provoked violence or even screaming, my father usually just assumed I had done it instead.

The truth of the matter is that my father always had a scapegoat. Before it was me, it was my brother. He was ALWAYS getting into these petty power struggles with my brother that often ended in fistfights. My father raised his three children to be like him. So they were rude, they were nasty, they were combative, and reacted very poorly to other people pushing them around. And he was the one pushing them around.

Part of my father's damage is that his father treated his kids like shit on the basis that "It's my house and when you have your house you can call that shots." So he clearly looked forward to being King of the Castle. And when his children routinely responded very negatively to his "Fuck you I do what I want" attitude, in his mind a very personal slight had occurred because some unspoken deal had been broken.

I talked about this in the Turning Red video. Parenting isn't logical, it's ideological (did you like that sentence? I thought it flowed rather well). It's not about whether something works. It SHOULD work, and that's all that matters.

Spanking children SHOULD work, and if it doesn't you just didn't spank them hard enough.

Remember that guy who got so angry that his daughter complained about him on Facebook so he filmed himself shooting her laptop? That's the kind of nutcase we're talking about. Someone who throws a mantrum when a teenage girl bitches about him.

The reality is my parents wheeled me into every single doctor they could find trying to fix my behavioural issues. And it didn't work. Even when I saw huge progress in the inpatient facility, once I got back home I was right back to being rude and disrespectful.

Because the truth is no amount of medication or therapy is going to make you respect someone who has a completely unlikeable personality.

The core fundamental problem in the house is that my parents were complete cunts. And they wanted their kids to just ignore that and respect them anyway. But nobody ever respects someone who behaves the way they did. And no amount of demanding respect is going to warp reality and make you respectable.

You can yammer on about how you own the house and pay the mortgage, but children have no concept of what those are. What they do know is you're mean, so they don't have to be nice to you. Because that is 90% of the lessons we teach children.

But none of this computes to a man whose entire worldview is "He who owns the house is entitled to treat the occupants like shit." In his world, he was entitled to do these things, and you weren't entitled to complain about it. But we don't live in his world.

#lily orchard #courtney peet #courtney orchard #brittany johnson #britts galaxy brain #lily orchard drama #lily orchard discourse #stalking #harassment

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crackedpumpkin · 1 month

Text

The Red String Theory (02)

𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 - 流放 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 | 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 a/n: t.w: Mentions of sexual assault in the middle of the chapter, please do not read if you're uncomfortable with it.

Another day, another basketful of laundry to wash, hang dry, and steam to perfection. The sun is no foe to underestimate either. On some days you’re grateful, because having its strong rays dry the clothes quickly means less work in between, while other days almost give you heatstroke a couple times.

The day after you were informed of your mother’s passing, you reported to Mei Yi, the head maid of the palace who had then proceeded to loudly identify you as the daughter of the dead dancer. It stung, of course, but you promised yourself not to cry.

But that didn’t mean it was easy to hold yourself back from launching at the grown woman for a fistfight.

She had assigned you only the hardest chores of scrubbing the floors of the Grand Ballroom, and hand washing all the Prince’s garments. You had a difficult time; your muscles constantly aching after work when you got home to Hanoh.

Hanoh was nothing short of an angel like always, constantly taking care of you and making sure you had a full meal when you got back home. She’s the only reason why you survived up till now.

Your mother wasn’t able to have a proper funeral, but Fire Lord Ozai had allowed for you to create a small shrine in your home. It didn’t mean much though. You were too poor to afford a portrait, and her body was never recovered from the palace. All he allowed to be sent back were the accessories and garments she’d worn.

Now, her necklace dangles from your neck as you carry the basket of dried laundry back to the main steaming room, where all wrinkles would get steamed out by other maids. On the way back, a couple of them say hello, having gradually warmed up to you after witnessing you scrub the floors and accomplish all of Mei Yi’s unfair tasks without complaint.

It was worth it to see her astonished expression at the spotless floor.

Meals had also improved, from the first one being quarter of a loaf of bread and barely any soup being carelessly thrown to you, to an actual plate of rice with vegetables and some meat on the occasional good days.

The cooks had taken pity on you, and it definitely helped that you were nothing short of scrawny after a couple weeks of pathetic meals being served. Rumours of how Fire Lord Ozai had favoured your mother circulated throughout the palace, but no one was allowed to speak of her after her death.

“Where’re you off to again, Wildfire?” Wei Yi, one of the cooks asks as you walk past the kitchen’s open doors. She dusts off the flour on her hands from making the pile of noodles on the side of the counter, walking over with a small packet.

“You know me, the usual laundry drill. Mei Yi decided to give me the honourable task of washing the clothes of our nation’s rising suns,” You answer sarcastically, holding up the basket of red and gold clothes to prove your point.

She chuckles, handing you the packet in her hands. You open it and look inside, eyes wide when you see the dried deer meat she’s prepared for you. Making sure no one else saw, you stuff it in your pocket and give her a thankful nod.

“Go easy on my cousin this time, won’t you?” Wei Yi jokes. You shrug nonchalantly, though a smile plays on your lips.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Attagirl.” It was during the third week of Mei Yi’s harsh words and utterly hard to please standards that Wei Yi had taken a step forward, defending you. You’d been shocked to find out that they were distant cousins, which was why after that day the difficult tasks were reduced.

Ever since then, Wei Yi had taken care of you in small ways, and it took about a few months for you to completely open up to her. Majority of the maids still kept a wary eye on you, but the bullying had stopped after you exposed another maid for talking blatantly about the Princess.

You then solidified your position as not one to be messed with when you managed to get the attention of Fire Lord Ozai. It was simple enough. He had power, and you needed some. All it took was framing a maid for poisoning his meal. She deserved it though, for talking about your mother the way she did.

Physical wounds may heal, but the wounds on your heart won’t.

If only your mother could see you now.

Time passes quickly, and your 13th birthday is already coming up next week. The first few birthdays without your mother were spent locked up in your room, unable to bear the thought of growing older without her. One day though, you decided to try drawing a portrait of her, and that finally got you out of the room. From then on, you’d always have a birthday cake in front of the small shrine in the living room, imagining her singing happy birthday to you.

Your chest aches at the thought of her, shoving down all emotion that starts to arise in your chest at the memory of her laugh that seems to echo in the halls of the palace. When you close your eyes, you can almost imagine her running down them with your hand in hers, introducing each and every corner when she danced for the Fire Lord on occasion.

“Delivery,” You announce, placing the basket on the table next to the door. The other girls give you a mere glance of acknowledgement, continuing to do their work. That’s fine. You’re used to it. It’s not like they’d simply warm up to you, not after what you did to some.

You leave without so much as a glance back, heading to the lessons Ozai had commanded you to take. Maths, calligraphy, and history were the main three, while the one that took up the most time was dance. Clearly, he wanted you to follow in your mother’s footsteps considering that he’s made you perform in front of him and his ministers regularly.

You hated the smug smile on his face every time, high on the knowledge that he could say a single word and you would end up with a fate exactly like your mother’s. Your dance teacher is different, treating you like an imbecile and working you to the bone. The first time you had a class with her, she’d forced your legs wide open and pushed your pelvis to the ground, forcefully making you do the splits.

It hurt like hell, but now you’re grateful since it occasionally comes in handy during chores.

“Have you never been taught to be punctual?” You secretly roll your eyes at Mei Yi’s shrill voice, following her pompous figure to the dance academy located near the palace. “It’s already been 4 years, and you’re still the unruly child that showed up at the doorstep. You should be grateful to your mother I suppose, since his Majesty’s favour still continues after her death.”

You automatically tune her out as you walk, unbothered by the same speech she’s been reciting for 3 years. You wonder if she’s written it down somewhere for her children to keep saying.

Soon, the prominent signboard of the academy comes into view, and you all but race toward it. She huffs and snaps her red parasol shut, glaring at you. “Mind your manners you urchin, or you might stain the name of the palace!”

‘Oh, a thousand apologies, I didn’t get the chance to learn about them before the Fire Lord killed my mom.’ You bite your tongue to keep the words from coming out, but she can sense your impudence coming from a mile away, so she merely huffs and turns around to leave.

Once she’s out of your sight, you heave a sigh of relief, going through the doors. This might be hell, but being around her is pure torture.

“You’re late.”

Never mind. Being here is infinitely worse. You wince at your instructor’s strict words, watching her approach you with a dissatisfied look. “I’m sorry, I rushed over as soon as I could, but-”

“Did I ask for excuses?”

You press your lips together, lowering your head. “No, Ms Wu.” Luckily, she walks away and you exhale shakily. You’d never get used to this. Today must be a good day though, since she didn’t continue scolding you. On some days it’d escalate to full on rants shouted at your face.

She sits on a chair in the corner, watching you with a sharp eye. “Do your drills.”

You obey, taking the ribbon and doing a couple of stretches before beginning the routines she’d drilled into you. Your muscles are on autopilot, legs stiff and hands relaxed as you lift them up and do a spin.

“Again.”

You begin from the start once more, trying not to let her dissatisfaction get to you. However, you don’t even get halfway through before she interrupts.

“Again.”

You try to fully focus this time, inhaling deeply to calm your raging thoughts.

“Again.”

You’re used to this. You can take it.

“Again.”

It’s only an hour, it won’t be long.

“Again.”

In the end, it takes 64 run-throughs before Ms Wu is finally satisfied. She releases you with an icy stare and dismissive wave, letting you go back to the palace to perform yet again for Fire Lord Ozai.

You’d gotten changed and some maids had helped with makeup and hair. Hoping that you’re not late, you race through the hallways and down to the main dining hall, where Fire Lord Ozai, his ministers, and hired musicians wait for your presence.

“You’re late.”

Oh no. You immediately bow your head, trying to catch your breath as you apologize to him. The sight of you grovelling at his feet for mercy is a guaranteed escape from further punishment. You confirmed this when you saw the twisted grin on his face when you peeked at him through your sleeves.

Thankfully, this time is no different. He dismisses it with a wave, though his eyes glint dangerously as his gaze settles on you. Proceeding to ignore him and everyone else like you’d done every time, you raise your hands, getting into position.

As the first note rings through the air, you dance.

Twirls and spins are the least of your worries, all your previous anger and frustration at Mei Yi, Mrs Wu, and the group of people watching vanishes. Somewhere in the dance, your eyes close, imagining how your mother felt while doing the exact same thing.

Was she scared? Terrified? Had she always given her best regardless? Did she truly love what she did? How would she react to seeing you now? Questions are meaningless in the face of reality, but it’s little comfort to feel her presence through your fluid movements and graceful steps. Maybe she’d even be a little proud.

Would she really?

Your eyes snap open as the song ends, rapidly trying to catch your breath once more. Your gaze automatically lands on Fire Lord Ozai, hands clasping together under your long sleeves and praying desperately that he’d be satisfied with this performance.

His cold eyes look at you for a long while. Not even his ministers dared say anything, though they all gave you applause at the end. But their opinion didn’t matter, not when the Fire Lord enjoyed toying with your life as if it were mere string unravelled from a neat ball of yarn.

He gives a single nod, no other indicator of whether or not he’s pleased. That’s okay. It’s more than enough to know that you’re able to live for at least another two weeks. As you make your way out of the hall, you’re stopped when someone tries to call out to you.

Your steps slow to a halt, waiting for the official to catch up. He’s decently handsome, with dimples and a strong build. He leans against the pillar next to you, taking a moment. You raise a brow, curious of his intentions. No other person would approach you besides the maids when they needed something done.

“Can I help you?”

He stands up properly with a cocky grin. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer?”

“Yes,” He suddenly takes your hand in his, causing you to flinch when he plants a kiss atop it. “One that you will like, I’m sure. Haven’t you ever dreamed of being outside the palace walls? I can provide you with that. You see, I was captivated by your dancing ever since I first laid eyes on you. You’re stunning.”

“Oh…” You’re not entirely sure whether to feel disgusted or flattered. You’d never been complimented by anyone before, be it for dancing or anything else. What are you supposed to do? How’re you supposed to react? “Thank you…?”

“Which is why,” He suddenly pulls you close to him, your entwined hands the only thing between you two as you gasp, “You should marry me.”

It takes a moment for you to register his words. “What?”

“Be my wife.”

He’s completely serious about this, you can tell from his gaze. But his eyes drop from yours to your neck, his other hand on your waist and slowly tracing down to your hips. “You can get everything you’d ever want,” he whispers into your ear, “Freedom, riches, power…All you have to do is marry me.”

This is wrong. Something’s wrong. This isn’t the type of marriage Hanoh would tell you about. This isn’t one of love and promises for a better life, this one is filled with leers and dark words that try to tempt you over to him.

His fingers are dangerously close to your butt. In his overconfidence, his grip has loosened. You take the chance to shove him away, using the one card you’ve kept hidden up your sleeve.

You firebend.

Flames devour his hand, eating away hungrily, and it only burns brighter the more hatred you allow the fire to use as its kindling. Your entire being is repulsed by the sight of him, relishing in the way he falls to the ground with a cry, cradling his burning hand.

“You’re disgusting.” You manage to say, feeling icky all over. “You just want to own me. I’m only 13, you creep! I hope you die!” You hawk a gob of saliva and spit it at him, watching it land on his cheek. “If you ever try that again on anyone, I’ll make sure your hand isn’t the only thing gone.” You say icily, walking away before breaking into a run.

The door slams shut behind you. Making your way to the pail next to your bed, you grab the soap and washcloth, stripping down and starting to wash yourself, scrubbing away at the pale skin. The motions are repetitive, yet they’re not enough to rid the slimy feeling of that disgusting man’s touch.

The more you scrub, the more disgust you feel. The washcloth isn’t enough. You resort to using your fingernails, letting them dig away at your skin as you scratch obsessively. Beads of blood bloom from the scratches you inflict, only stopping when the soap stings the open wounds.

It’s only then that you bring your knees close to your chest, letting the tears fall.

— — — — — —

“What do you mean Zuko was in an Agni Kai?”

“I’ve told you not to refer to the Prince with his actual name! You’re lucky no one else was around to hear that, or you’d be thrown in prison,” Wei Yi scolds, reaching her hand out to lightly hit the top of your head. She’s surprised when you flinch away, a reaction she’s never seen from you. You uncomfortably adjust your uniform, averting your eyes.

She retracts her hand, letting it go as she hands you yet another little treat. You don’t bother to check it before putting it in your pocket. She raises a brow, suspicious. “Did something happen?”

You pause, shoulders stiffening when you recall the events of yesterday. Shaking your head helps to shove those memories down for now, looking back at her. “...No, I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little ill.”

“I told Mei Yi not to work you to the bone,” Wei Yi sighs, leaning back as she chops up more vegetables. “There’re other maids for a reason.”

“It’s fine. But what was that you were saying about Zu- the prince, getting into an Agni Kai? I thought he’s still under training.” You ask, handing her another knife.

“I’m not sure. All I heard was that he and his father got into a dispute, and it didn’t end well for him. You and him are on good terms, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say good…” Besides Wei Yi, the next person to have shown you kindness, no matter how small, was Prince Zuko. The first time you met him was in the garden. He was staring aimlessly at the sky, oblivious to the lack of sandals on his feet. You’d rushed over and informed him that only the Crown Prince and Princess were allowed inside.

He looked at you blankly, answering you with a simple ‘I know’. That’s when you realised whom you were talking to. You’d apologised, of course, bowing your head repeatedly and begging for your life to be spared. Instead, he gestured for you to come over and sit next to him.

Sitting next to him was terrifying, but being away from your gruelling work made it seem like a luxury. The gentle breeze caressed your faces as he opened up about his mother, finding solace in a complete stranger. It was a moment of bonding between you both, having lost your mothers to the same person.

His duties with the crown and your desperate attempts for survival made you drift apart, childhood innocence now lost with the years that pass. In the end, you’re left with simple acknowledgements, small nods, and glances of recognition across hallways. Status halted your budding friendship, but it didn’t mean you felt nothing upon hearing the news.

Wei Yi nudges you. “I hear the guards are changing shifts soon. Sometimes there’s a small gap in between, enough for a maid to take a drink of water to him.” She pretends to not notice you leaving, dutifully tending to her own preparations.

His bedroom is located on the floor below his father’s, signifying his status as the Crown Prince. True to Wei Yi’s words, no guards are around when you reach, so you pull open the heavy doors with all your might and quietly enter.

The room is grand as expected, with red and gold decor all over the walls. Small dragons are etched into every corner of the room, the beautiful art on the window blinds leaving you speechless.

“Who’s there?”

You reveal yourself, stepping past the curtains around the bed. You press your lips together to hold back the gasp when you lay your eyes on him, but the sharp inhale makes him scoff. His left eye is heavily bandaged, a faint red staining the gauze right on top. Bruises and faint burns cover his upper body, but those would heal in time.

His eye on the other hand, you aren’t so sure.

“It’s you.” He sounds exhausted, drained even. There’s an emptiness to his words, a hollowness in his eyes. It’s a sharp contrast to the proud ego he’s displayed walking through the palace. Whatever happened in the Agni Kai must’ve broken something inside.

“What happened to you…” Your whisper makes him grin bitterly.

“What does a lowly maid need to know?” You flinch at his harsh words. But he softens, realising that he’s lashing out at the wrong person. “My father happened.” He admits, looking away from you. “I made a mistake.”

Whatever he’d seen back then to make him confide in you, he must’ve seen it again because he continues. “I went against him. I- I didn’t mean to insult him, but he said that I stained his honour and mine. All those years of training, of being his son and for what?” He chuckles angrily, clenched fists at his sides.

“I got banished. Now, I’m not allowed to return until I find the Avatar and I swear,” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling. “I will find him.”

You remain silent throughout, letting him speak. You’re here to just see how he’s doing, but somehow, he’s doing so much worse than you thought. There’re no words you can offer to ease his pain, and as a maid, there’s nothing you can do to help either. You don’t have any power.

“I don’t know what you did to get on his bad side,” your eyes slowly widened at his words, “But it was bad enough for you to get banished with me.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” You chuckle nervously, eyes searching his for an answer. You find none. Getting to your feet, the only thing on your mind is fear.

Crippling, paralysing fear.

That same fear grips its dark claws into your heart, digging into it with each passing second. The guards are surprised when you push past the doors and run to the Throne Room, confusion and anxiousness slowly taking hold of your body.

What did Zuko mean? How did you get on Ozai’s bad side? You’d done everything to keep it right, to gain some form of power to ensure your life would remain untouched. You barely reach the Throne Room before the guards pin you down onto the floor. You land with a pained cry, your hair splayed around you as hot tears form in your eyes.

“Stop.”

A single, commanding voice is all it takes for the guards to get off you, standing to attention as the Fire Lord himself approaches. You push yourself off the ground, but don’t dare to look up at him as you bow.

“Fire Lord Ozai, I received some very distressing news that I need to clarify with you.”

“Speak.”

This is your chance.You find it hard to swallow, but you have to push ahead. Surely this must be a mistake. You’ve been nothing but obedient. You could’ve fought back, could’ve run away from the palace after he killed your mother. Instead you bowed your head, submitted to him to ensure your life and Hanoh’s remained untouched.

“I was informed that I am to leave with Prince Zuko to hunt for the Avatar. Surely this must be a mistake-”

“What’s wrong with my order?”

At that, you raise your head in shock, a guard moving to push it back down before Ozai stops him with a single look. “So the words are true? I am to leave with Prince Zuko?”

He frowns, regarding you with nothing more than apathy. There’s no need for words for the confirmation to ring true in the silence, your heart racing as fear finally takes hold. Sweat trickles down your neck, breathing shakily.

“Why?” You cry out as he turns to walk away and resume his duties. You inhale sharply when you spot a familiar face holding the scroll Ozai had been looking at moments earlier, recognising his leery smirk as the official who had tried to assault you only yesterday. Now, he stands tall and proud next to the Fire Lord.

“Must I explain myself to you, a maid?” Ozai’s cold words turn the atmosphere into one so thin you can barely breathe. But as soon as you see the amused glint in his eyes, you realise.

He knew. He knew about everything.

He knew, and used it as an excuse to get rid of you.

“Wai-” Your arms are grabbed by the guards once Ozai’s interest is gone, uncaring to how harshly they grab you. Your head is muddled, all thoughts crashing into each other with no sense of order.

What had all your effort been for? What had all these years done?

“Princess Azula!” The official calls out in greeting, the young princess entering with her entourage.

“Father,” She greets him, spotting you in the corner. Her lips twist into a disgusted frown, “Why is she still here?”

“She was just about to leave,” The official assures her with a smile.

“Good. Trash should be taken out anyway. I suppose it gets passed down in the family.” She snickers, sauntering over to you and taking a lock of your smooth, raven-black hair in her hands in admiration. “Pretty. But you,” a single flick of her fingers has a controlled flame dancing atop her fingertips. “Don’t deserve this.”

Before you can react, she cleanly cuts off your hair, letting it fall to only your collarbones. Discarding the cut hair carelessly to the floor, a servant rushes over with a clean cloth for her to wipe her hands with. “There,” She tosses it at you with a smile, letting it hit your cheek. “Now you look exactly like your mother did.”

The guards begin to haul you away. You’re too stunned to react, limbs limp in their hold. Your voice is gone, all words dead in your throat. That final line had hit you where it hurt the most. “One last thing.” You don’t bother lifting your head up, all hope within you extinguished.

“He is no longer a prince.”

#sokka x reader #sokka #sokka x y/n #atla sokka x reader #atla sokka #atla #atla x reader #avatar the last airbender x reader #x reader

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mxlfoydraco · 1 year

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i have a question 👀 have you ever read a drarry fanfic where they were brewing amortentia and one of the two is like ‘ew why does it smell like * in here?’

These are closest to the prompt, which shows up more in tumblr ficlets actually!

Base Notes by Sectumsempra (4k)

Draco is in the potions classroom, brewing something, as Harry reports for detention. ----- He comes close enough to the cauldron – from which smoke now rises in spirals, the surface gleaming like mother of pearl – that this time when he catches the scent, he recognizes it. ”Wait,” he says. ”You're making perfume?” Malfoy looks at him with a raised brow and a strange, lop-sided simper. ”What perfume?” he asks, which seems like an odd question. ”The one you're always wearing, isn't it?” As their eyes meet now, the expression on Malfoy's face, hard to read as it is, makes Harry wish he hadn't spoken. ”No fucking way.”

Stop and smell the roses by regencyaus (4k)

Harry really, really needs to start paying more attention. In his defense, he's been having a very long day. Which is why he runs his mouth before he even thinks about why, exactly, the whole potions classroom would be smelling like Malfoy's stupid cologne. "You're the master of not thinking about things, Potter. Half of your hero moments were due entirely to good timing, a lot of luck, and you doing things you didn't think about." Well, okay, but no need to be rude.

Potions Class by pr0bablyn0body (4k)

Prompt: What if one day everyone was brewing Amortentia and Harry walks in late. Of course, he doesn’t know what they’re brewing and the first thing he says is “Why does the room smell like it’s drenched in Malfoy’s cologne?” And then everyone else, including Draco, just stare at him, until Hermione says, “This is Amortentia Harry, it smells differently to everyone according to what attracts them.” Then Harry just goes really red and kind of squeaks because now everyone knows that he’s in love with Draco.

Wasn't it Obvious? by orphan_account (7k)

“I don’t think you’ve brewed it correctly,” Harry admitted, wrinkling his nose. Draco scoffed, unimpressed, “Potter. Do you really think I would take potions advice from you?” “Well if you think it’s so perfect why don’t you smell it? Oh, wait. You wouldn’t be able to because it reeks of your bloody shampoo!” If either of the two had been more perceptive, they would’ve heard Pansy choke in the background, and notice that they now had the rest of the class's attention--even Snape’s. Draco, clearly irritated, took in a whiff of the potion as well. “Are you nose-blind Potter? How could you expect to smell anything correctly over that horrid cologne?” “W-what?!” Harry squawked indignantly, “What cologne?” === Or, 5 Times Where Harry and Draco are oblivious towards their feelings to one another and one time where they finally understand. (Featuring: Amortentia, Veritasesrum, shared Patronuses, the Mirror of Erised, chaotic trios, and more...)

I have a Love & Lust Potions list from before and I would also add these as involving love potions in a significant way,

The Potion Makes the Rules by SquadOfCats (4k)

When Harry smells Amortentia for the first time in sixth year, he is entranced by the scent: green apples, snow on pine trees, and something else...something seductive and familiar he recognizes, but can't place. Eight years later, when he gets into a fistfight in the middle of the Ministry, Draco Malfoy head-butts him in the face and suddenly Harry knows exactly what he smelled in the potion all those years ago.

Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love by @aibidil (80k)

In which a group of wizards' rights activists goes on the offensive after a prohibition against love potions, forcing the magical world to confront the horror of magic's role in sexual assault and the murky legal nature of consent. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco are swept together to solve the case, and in the process they're made to confront their own love and lust—with and without potions.

Lovesick by @corvuscrowned (7k)

People keep spiking Auror Harry Potter with love potions. Healer Draco Malfoy keeps having to pick up the pieces. But it's getting harder and harder for Draco to watch Harry fall in love with everyone except for him.

Save My Wonders by @unmistakablyoatmeal (21k)

Immediately chocolate assaulted Draco’s senses. Warm melted chocolate mixed with his mother’s roses and… something else. Something new. Freshly scrubbed skin and maybe a faint sheen of sweat. It was so familiar… And it only intensified when Potter came up behind him.

A Real Gem by @tackytigerfic (1k)

Falling in love, and not talking about it, and all the nice Amortentia smells.

Passion Cake by @icmezzo (19k)

It’s all about desire. (Harry orders a magically enhanced cake from a chic London bakery, and from there it all goes to hell in a cake tin. Also, will someone please tell Harry what Passion Cake is?)

you, a violent desire by @alpha-exodus (47k)

The Amortentia was an accident—but only the first time.

It Was We Who Were The Cliché (But We Carried On Anyway) by orphan_account (31k)

When the reconciled Black sisters go on holiday together, Andromeda entrusts Draco, rather than Harry, with five year old Teddy Lupin for three weeks. Harry is convinced she made the wrong choice, and he decides the way to fix this is simply to keep turning up at the manor and refusing to leave Draco alone.

The Truth About Love by @amywaterwings (52k)

In which Draco is a high-powered magical divorce lawyer and Harry is the Unspeakable assigned to seduce him. It goes as well as one might expect.

Live to Remember, Remember to Live by @m0srael (19k)

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has just taken on a new case involving a dangerous experimental potion. Neuromagicologist and Potions Master Draco Malfoy is the one man in Britain who may be able to determine what it does and who’s brewing it. Harry Potter just feels lucky that he gets to tag along.

On the Last Day by @thusspoketrish (53k)

Draco is still mourning the recent loss of his mother when the Wizarding World is struck with the tragic news of Harry Potter’s untimely death. It’s just his luck that Potter not only comes back as a ghost, but seems intent on haunting Draco as he’s the only one that can see him. It’s a race against time to retrace the last few days of Potter’s life in order to find his body before he’s lost to the living or spiritual realm forever. On their journey, they’ll uncover secrets, betrayals, and a horrific truth that will disrupt both the living and the dead.

Haute Allure by @lol-zeitgeistic (12k)

Harry is famous for his menswear now. Malfoy is the inside leg that he loves running his tape measure up.

The Wand Slipped by @unmistakablyoatmeal (35k)

After a messy, public divorce and a disgraceful exit from the Auror Department, Harry is trying to rebuild his life as a private investigator. But when his ex-wife ends up in St. Mungo's, and Harry's tasked with finding her attacker, he'll have to confront the mistakes of his past, and rely on an old enemy, in order to get closure and move on, and incidentally, solve the case.

White Lies by cassisluna (171k)

Draco drinks a potion that makes him know if a person is lying, and Harry, apparently at fault that Draco is this way, is forced to 'help' him with the effects of the potion. For the first time, they deal with each other with no lies to hide behind

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop (113k)

Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him. When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic rec #drarry reclist #draco malfoy #drarry fic recs #my recs #fic recs #hpdm #harry potter #amortentia #love potion

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isaactheterrible · 1 year

Text

TF2 Mercs Yandere Version

Trigger Warning: Violence, Abusive Behavior, Stalking

(Disclaimer: This is based on the TF2 comics and the personalities of the mercs in them, this is what I kind yandere I personally think the mercs would be. Gender neutral reader)

1.Medic

-Obssessive medical yandere

-100% will kidnap you

-Will probably spend years studying you

-Vivisecting you, dismembering you, pulling you apart and putting you back together, learning everything about you

-You're his special interest he loves spending hours studying and memorizing everything there is to know about you

-Probably the most awful and dangerous out of all them, has no regard for your feelings or safety after all if you die he can just put you back together

2.Scout

-Delusional yandere

-He knows the two of you are meant to be and hey! You are probably already together, you're just taking things slow that's all he's sure of it

-Buys little items that remind him of you such as the same shampoo as you

-Obsessed with chivalry, keeps insisting that he pay for you despite him not always having the funds to do so, insists you wear his jacket even if he's freezing his balls off ect

-Gets jealous easily due to how insecure he is

-He keeps acting like the two of you are dating but won't cross your physical boundaries

-Would never hurt you physically but he will completely break down if you get with someone else

-Takes him days to get out of his depression room, he has convinced himself you'll choose him eventually

-Not that dangerous, at most he'll get into a fistfight with your S/O in a Wendy's parking lot

3.Demoman

-Two-faced yandere

-He fell for you the moment he saw you, he just knew you were the one

-Tries to befriend you at first but almost immediately introduces you to his mother, the two of you need to get along otherwise it's a deal breaker

-If you passed the test he's already planning your wedding and future

-He does his best to clean up his act and be the ideal image of the perfect man and future husband to you

-He doesn't steal from you or violate your boundaries but he will solve any "problems" that might get between you too

-He will kill anyone that threatens your perfect life, serial killer on the side

-He trust you because he loves you but it's best that you never betray that trust

-Not that dangerous for you but extremely dangerous to everyone around you

4.Heavy

-Overly protective yandere

-He will kidnap you and force you to live in a cold cabin in Siberia in the middle of nowhere

-For your own good of course, he has tons of enemies and he needs to keep you safe, the world can't know of your existence

-You could try to run but there's nowhere to go, nothing but cold and snow for kilometers around

-You are stuck there essentially forever cause he doesn't believe you can actually protect yourself without him

-Incredibly boring, all that exists is cold and books and we'll him

-You are slowly going insane in the place

-Very dangerous yandere, he won't kill you but you'll end up chained for years potentially if you try to leave, why can't you just understand he wants to protect you?

5.Pyro

-Codepended Nightmare

-You will never be alone again, clingiest MF

-Good thing is that they don't need that much attention, just being around you and maybe napping on your shoulder is enough

-You're one of the only things that bring them joy

-Will draw you a lot and give you lots of little trinkets and gifts

-If you force them to go in a different room they'll sit outside the door waiting for you

-Not that jealous or possessive will be happy to have other people around

-Might hurt you out of pain and anger if you try to leave

-Pretty dangerous to both you and your safety

6.Engineer

-Possessive Yandere

-He has strong abandonment uses and is convinced you'll leave him for someone else if you ever get that chance

-Will isolate you and sabotage your relationships, at first from anyone he sees as competition and then everyone else as well

-He doesn't do it from a place of wanting to own you but from a place of insecurity

-Might kidnap you if you try to leave but only as a last resort, he really doesn't want to hurt you but he'd rather do it than be alone again

-Very dangerous mostly cause he prioritizes his desire for companionship over your right to freedom

7.Soldier

-Absolute nutcase and menace to society

-He fell in love with you, congratulations you're technically married now!

-You are pretty much stuck with him, you two are joined at the hip with him ranting about whatever to you

-Would do ANYTHING for you, except leave you alone of course

-Not at all jealous and pretty chill about your obvious discomfort and escape attempts

-He can't and won't listen to reason, he's too far gone

-Not particularly pushy but very volatile

-That being said he's still incredibly dangerous

8.Spy

-Controlling ass mf

-On the positive side you will be showered in gifts and luxuries

-On the negative side you get to choose pretty much nothing about your life

-You have an image to maintain so your friends, your clothing, your food, the places you go to are all completely out of your control

-You will probably quickly lose your sanity and if you do you will be shipped off to the highest quality glorified re-education mental hospital

-The doctors aren't here to help you their here to make you more obedient

-Run away as far as you can but he'll always find you, he's a danger to you and all your loved ones, willing to destroy you if it means controlling you

9.Sniper

-Stalker

-Has entire folders and USB sticks dedicated to you

-Knows your social security number by heart, your current location, your address, your friends, any dangerous people in your area, EVERYTHING

-Watches from afar helping here and there like a guardian angel

-Has put cameras and voice recording devices in your house

-He doesn't collect memorabilia such as t-shirts or other forgotten items

-He does take a lot of pictures and his room is a bit of a messy shrine to you

-Absolutely shook if you approach him first, it's just too much for him he's experiencing too much emotion and might hide away out of embarrassment

-Not that dangerous as he has no interest in intervening with your life unless it's about your safety

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