#and then also agonize over canon angst

[hysteriaww]

would kai have saved bonnie if damon left her ?

The simple answer imo is yes - the complicated answer would be his *reasons* for saving her.

I feel like if Kai saved Bonnie in 6x22, it would be VERY different from when he saved her in 6x13 on her bday. In 6x13, saving Bonnie was a huge sacrifice Kai made bc of his newfound guilt and other growing feelings about her. But if Kai saved her in 6x22, that man would do it out of SPITE lmfao. Like sure, maybe a *tiny* fragment of leftover post-merge Kai would save her bc he believed she deserved better, but at the mental state that he was in by 6x22, i think a larger part of him would actually be looking to save her out of this petty urge to make bonnie suffer, bc dying would be too easy for her according to his thought process 💀

In canon, remember how Kai got annoyed by damon seemingly deciding to let bonnie die and choosing elena over her super quickly? He complains, saying smthg like "This decision was supposed to torture him," bc he wanted damon to agonize over the bonnie vs elena choice for a long time. Similarly, i think bonnie dying just like that would eliminate a lot of the angst, pain and tension of the situation, so Kai would save her life *just* so bonnie and damon would be forced to live with the uncomfortable reality of damon choosing elena over her and deal with the emotional fallout of that instead of pretending they have the world's best friendship, as they'd been doing for all of S6 (bc Kai would enjoy watching that mess).

Ofc, that would probably result in Bonnie aiming a lot of her resentment towards Kai for forcing her to face those hard truths, but maybe, after an initial explosion (and a lil nudging from Kai), she might realize that targeting kai is just shooting the messenger rather than addressing the root problem (her toxic friends). If it hadn't been kai, then somebody else would've made bonnie see the truth but either way, that's something she needed to see.

Realistically, even after this realization, i don't think bonnie would've suddenly warmed up to kai, but i think it might've pushed her to ditch damon instead of sticking around Mystic Falls to help him all the time (which would've consequently made Kai suddenly lose interest in Mystic Falls too xD). If Damon then chose to seek her out to beg her (read: force her) to defeat the town's new villains-of-the-week, or if he found her w his humanity off and tried to kill her to get elena back, i think kai might've surprised them all by appearing out of nowhere to get damon off bonnie's case (bc kai being kai was prob keeping tabs on bonnie's whereabouts as soon as she skipped town).

And maybe Kai's sudden appearance would've led to a bonkai confrontation with Kai realizing he may have saved her out of spite in 6x22, but there is no explanation for why he saved her from damon this time besides.. *wanting* bonnie to get her life away from her friends. And maybe that would've also led him to unsubtly point out that an elena-free existence had actually made bonnie's life better, thanks to kai.

Bon would probably kick his ass halfway across the world after a comment like that but i think it would stick with her, making its way under her skin as it sinks in that the horrific thing Kai did really did end up working out for her in the long run. Bc as we know, even at his lowest, there was always some part of Kai that begrudgingly wanted bonnie's attention and validation and rly resented her friends getting that from her while walking all over her. It would take a long time, but slowly and surely, i think Bonnie's intuition would eventually pick up on that tiny part of Kai that saved her life to show her that she deserved better. It would be very uncomfortable for her to realize that Big Bad Kai could no longer be an easy scapegoat for all her problems, but that might be just what she needs to finally see Kai as a person, rather than a monster. And from there? Well, looots of opportunities and potential would open up from there 😏

#bonkai #bonnie bennett x kai parker #bonnie x kai #bonnie bennett #kai parker #anti damon #tvd #asks #mine #headcanon #bonkamily

[kaixserzz]

Together

ੈ♡˳ Childe x Gn!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 3.7k words ┊ Reverse hurt/comfort *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

FINALLY I WRITE SOMETHING THAT ISN'T DOTTORE... this idea has been stuck in my head for AGES.. this was originally a part for my childhood friends to lovers with childe, but the shit i wrote was honestly too boring so i'll just post the interesting part!! also this is to celebrate childe being in fontaine!! yippiee !! (kinda became character analysis ,,)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: canon typical violence, blood, mentions of death, childe and reader are both crazy, can be read as platonic or romantic!! set before childe became a harbinger!!, childe having a panic attack?? (i have no experience so it may be inaccurate but i DID do some research b4! it's not intended to be a panic attack but it seemed like it was while writing it, childe is just really out of it x-x), heavy angst on childe's part like, a bit of suicidal thoughts? maybe ooc?

There are times when Ajax felt lost and alone.

It was as if all the high he felt during battles, the exhilaration as he swings his blade, suddenly all drained from his body and there was nothing left, but a husk of a boy that he used to be.

Another day, another mission.

Ajax's face was completely painted with dark red, clinging to every fabric of his clothes. He was almost unrecognizable; a scarlet behemoth traversing the hushed, frigid halls of Zapolyarny Palace. All the blood has dried upon his return, now free of duty to do whatever he pleased.

Although the option to reunite with his family beckoned—to give them gifts he has bought for them with his salary—Ajax remained rooted in the palace.

He was searching for something. But he didn't know what he was looking for. His feet were moving on their own, leading him to rooms he has visited before, familiar spots etched within his memory, and places he wasn't even allowed to enter, yet the yearning within him persisted and was left unfulfilled, a phantom ache echoing within his heart.

Ajax wandered with purposeful yet aimless strides. He felt hopeless. He was akin to an animated corpse, stumbling over his own feet and eyes more dead than the countless bodies that piled behind his back.

Everything was dark. He was lost, afraid—there was ringing in his ears the longer he walked the massive maze that is Zapolyarny palace. He wanted to claw at his chest, to rip his heart out to finally stop it from yearning for something he doesn't even know; to stop it from beating so erratically, his breathing started getting caught in his throat—

This all felt familiar.

He felt like he was falling again, engulfed with darkness that seemed to swallow any sort of life. Ajax was back in the pits of despair. Back into the Abyss. Prickling heat seared all over his body as he felt eyes staring onto his soul—watching, waiting, for his whimpers to quiet down into nothingness, so they could finally bare their teeth onto the poor little defenseless boy with a broken leg—a hapless offering selected by the Abyss itself for an agonizing demise.

"Ajax, my boy,"

The ringing in his ears grew faint as a familiar and reassuring voice emerged, like a beacon cutting through the enveloping miasma. It was the soothing and resonant call of a man he held in high regard, someone whose integrity and reliability had earned Ajax's profound respect. This was the same man he had entrusted to safeguard his family during his absence.

The shadows that had once encircled him, obscuring his vision and drowning him in despair, relinquished their hold with reluctance. In their wake, the obscurity dissipated, as if it had been an illusion all along, unveiling a world that had seemingly vanished into the void.

Slowly, Ajax opened his eyes, and his gaze met The Rooster's. His voice, laden with genuine worry, pierced through the residual haze that clung to Ajax's senses. "Are you alright? You have been on the floor for quite some time now."

At first, he didn't know what he was talking about. He had been standing just a moment ago, but realization seeped in when he noticed that Pulcinella was peering down at him. That doesn't seem right, the elderly man was a lot shorter than him.

...How long has he been kneeling on the ground?

His fingers were tangled into his messy hair and his right leg ached, a foul reminder of his injury upon his fall. The eyes that bore into him were nothing more than the fearful and worried glances of his comrades, standing a few feet away from him.

The Rooster probably told them to give him some space.

Ajax almost flinched when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, his eyes immediately snapping back to Pulcinella's. His body went rigid when he remembered that he was, in fact, a Harbinger and that he should be bowing his head and addressing him with respect. But the elderly man just helped him back to his feet, disregarding the putrid smell of death.

"Are you looking for your friend, boy?" A warm, patient smile was all there was on The Rooster's face as Ajax finally regained full control of his body. He was still lost, afraid, and his mind merely buzzing, but his heart lurched at the sudden thought of his comrade. It seems like he has finally identified what he has been looking for. "Fortunately, they just returned from their mission. You can find them in the training area."

Ajax wanted to thank him. For snapping him out of the madness that clung at the back of his mind, for being patient, worried, and kind enough to point him where you were, but his body moved before he could. Although, Pulcinella just watched him rush across the halls. He already understood was the boy was grateful.

Growing up, Ajax has learned to tolerate other people's views of him: a ferocious, impulsive brat embracing battles just for the fun of it. His willingness to accept harm in the fray was an emblem of his addiction to that intoxicating thrill. Each ache, each hurt, served as a reminder, that his strength could burgeon, proving that his human form contained the potential to transcend limits.

He can, and will overcome anything that gets in his way.

But what of it matters when he's nothing now? He is nothing but the naked, raw emotion of his deepest darkest fears and doubts—a side of him that no one has ever witnessed, not even his family.

If they did, what would they think of him? Weak? Pathetic? He wasn't the same little boy he was, he has become something better, greater.

Only, perhaps, it cost his soul.

If they knew, would his siblings still look up at him in glee? Would his mother still press her forehead against his and promise that everything will be alright? Would his father recognize him as the same son he lost all those years ago?

Fear. Disdain. Disgust. Anger. Hatred. Emotions he has grown immune to, the gazes, glares, and stares of people he knows not of their names, yet familiar through their eyes.

None of them could see who he truly was inside. Perhaps he doesn't deserve it.

Blood soaked all over his hands, after all.

He has committed sins no man should be forgiven for.

He did it all on a whim.

Ajax wishes the Abyss could swallow him again. There, he would never feel shame. There, he could indulge in the adrenaline that will forever be pumping in his veins. His family would be safe, from the dangers of his enemies, and from himself.

"What are you doing just standing there?"

The loud, gusts of cold wind abruptly stopped and were replaced by an enveloping warmth that emanated from a mere presence. A voice, effervescent and kind, cascaded into his ears and jolted him awake from his daze.

How could he forget about you?

You were different.

You never regarded him with fear, even when his form was veiled in dried blood. Nor did you harbor any disgust or avert your gaze. You had always been the same toward him, ever since you were young. You defended him when the adults start yelling at him for his behavior. You'd pull him away from fights before he could join them.

Sure, you found his violent tendencies a little out of hand, but you paid him no mind. You were his only friend ever since he left the Abyss. You'd wipe the blood off his knuckles, reprimand him for running off to wherever he pleased, and would spend your days playing together.

Not only that, but you've allowed him to spar with you, training together to get stronger. He knows it was your efforts to keep him out of trouble, to keep him entertained, to prevent hurting himself.

Even in the present moment, you simply raised an eyebrow at his display, a wry amusement dancing in your eyes. "Hey, don't go dirtying the halls!" Your laughter resonated, accompanying your confident stride as you drew nearer.

You expected him to laugh along with you, to give you his usual shit-eating grin that you've grown fond of over the years. To smear his dirty gloves onto your face as a joke, or roll his eyes.

But he didn't. He hadn't spoken a word, only stared into your eyes.

Your brow furrowed, the concern etching lines onto your features. Ajax's expression was hard to read, or, well, there was nothing to read. He looked lifeless, dead. His eyes appeared vacant, the spark of life far long extinguished. His posture, stiff and unmoving, could have been mistaken for that of a statue. Ajax himself was aware of that. He finally found what he was looking for, but now he didn't know why. He wanted to speak, to quell your worries, yet his voice remained trapped, and he stood there, frozen.

Despite this, you still notice things no one ever could. The subtle tremor in his lower lip did not escape you, the telltale reddening of his eyes, nor did the indentation of his nails against his palms. He wanted something, needed something. You could tell he was pleading for anything.

"Ajax?" You call out his name, and he barely responded to it, lost in his muddled mind. "Ajax." You try again, louder, and closer to him. "Are you okay?" He gave you a hum, and that was all it took.

He felt your arms slowly snake around his torso, wrapping them around him, and pulling him into a hug. Ajax reacted almost immediately, hands flying to your arms with a crushing grip, ready to break them.

"You here with me?"

Ajax's eyes widened his eyes as soon as realization sank in, his grip instinctively slackening as regret permeated his being, whispered curses escaping his lips as he glimpsed the faint bruise on your skin. Why hadn't you reacted? The pressure of your weight against him acted as an anchor, grounding his spiraling thoughts and guiding him back to his senses. But why didn't you defend yourself?

Did you trust him that much?

"Hey—what are you doing? Let me go!" Please don't, he pleaded desperately, his trembling hands clutching onto your shoulders. His breath quivered, weakly squirming away from your hold. "I-I'm literally disgusting right now! Why are you hugging me?!"

You gave him a small pout, your hand pushing his head on your shoulder, and he struggled to fight against your hand and his desire to just give in. "I thought you liked hugs?" You murmur softly against his ear, and it sent shivers down his spine. "C'mon, it's not like you're fighting it."

Ajax hated that you were right. For the first time in years, he has never felt so vulnerable, and weak. If it were someone else before him, they would've taken advantage of him and ended him then and there.

But this was you, his best friend since he was little. The person who knew Ajax before his fall, and still accepted him for who he was despite his massive change. In your eyes, he was still the same boy who would pelt you with snowballs, push you onto the soft, white ground to make snow angels, and would chase you around your hometown.

He may have changed. But he was still your Ajax, your best friend. The one person you could rely on, and trusts enough to let your guard down completely before him.

Ajax's arms finally wrapped around you, his breathing in sync with yours. It was the only way to quiet down his buzzing mind, to stay conscious, and not drift back into the dark.

Your demeanor towards him remained unchanged. You still cared about him as if he hadn't laid waste to battlefields. You extended your care to him, undeterred by the carnage he might have wrought. Tenderly, you bound his wounds in bandages, scolded him for his recklessness with a stern voice, and enveloped him in warm embraces whenever the need for solace arose.

You saw him for who he was.

Not as Childe, not as the monster people perceive him for, nor as the responsible big brother he was.

No, you only saw Ajax, underneath his desire for battle.

You offered a gentle pat on his back, your voice soothing as you spoke, "Alright big guy, go take a bath." However, Ajax clung to you for a moment, an unyielding grip that seemed to resist releasing you. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you playfully urged him, "C'mon, you reek. I'll fetch you some fresh clothes."

Ajax, with reluctance, let you go as he allowed to you to lead him to the shower rooms. He was glad you didn't ask what was wrong with him any further, he didn't even know it himself. Or perhaps you already knew.

He wishes that you knew that he would do the same for you.

You suggested that the two of you should go ice fishing as soon as Ajax has finished cleaning himself up.

It was random, and it left him confused, but he still found himself holding two fishing rods while you deftly worked to cut through the thick layer of ice that concealed the familiar lake you both frequented for ice fishing.

Ajax's father would always invite you whenever he decided it was another day to go ice fishing. Both you and Ajax would be in awe whilst you listened to his father talk about tales of heroes and adventure.

He took those stories to heart, and oftentimes, whenever he played with you afterward, he'd perceive himself as the main character, a hero, of the epic tales his father told him.

You, on the other hand? You never believed in heroes. You think they're just stories to entertain children, and those who call themselves heroes whilst being a hypocrite were unworthy scum of such a glorious title.

But you always indulged in Ajax's whims. As he swung the wooden sword his father had crafted for him, you played along, allowing him to 'save' you from the imaginary 'monster' lurking amidst the snow-covered landscape.

Nowadays, Ajax usually went ice fishing alone.

Even though Ajax has experienced the perils of the Abyss, you've always bested him in combat. He taught you what he had learned from the Abyss and from his master, Skirk, but he didn't really expect you to outperform him. So, compared to his duties, the Fatui has always deemed you as 'more useful' and 'less wild'.

Maybe, Ajax mused, if it had been you selected by the Abyss, things might have turned out differently. You could have navigated its challenges more adeptly than he managed. A thought tickled his mind—imagine you outmatching Skirk in a sparring match. Your instincts, forged by years of street life and survival in an icy nation, had helped you in ways more than he could ever think of.

So he doesn't ask you to do such a trivial hobby with him anymore. Nor did the two of you talk as much as you did.

You were a person of a higher position, closer to being a Harbinger than he was.

Ajax always thought that the growing gap between your friendship, as the years went by in the Fatui, was merely caused due to work. He wanted to train, to be even stronger than he is now. He has assumed that you were far too busy, answering the Tsaritsa's beck and call, leaving little room for anything else.

Yet he has never seen you so utterly content for quite some time. Sat next to him on a wooden stool, you cast your line onto the hole you've chiseled through the ice. You would smile at him, and it emanated warmth hotter than the burning flames of a campfire. His chest tingled, and he slowly cast his line as well.

Perhaps he was wrong.

That he was the reason the connection between the two of you was on a thin line. You've always sought out for him, but he would just excuse himself to train, or remind you that you had a mission to tend to.

Nonetheless, you didn't hesitate to accept him with open arms. To soothe him when he most needed it, to help him relax and found refuge in shared pastimes he had once assumed were best pursued in solitude. It was nostalgic. It reminded him of times when you were both smaller, clumsily pulling the line when a fish bites, and slipping on the ice.

Ajax felt nothing, but at the same time, he felt everything.

The chilly wind blowing against his hair, the way his gloves creased as he tightened his grip on his fishing rod, and your presence right beside him, ever so soothing and warm. He was at ease.

Ajax wishes that things should just stay like this.

"I've always thought about leaving the Fatui at some point."

Ajax's heart drops.

His hands suddenly weakened, and his fishing rod was almost lost in the cold depths of the water beneath the ice. His head turns to you with wide eyes.

He was at peace. Everything was fine. Why did you have to ruin it?

Ajax was well aware of what the Fatui truly was. He couldn't even remember how many people he has killed for the sake of the Tsaritsa's will.

You were the one who wanted to join the Fatui with him. You were the one who helped him fight all of those soldiers just to receive the same 'punishment' as he did. Now you're telling him you want to quit?

To just leave him like that?

"I want to live a normal life," You began, reeling the line of your rod and absentmindedly tapping your foot against the ice. You kept your eyes on the hole in the ground, choosing to ignore the heartbroken stare Ajax gave you. "Buy a house, have a family, and just live a life without crime."

You looked up into the white sky, the sun hiding behind the endless expanse of clouds. "Be happy, be normal. Pretty boring, right?" You chuckled, "But every homeless kid who grew up in this shithole has always dreamed something like that. Either live a happy, long life with a stable income or be filthy rich."

Ajax can't blame you if that was your dream. After all, you've grown up in very different conditions than he did. His family wasn't rich, but it was enough that Ajax wouldn't have to worry about if they were going to eat.

But being a Fatui without you? He could hardly imagine.

Sure, you've only talked to each other after for so long just a while ago—but you were his best friend. You were his sparring partner. The person he trusts the most, the person he knows will have his back no matter what.

Though, if this is what you truly wanted, to leave the Fatui, to leave him... He guesses he could let you go. Ajax can't force you to do something you didn't like.

"I don't really have any reason for staying in the Fatui but..." You finally turned to look at Ajax with a mischievous smirk on your lips. "Someone ought to keep an eye on you."

Oh, Ajax blinked at you, in the end, you decided to stay. A sigh of relief escaped him, a weight lifting from his chest as he released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, his previously tense shoulders sagging in relaxation.

He finally finds it in himself to speak, his voice, though still a little quiet and shaky, was loud enough for you to hear. "Looks like we're pretty different in terms of goals." He mutters as he reeled the line when he felt a bite. "I'm going to overthrow the gods and conquer the world."

For a moment, it was quiet. Ajax almost thought you found him ridiculous with such foolish ideas. But you threw your head back and your shoulders shook as you laughed, a sound so familiar, yet he craved to hear more. Your laughter wasn't malicious, nor it was condescending. It was pure bewilderment, in awe of his boldness."

"Wow, even if you've calmed down, you're still talking nonsense." You said between giggles, wiping away the tear that formed in your eyes.

Ajax pouted at you, throwing the fish he had caught onto your lap. "I'm strong enough to accomplish it! You don't believe in me?"

Your eyes twinkled as you grinned at him, cooing at his reaction. "Of course not! At least, not alone." Ajax raised a curious brow as you continued, "You can't conquer the world by just wildly running around and beating things to death."

Ajax was slowly catching on with your intentions, and he fought the urge to smile. "So, what do you suggest then?"

"You need strategy! And knowledge." You nodded to yourself, the smile never leaving your face, "Power is important, but you can't just fight a god to overthrow them. After all, every meathead needs a brain."

"Hey!"

"Will you be my brains, then?

"Me?" You gasp in fake surprise at his question, pointing at yourself. Though, you could tell he has become serious at the thought of it.

"Conquer the world with me," Ajax smiles, his eyes trailing down to the hands that gripped the fishing rod. "I need a... sense of direction, and you're always there to help me get my shit together when I need it. Besides, it'll be more fun with the two of us!"

You laughed again, watching him brighten up at the idea. You were glad he was back in his spirits. If you were honest, you have never seen Ajax so out of it before. His eyes held nothing, but you could sense fear. It was unusual, but you could only do your best to help him through it.

"Fine, fine," You playfully roll your eyes. "I'll be your partner in crime. You can't reach your goals without me anyway."

He turned to look at you, his eyes bright like they used to be, "Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Ajax then brought up his pinky finger to you, his grin widening. "Pinky promise?"

"What?" You narrowed your eyes at him, suddenly annoyed. "Are you a child?"

"My code name is Childe.

"Ugh, stop." You intertwine your pinky finger around his. "I pinky promise."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I'll appreciate it very very much! Don't repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

#favoniuslibrary #˚₊໒🔪꒱kai writes₊˚ #╰┈➤ ajax/childe/tartaglia #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #childe x reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader

[saellefanwork]

𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬

Kamado Tanjiro x DemonSlayer!F!Reader x (Past) Rengoku Kyojuro

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Explicit (adults only) for canon-typical violence and, disturbing and explicit sexual content

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Chapter 1: The Shadow of the Fiancé

After the devastating loss of your fiancé, Rengoku Kyojuro, your world shattered irreparably. In your darkest hours, it was your cherished and devoted friend, Tanjiro, who became your anchor, vowing to care for you just as he had promised his late master. His love for you burned bright, carrying the hope that someday you might return his affections.

However, as you embarked on an intimate relationship with Tanjiro, your depression intensified, and the shadow of your past fiancé continued to haunt you every night.

Author Note: This work draws inspiration from "Whoever You Want Me to Be" by myprettydarlings on AO3. I highly recommend giving it a look. However, right from the beginning, this fic will take a different direction. Also, if you haven't noticed, this is rated explicit, so please proceed carefully.

Rest assured, despite all the heavy themes, this story will ultimately have a happy ending.

Warning Tags: Post Mugen Arc, Grief, Sad, Angst, Depression, Mental Breakdown, Toxic relationship, Dubious consent, Oral sex, Vaginal sex, Bottom Kamado, Top Reader, Orgasm denial/delay (someone doesn't finish), did I say sad already?

How long had it been since the death of Rengoku Kyojuro, the Flame Pillar? Too long, considering everything that had transpired since that tragic event. Yet, Tanjiro remembered it as vividly as if it had occurred yesterday – the fateful night when blood and tears had flowed like a river. The abyssal despair he had felt that moment could be summoned with just a thought. A sorrow that had found its equal only in your wails and cries, as if you were the one agonizing... and not your fiancé.

"Watch over her for me, Kamado my boy. She loves you as much as she loves me. And I already know that you adore her as much as I do," his master had whispered from his bloodied lips, not long before taking his final breath. His ruby and gold embers were dimly glowing in the light of the last sunrise he would ever see.

Every time Tanjiro contemplated this last wish, still freshly etched in his memory despite the passage of time, tears welled up in his eyes. Oh, how much he missed his Aniki. How mistaken this kind, brave, and strong man had been when he uttered those final words...

"Kyojuro!" you called out in despair, clutching the burgundy-haired Slayer’s sleepshirt, trying to rouse a reaction from him. You had just experienced a nightmare – the same haunting dream that replayed every night. A dream where your beloved would die, killed by an Upper Moon near a train crash.

You sought reassurance, but the person lying next to you seemed lost in thought, deaf to your pleas.

"Kyojuro!" you insisted, shaking him so forcefully that his hanafuda earrings jingled against the mattress.

Tanjiro snapped back to reality and gazed at you with a sorrowful expression. He finally pulled you into his arms, his hands gripping your back tightly, almost to the point of discomfort. How many nights had this painful charade repeated itself? He needed to summon the courage to confront you about this matter, and he had to remain resolute despite your resistance and distress. This could no longer continue.

"No, love...," he whispered to you gently but firmly. "It's not Kyojuro... it's Tanjiro. Rengoku-san is..."

Your eyes widened in shock, and you shook your head violently, pushing him away and covering your ears with your hands. "No! Don't say anything! Why are you doing this to me, Kyojuro? Reassure me like you usually do, please! I'm scared."

Seeing you in this state always shattered his heart. That's why he had been playing this role night after night. But recently, even during the day, you had started to mix his name with that of your deceased fiancé, despite you being the one who had asked him to go out with you after the funerals. Tanjiro had reached his limit. He felt that if he didn't stop now, a part of him would cease to exist for good.

"My love, please... I can't pretend to be him any longer... I can't take it anymore. I've done everything to replace him, but in the end, no matter what I do, I'm just Kamado Tanjiro."

He knew you could hear him, but you remained huddled within yourself, eyes closed, brows furrowed, and fists clenched above your ears. Despite his legendary patience, Tanjiro felt at his wit's end. He couldn't count how many times this scene had replayed itself. Desperation gnawed at him as he grasped your wrists firmly, attempting to coax you to face him.

"Please, just listen..."

"No!!"

"I don't want to hurt you either. I love you, and I wish to be with you, but I've tried everything, and your condition is only deteriorating. I don't know what else to do, so maybe we should sto–..."

To his awe, you broke free from his grip and forcefully pushed him down onto the futon, holding his hands above his head. Your raw strength took him aback. Despite the fact that you were a Slayer too, you had always appeared delicate, often relying on poison like your master, the Insect Pillar, did. Your eyes, locked with his, seemed haunted by an unspeakable fear.

The fear of him leaving you, just as Kyojuro had.

His heart skipped a beat when you pressed your mouth against his, in a kiss as passionate as it was desperate. This was unlike any kiss you'd shared before. While he knew he should have resisted, he couldn't deny the bittersweet, almost painful pleasure this deep and long-awaited kiss brought him. Instead of pulling away from your grasp, his fingers cautiously interlocked with yours.

You only briefly parted your lips from his, letting him catch his breath like a drowning man emerging for air in a turbulent sea.

"No, Tanjiro... There's one thing you haven't done yet," you whispered to him.

The Slayer's eyes widened, his heart pounding, thinking he might have misheard. You had just called him by his real name for the first time in nearly a week, and it was during the night, no less... although the circumstances were unsettling. Hearing his name on your glistening lips and seeing you look at him as if he were the center of your universe, he knew he was a goner. He loved you too much to leave you now.

Sensing that you could persuade him to stay, you resumed your urgent kisses that clouded his mind, while guiding one of his hands to your waist and the other to your chest. He gasped in surprise at your forwardness, his eyes wide open. He had never dared touching you like this before, and you had never invited him. At least, not while saying his name.

"Make me yours, Kyo – no, Tanjiro... don't hold back," you commanded him, a strange gleam in your eyes, as if you were oscillating between the realms of dreams and reality.

Tanjiro appeared hesitant, his voice murmuring your name with a bewildered expression. You seemed utterly desperate, mixing the name of the man you loved so dearly with his own, which he had longed to hear you whisper with the same affection... It was hard for him to deny you, considering he had desired you for as long as he had known you, though he'd always concealed his feelings.

As he stood there, frozen and indecisive, you took charge, deftly unbuttoning his nightshirt. His breath quickened, yet he offered no resistance. Soon, his muscular chest was bared in the soft moonlight. He was as well built as Kyojuro... although the man before you was shorter, and the scars adorned his frame in different places. Your hands roamed his torso, your current vision overlapping with memories of another body, one you could never touch again. To mask your confusion, you proceeded to undo your top. Still immobilized, Tanjiro's gaze followed your every move as you unbuttoned your shirt, revealing the binding encasing your breasts, which you hadn't removed before sleeping. He seemed to snap back to reality when you started to loosen them, his grip stopping your hands for a moment.

"Baby, I'm not sure if this is a good idea," he protested.

In response, you freed yourself from his hold and let the binding fall, uncovering your bust in one fluid motion. The coolness of the night air and the anticipation had already caused the pink tips of your bosom to harden. Jaws slightly agape, Tanjiro's gaze was immediately drawn to them, although he quickly forced himself to close his eyes to break the spell. He felt your lips on him once more, feverishly exploring his mouth and neck, as you guided both his hands onto your exposed skin. Instinctively, he gripped your breasts, pinching your prominent nipples between his fingers, and you moaned while sucking his tongue, sending shivers along his spine.

"Ha... K..."

You almost uttered "Kyojuro" again but stopped just in time. Tanjiro must have noticed because you sensed him tense under you. To divert his attention, you pressed your groin against the painfully hard bulge in his pajama bottoms. He groaned uncontrollably beneath you, and you felt the fever of desire taking over you even more intensely. He was more expressive than Kyojuro, which was a blessing. It helped to anchor your mind to reality and resist your delirium as best as you could.

Your hands descended to his abdomen, deftly untying the knot of his bottoms then your own. Tanjiro seemed to struggle to keep up with the pace of events. He wanted to slow it down, make sure you were fully aware of what was happening, while you did everything in your power to prevent him from stopping you, with the complicity of his desire-filled body. In a few swift movements, you rid both of you of your clothing. You were now fully naked, Tanjiro panting helplessly below you.

You once again pressed your groin against his, the warm and moist contact of your lower lips sliding sensually along his length, your core eagerly yearning to welcome him. Stars danced in his field of vision, and a dizzying sensation struck him, his blood flow entirely directed toward his rigid member, so stiff it bordered on painful.

While you reveled in his expression, almost tortured by pleasure, you decided you wanted more. You shifted from your seated position on him to settle between his legs, your torso descending along his body, your breasts briefly gliding around his manhood. The sight of his erection emerging from the soft curves of your chest nearly made him lose consciousness, yet nothing compared to what followed. You ran your tongue across his tip, gingerly lapping at the pre-cum oozing from it. He couldn't contain the powerful gasp that escaped him, swiftly replaced by a torrent of uncontrollable moans. The emotions and sensations he experienced were so overwhelming that tears started to well up in his eyes.

As he felt your warm lips enveloping him completely, your wet muscle tracing the veins of his member in a delicate exploration, a part of his mind wondered if you had ever done the same thing for Kyojuro. Did you ever position yourself between his likely longer and sturdier thighs to please him with your mouth after a gruelling mission? Despite his best efforts, a pang of futile jealousy squeezed his heart at the vision. He wanted to make you forget the taste of your former lover, be the last one you served in this way. He desired you to think of no one but him from now on.

His hand, without him realizing it, gripped your hair, pushing the tip of his manhood deeper into your throat. You clawed his legs in surprise, almost choking. Your inner walls clenched in need, growing wetter as your arousal peaked your juices trickling down your thighs. Kyojuro had never constrained you like this, yet you found yourself drawn to it, for the forced motions left no room for lingering thoughts. You allowed Tanjiro to use your mouth as he wanted, surrendering to the rhythm and depth of his thrusts. The tension in your shoulders relaxed as you surrendered completely to the sensation of his hard length pounding your throat, drunk on his pleasure-filled moans.

When you sensed that he was on the brink of climax, you broke free from his grip and shifted to a seated position above him. He let you settle on his lap, his eyes clouded with passionate longing and his cheeks flushed. Your gaze descended to his swollen testicles. You lightly caressed them, savoring Tanjiro's sharp intake of breath at the touch of your cold fingers. You craved for him to release his pent-up desire deep inside you, to feel the ecstasy of his peak as he spilled his essence within you.

With this idea in mind, you straddled him once more, capturing his lips fervently, and he surrendered without resistance. Aligning your two bodies, you slowly allowed yourself to glide along his shaft. As the sensation of your tight walls enveloping his manhood washed over him, Tanjiro moaned beneath your passionate kiss. Giving him no respite, you hungrily absorbed his sighs, sucking his tongue and biting his lips lightly. His strong hands gripped your waist almost painfully, following your descent until you were fully impaled upon him.

Locked in an intense gaze, both of you remained breathless from the novel and overwhelming pressure of your bodies merging. After a few moments of stillness, you tentatively began to move your hips. Tanjiro closed his eyes, releasing a guttural moan, his expression etched with exquisite torment. You felt the throbbing of his desire within you and instinctively clenched your muscles around him, eliciting shivers of pleasure from him. Gradually, you started rocking yourself rhythmically against him.

With each deep thrust, Tanjiro's hands roamed your back, tracing your curves and contours, as if committing every inch of your skin to memory. The room soon resonated with wanton sighs, sensual whines and soft gasps.

As the eagerness of your lovemaking continued to mount, Tanjiro's motions grew more urgent and fervent. He held onto your thighs with a tenacious grip, as though fearful of letting go, as if he dreaded that this moment might dissolve like a fleeting dream. Suddenly, he rose to his knees, altering your position slightly, drawing you closer as he took control of your movements. He lifted and pressed you onto his lap, intensifying the rhythm and depth of your union.

In this new arrangement, the soft tuft on his lower abdomen teased against your clit, and the friction immediately built an orgasm within you. Tanjiro whispered declarations of love into your ear as he fervently kissed your neck. His hair, which he had let grown at your request, cascaded in wild disarray, the tie that had restrained it almost completely undone. You tore the ribbon away entirely, allowing his crimson mane to flow freely over his shoulders, burying your face in their fragrant, woody essence. With each deep lunge, you felt yourself drawing closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

"Ah... Kyojuro!" you finally moaned, your muscles convulsing with pleasure, a shiver coursing you from head to toes. Although your voice was muffled, your partner heard you very well and let out a hurt gasp. He considerably slowed his movements, but you compensated by grinding against him even more, your instincts taking over as you milked your orgasm for all it was worth.

Coming to a stillness against him, you both remained wrapped in each other's embrace, chests heaving with each labored breath. Tanjiro didn't push you away, but his hold felt distant. Your nose was nestled in the hollow of his neck, preventing you from seeing his expression, yet you could perceive that something was amiss. Gradually regaining your senses, you loosened your grip on him, your gaze searching for his.

"Tanjiro…? Are you alright?"

Upon hearing his name, he turned his face toward you, a reflexive reassuring smile playing on his lips – an ingrained habit from his days as the eldest son of his family. However, the warmth that usually filled his gentle eyes was conspicuously absent.

"...Not really. Be careful, I'm going to withdraw," he cautioned softly.

With painstaking care, he helped you off his lap. You felt a peculiar hollowness without him inside you, but that wasn't your primary concern. Tanjiro's demeanor deeply troubled you. It was as though he wasn't even in the room anymore. Silently, the former charcoal burner draped a blanket over your shoulders. Instead of holding you close and savoring the tenderness that typically followed such intimacy, something you'd expect from someone as gentle as him, you watched in bewilderment as he began to put his Demon Slayer uniform back on. He even secured his sword to his belt.

You felt that if you didn't stop him right away, he would leave and vanish from your existence forever.

You seized his hand with all the strength you had.

"Don't go, please. You promised me, remember? You made that promise to him too, didn't you?"

"...I'm sorry," he whispered, gently yet firmly pulling his hand away. "I need some time alone. I told you, I tried to replace Aniki in your life already, to fill the void he left behind, but I can't be him... and tonight... you weren't with me."

Your complexion turned pallid, and you trembled. Witnessing you in such distress wrenched him; he was torn between abandoning you in this fragile state and acknowledging that he couldn't continue like this. He waited for several moments, hoping for a denial, an apology, any words from you, but you remained frozen. Because he was right; you hadn't been fully present with him.

Summoning heroic effort, even if it might have seemed pitiable or insignificant to an outsider's perspective, you compelled yourself to let him go. He was all you had left, but you knew you couldn't imprison him any longer.

Regret etched on his face, Tanjiro tenderly caressed your cheek and withdrew from the room without a word, gently closing the door behind him.

You were curled up in bed like a wounded animal, crying your heart out, when Shinobu came to find you a few minutes later…

I'm probably going to hell for torturing these characters so much lmao.

Don't forget to like / comment / repost, it always makes my day, and let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter's updates.

Next chapter: "The shadow of the mentor" (to be released in two days)

#tanjiro x reader #rengoku x reader #demon slayer fanfic #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kamado tanjiro #yandere reader

[sprout-fics]

I'm so glad I found your story "Snowblind". It's exactly the slow burn I need – I love how you characterize Ghost through little moments and details, while he remains mysterious and elusive. His small gestures make me squeal regularly :D I also love his dominance, which is so mature and a bit scary... Somehow you really get a sense of awe for Ghost, the way you describe him. And I enjoy how much time you take for each scene. During the fight at the training grounds, I was totally on the edge of my seat cheering for Fix. It's really a gripping and emotional story, I'm only at chapter 3, but I'm already looking forward to a lot of angst and drama. Reading a chapter every evening is going to be my new ritual because I want to take my time with it. I hope you keep writing and I am so excited for all the other works from you I still have to read! P.S.: Activision should really hire you as a writer. Your characterizations (not just of Ghost but the entire Task Force 141) are just so detailed and nuanced. You really build a connection to the characters and even though they all have their quirks, they're not just tropes like in the games or some other stories. AND: The scene where Fix gets shot was ten thousand times more dramatic and believable than a certain scene in MW3... Ò_Ó

Anon this is such a sweet and thoughtful message. Honestly, it has made my day just to read this. Thank you so much.

I spend so much time agonizing over characterization for everyone in this fic- Ghost in particular. At this point in the story I have questioned myself on him being too cold, too detached, but then I remember that's what he was like at the beginning of MWII, and it helps a little. I also have a hard time balancing it with his characterization later in the story. Later Ghost is helplessly in love with Fix, but it takes so much time for him to not only accept that, but get comfortable with it. For now, Fix and Ghost are simply teammates. Ghost trusts her- to an extent. One would say they're friends, but both of them are in that uncertain period where they can't say for sure. Ghost does secretly have an attraction and feelings for Fix, but he's in heavy denial about it because he has a very hard time trusting people. Soon we see Ghost and Fix transition from teammates to friends to...something else. I may do a small chapter from Ghost's POV to aid in this transition.

Honestly characterization in general is the hardest but most rewarding part of writing. I adore the process of unraveling characters and building off their existing canon in organic and compelling ways. I cannot emphasize enough- these characters live in my head rent free. Yesterday I was thinking about Fix in the shower. This morning I was at the gym and thinking about Fix, Soap, and Gaz hanging out and discussing pretty privilege. I have an entire list of shorts I want to write just for this series.

I could go on all day about this, but in short: Thank you very much anon. Thank you so much for your support.

#rainy day tag #fic: snowblind #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x oc

[queenxxxsupreme]

Captive (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: I am in a huge Arthur Morgan mood.... if anyone couldn’t tell....

Warnings: nothing outside of canon, gore, violence, hints at assault but nothing happens, brief description of wounds, angst, fluff

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: On your way back to camp, the O’Driscolls attack.

***

You leaned against Arthur’s shoulder, humming softly as you watched the road ahead. Arthur turned his head to kiss your hair. Your hand on the inside of his elbow squeezed softly. 

The night air was chilly. Millions and millions of stars littered the dark sky. A small sliver of the moon hung in the sky above the road just ahead. 

Accompanied by the sounds of the wagon wheels turning over rock, you could hear a slew of wildlife in the surrounding woods. Raccoons, owls, cicadas, crickets, even coyotes and foxes could be heard. Of course most of these animals were running away from the sounds of the wagon that moved along the road. 

The wagon lurched suddenly as it hit a bump in the road.

“Helps if you keep your eyes on the road.” Charles spoke from the back of the wagon.

You looked over your shoulder at him, giving him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry, Charles.” Arthur apologized.

You yawned into the back of your hand, shaking your head a little as if to shake the sleep away.

“Just a little longer, pumpkin.” Arthur spoke. He wanted to reach over and offer you some sort of comfort, to put his hand on yours or to put his arm around you, but both of his hands held the reins to the horses that pulled the wagon. 

“How much longer?”

“Maybe twenty minutes. Wouldn’t you say, Charles?”

Charles said nothing.

You looked over your shoulder to see Charles was looking into the woods to the right of the wagon. 

“Charles?” Arthur turned his head to look back at the man. “You still back there, buddy?”

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

Your stomach sank at his words. 

Arthur immediately tensed up. Blue eyes began to search the woods more thoroughly as the wagon continued to travel. 

“How long you been feelin’ that way?” Arthur kept his voice low.

“Not long. Just a few minutes.”

“You think we should stop?” You asked, turning to look at Charles again.

“No. Keep going.” 

“Luckily, we ain’t got a full wagon.” Arthur said. “If things go south, y’all hold onto something tight. The horses can move fast but it’ll be a bumpy ride.”

“I think we’re being followed.” Charles thought out loud. 

Before anyone had a chance to say anything else, the sharp pop of a gun going off echoed through the night. An explosion beneath the wagon caused it to be knocked over, throwing everyone from inside of it. 

Your ears rung and there was a sharp pain in your left wrist. Your head hurt too, but you chalked that up to your ringing ears. 

It took a few moments for you to realize what had happened and where you were now that the wagon was practically turned upside down. You were on your back in the mud staring up at the starry night. 

You tried to roll over to get to your feet, but when you made any attempts to move an agonizing pain shot through your right leg. 

You cried out, looking down to see that your leg was pinned beneath the wagon. 

“Y/N!” 

You turned your head in the direction Arthur’s voice came from. He was at the edge of the forest, pushing himself to his feet and trying to make his way towards you. He didn’t get very far before all hell broke loose. 

Bullets flew in every direction. You couldn’t even tell which way they were coming from. 

You could only see Arthur draw the gun from his hip and start firing across the river. 

“Charles!”

“Over here!” His voice came from the other side of the wagon. You couldn’t see him but you prayed he was okay. 

“It’s a goddamn trap!” Arthur gritted out. 

“I can see that!” Charles said. 

You tried desperately to get your leg unstuck, knowing that they needed your help against whoever it was that was attacking you. You also knew that your survival depended on you freeing yourself. 

“Easy, pumpkin.” Arthur knelt beside you. “Charles! I need you over here now! Y/N is stuck!”

You could feel the wind of bullets rushing past you and hear them hitting the wood of the wagon.  

You cried out as Arthur tried to lift the wagon himself but only managed to lift some of the weight. He wouldn’t be able to do it himself. 

“Charles!”

You collapsed back against the mud, the pain causing you to see spots. 

You blinked a few times, staring up at the trees above. 

“Y/N?” Charles’ voice sounded muffled and distant. “Y/N, keep your eyes open.”

“Charles.” You turned your head towards him. 

When you opened your eyes, you found that he was kneeling next to you. 

The next few moments happened so slowly. 

He said something to Arthur and then moved to get a hold on the wagon. They both pulled and managed to lift it up just enough for you to try to pull your leg out. 

“You got it?” Arthur asked Charles. Both men could see that you weren’t able to move very well. Your leg was probably broken. You would need help. 

“I’ve got this.” Charles grunted as he adjusted his hold on the wagon. “Get her!”

Arthur didn’t need to be told twice. He let the wagon go and rushed to you, hands grabbing your arms and pulling you away just out of reach of the wagon. 

Charles struggled to hold the wagon but managed to keep it up until you were out of the way. Then he let it go and ducked down behind it. 

Arthur still kept his hand firmly on your arm, practically dragging you back to the safety of the wagon. 

“Shit.” He cursed, blue eyes glancing over the wound on your leg. There was blood all over your pant leg, and mud was caked to one side of the material. 

“Help him.” You could hear gunfire still, but it sounded distant. You turned your head in search of Charles, expecting to find him far away. But he was right beside you, firing his gun over the top of the overturned wagon. “Charles?”

“Charles! Y/N don’t look too good!” 

“She’s about to pass–,”

Your vision went black. 

***

“Y/N? Pumpkin, you gotta wake up.” 

Your eyelids were heavy as you tried to force them open. You could hear Arthur whisper your name. Your head moved a little, and that was when a sharp pain in your temple made you gasp. 

“Arthur.” Your voice was raspy. 

“Right here, pumpkin.” 

You opened your eyes, blinking a few times until you could finally see, then lifted your head. 

The room you were in was dark, but there was an oil lamp resting on the table next to you that provided just enough light so that you could see across the room. 

Arthur’s hands were bound above his head and he hung from the ceiling, his boots barely touching the ground. 

Your eyes met his, brows furrowing together. You tried to move, only to find that your hands were restrained behind your back. You looked down to see that you were in a chair. 

“Arthur–,”

“I know, I know.” He looked up at his hands and gave a tug, trying to pull the knot apart. 

You looked around but nothing seemed familiar. 

“What-What happened?”

“We were ambushed comin’ outta Strawberry.”

“Charles. Is he….?” You trailed off.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I-I don’t know. Didn’t see him get out. But I didn’t see him go down either.”

You started to move your legs to see if they were maybe tied together too, but the second you moved your right leg, pain shot through you. 

You cried out at how bad it hurt, leaning forward and taking a few breaths. 

“You alright, pumpkin?”

“My leg.”

“Got it caught under that wagon.”

You nodded lightly, recalling when an explosion had caused the wagon to tip over. 

“I can’t see too much from here, but you were bleedin’ earlier.” Arthur’s eyes flickered over to the door for a very brief moment. “Look at me, pumpkin.”

Your eyes met his.

“The first chance you get, Y/N, you run–,”

“I’m not leaving you–,”

“Yes, you are–,”

“No! I–,”

“Damn it, woman!” He whispered loudly. He didn’t want to chance anyone hearing either of you. “Just do what I say, please. I’m- Y/N, I’m beggin’ you, pumpkin.”

You held his gaze, your jaw locked tightly as your stomach was twisted up into terrible knots. 

Just as you were about to speak, the door to the room opened. 

A man walked in. He was tall and slim with dark greasy hair swept back behind his ears. 

Behind him, two more men entered. They lingered near the door with large guns in hand. 

“Mr. Morgan. You are a hard man to find.” His Irish accent wasn’t nearly as thick as that of every other O’Driscoll you had come across in the past.

“Let the lady go. She ain’t a part of this.” 

The man’s eyes settled on you. He cocked his head to the side, taking a few steps towards you. 

“What’s your name, lass?”

You glared up at him through your lashes, refusing to speak. 

A smile formed on his face, however it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was sinister and troublesome. 

He suddenly reached out and grabbed your jaw, wrenching your face up so that you had no choice but to look at him. 

“I asked you a question, lass. It’d be in your best interest to answer me.”

You had never had the best temper, especially when it came to anyone putting their hands on you. In a moment of anger, you spat in his face. 

He stepped back, releasing your face and cursing. He wiped his face as a laugh rumbled in his chest. 

“Where did you find this one, Morgan? She’s feisty.”

Arthur said nothing. He was all too focused on trying to think of an escape plan while also trying to keep his mind from wandering to all of the possible terrible scenarios that could happen. 

The one who seemed to be in charge, who had done the talking and asked you for your name, looked over to the two men that stood at the door. 

“If she doesn’t want to give us her name the easy way, then I suppose we can do it the hard way.” He flicked his head in Arthur’s direction. 

You watched, lips parting as one of the men left the doorway and went to Arthur. Using the butt of the rifle in his hands, the man hit Arthur in his stomach. 

“No!” You shouted, lurching from your seat in a desperate attempt to get to Arthur. But the one in charge stopped you, his hand finding your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but having his hand there was extremely uncomfortable. 

“Do you want to try that again, lass?” The man asked, quirking a brow up in amusement. “What kind of name does a pretty one like you have?”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer him before the man next to Arthur hit him again. 

“That wasn’t a fair hit now, was it, Sebastian?”

Sebastian, the man next to Arthur, smirked. 

“Y/N! My name is Y/N!”

“That wasn’t so hard, Y/N.” The man next to you moved his hand from your neck up to your jaw. “Tell me, Y/N. Where is Dutch Van der Linde right now?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

The sound of Arthur grunting in pain made you want to look at him, but when you tried, the man in front of you stopped you. He kept his hand on your jaw, holding you with enough force to probably cause bruises. 

“How long do you think Mr. Morgan can last, darling?”

“I’m okay, Y/N!” Arthur shouted.

He was hit twice more. You held the man’s gaze, glaring up at him as you thought of how you’d kill him when you were free. 

“How does that shoulder look, Sebastian?” The man let you go and took a few steps in Arthur’s direction. 

You looked over to Arthur, meeting his gaze. He did his best to hide his emotions, to remain stoic as the leader approached him. 

“Not too good, Aiden.” Sebastian put one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and pressed his thumb into the bullet wound. 

Arthur clenched his teeth together, bowing his head in an attempt to hide his pain from you. 

“Well that’s a damn shame.” The leader, Aiden, shook his head mockingly. 

“I wonder if the lass would talk if we put another bullet in him.” The third man who remained by the door snickered. 

“Straight through his fuckin’ skull.” Sebastian chuckled, drawing the handgun from a holster on his hip. 

The sound of shouting outside took the attention of the O’Driscolls’ away from Arthur and you. 

“Connor, go see what all the noise outside is for.” Aiden ordered the third man who stood by the door. 

No more than ten seconds after he had left, a gun went off. 

“Ah, shit. Come on, Sebastian.” Aiden pinched his brow and moved towards the door. 

You watched them carefully, listening for any signs of what was going on outside. 

As soon as the door to the room closed, your eyes found Arthur. 

“Ar-Arthur.” Your voice cracked. 

“Hey, hey.” His voice was gentle as he spoke to you. He could see a look on your face, one that he had never seen before. You were giving up. “Everything is going to be just fine, pumpkin.”

“How? We are outnumbered and we don’t know where we are.”

“That’s never stopped us before. You remember when we were in Montana and there was another gang going after the same bank we were trying to rob? You remember how it was just you and me that mornin’ against those fellas? How many do you reckon there were?”

You shook your head softly. He was trying to cheer you up but it wasn’t working. These were O’Driscolls you were dealing with, not bank thieves. 

“Y/N? Look at me, pumpkin.” 

You brought your eyes to look up at Arthur. 

“I love you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding your head. 

“Love you too, bear.”

Arthur looked around the room, trying to think of a plan. There was no way he was going to just let you both sit there and die at the hands of the O’Driscolls, but if whatever plan he thought up failed, you both would surely end up dead. 

“How tight are your hands tied, pumpkin?”

“Pretty tight. I’ve been trying to get them loose but they tied them funny.” You winced as you twisted your wrist around. You had rubbed a raw spot on one side of your wrist from the rope. 

The door opened and in walked Aiden. 

You tensed up when you saw that he was holding a handgun by his side. 

“I’m not known for my patients. One of you best start talking.”

“Why don’t you let the lady go?” Arthur suggested. “Then we can think about talking.” 

Aiden raised his brows, taking a few steps towards the both of you. 

“Are those your terms, Morgan?”

Arthur remained silent, sensing that the question was rhetorical. 

With no warning, Aiden backhanded you. Almost immediately you could taste something metallic in your mouth and your lip burned. 

“You ain’t in any position to be making requests, arsehole.”

Though you couldn’t see him, you could imagine the glare in Arthur Morgan’s eyes. 

You spat blood out on the floor then leaned back in your seat, your eyes finding Aiden. 

“M’sorry for putting my hands on ya, love.” He caressed the side of your face with his knuckles. “But I can’t have Morgan thinkin’ he’s in any place of power. You understand, don’t ya?” 

“Go to hell.” You spoke through clenched teeth that were covered in a bit of blood. 

Aiden chuckled, amused. He placed one hand on the back of your seat and leaned down so his mouth was close to your ear. 

“I like a gal with a fire inside ‘er.” He whispered. 

His disgusting breath caused chills to spread down your spine. 

“Don’t you put your goddamn hands on her again.” Arthur began to try to pull against his bonds, but it was no use. 

Aiden didn’t care to pay attention to Arthur as he knew what was restraining him was too strong for him to break out of. 

You held Aiden’s gaze, refusing to show him fear as he kept his face just a few inches from yours. 

“I wonder just how angry we can make Mr. Arthur Morgan.”

Your stomach began to churn at that moment. 

Your eyes very briefly flickered to Arthur, who appeared to have a look of fear and anger on his face. 

But you couldn’t hold his gaze for too long. You needed to think of a plan, and you needed to do so quickly. 

“Would- Would that mean I live?” You asked quietly, your voice sounding meek and timid. 

“For now.” 

You dropped your gaze from Aiden’s, falling into the roll of the subservient captive. 

Aiden smirked, taking hold of your jaw. Your head was harshly tilted up, forcing you to look up at him. 

“Finally realizing ya ain’t gonna get outta this one?”

“I-I just– I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything. Anything, please.” You whispered, voice trembling. 

“Y/N, no!” 

“Shut it!” Aiden shouted to Arthur. 

Aiden shifted where he stood, tucking his gun into the holster on his hip. 

“I’ll do anything.” You repeated, keeping your eyes on Aiden. 

“Of course you will. Whores always do.” He started to unbuckle his belt.

You panicked for a moment, your heart beating fast in your chest. 

“Wait! Wait! You’re– You’re leaving me tied up?” 

“Of course I am. I ain’t dull.”

“But…. But then I can’t be useful to you.” Your eyes fell to his boots for a moment. You felt disgusting even suggesting these things with an O’Driscoll. 

“Sure you can.”

“No, no! I-I can– I can show you a real good time.” You said. “I just can’t do what you- what you want me to do tied up like this.”

Aiden furrowed his brow, listening to you for a few moments. 

“You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you? So I let you out and you try to run!”

“I have a lame leg.” You nodded to your injured leg. “A wagon fell on me when your boys attacked. I’m not going anywhere you don’t want me to.” 

Aiden thought about it for a few moments, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He could see the wound on your leg and he could see how your pant leg was covered in blood. 

“I suppose you’re right.”

As he began to cut your binds, adrenaline started to pump through your veins. It was now or never. You had one shot. 

Just as he was cutting the last rope around your ankle, you threw your head forward to smash your forehead against Aiden’s nose. 

He staggered back, crying out and bringing his hand up to cover his profusely bleeding nose. 

“Ah! You fucking bitch!” 

You shot out of the chair and picked the chair up, then used it to knock him to the floor. As he was down, you picked up the knife he had dropped on the floor. 

“Atta girl!” Arthur cheered you on as you cut him down. 

You turned back to the O’Driscoll, wanting to finish him off. 

Aiden was writhing on the floor, holding his bloody nose when he saw you. He quickly reached for his gun but you kicked him in the side. 

“Sick bastard.” You reached down for his gun, disarming him of any of his weapons. 

“Please! Don’t! I-I just had orders!”

You tossed the gun aside, knowing it would draw too much attention. Instead, you chose to use his own knife to kill him. 

Arthur placed his hand on your back as you stepped away from the now dead O’Driscoll. He kissed the side of your head, his hand pressing firmly into your back. 

You didn’t get any time to ask him if he was okay before the front door burst open and in rushed John and Javier. 

“Shit.” John let out a sigh of relief. “Are we glad to see you.”

“Charles, is he–,”

“He’s fine.” Javier cut you off, nodding his head as he moved towards you. “He looks a lot better than you two.”

“Where’s he at?” Arthur asked. 

“At camp. Dutch wouldn’t let him come out after what happened.” Javier explained. “Got a nasty hit on the head, but he’s okay.”

“Let’s get you guys home.” John offered Arthur help but he didn’t need it as much as you did. 

The adrenaline had worn off and now your leg hurt all the way up to your hip and your toes were even going numb. 

Javier put your arm around his shoulders and helped you out of the cabin. 

You could see numerous dead O’Driscolls scattered around. Bill and Micah were by the horses, waiting for the rest of the gang. 

“I’ll take Arthur. You’ve got her?” John asked Javier. 

“Yeah.” Javier nodded his head. “Is that alright, Y/N?”

“Of course.” You told him. “You boys couldn’t have come at a better time.”

***

“Easy now, Y/N.” Karen held your arm as you slipped down into the warm water of the tub. 

“Thank you, Karen.” You settled against the side of the tub, letting out a breath. Your leg was hurting beyond belief and you couldn’t walk far without help, hence Karen assisting you into the tub. 

“Course. Is there anything I can do for ya before I go?”

“I don’t think so. Thanks again.”

She nodded and slipped out of the tent. 

You picked up the cloth on the side of the tub and dipped it into the water. Using the chunk of soap on the side of the tub, you lathered up the cloth and began to wash yourself off starting with your arms. 

Your mind began to wander back to the events of earlier that day. 

The lapels to the tent were pushed aside and in stepped Arthur Morgan. 

Your eyes met his. 

He had yet to wash himself up. He had been too busy telling Dutch of what happened and then of making sure you were okay. 

“Hey, pumpkin.”

“Hi, bear.”

He took his hat off and placed it on a side table, then moved a stool closer to the tub so he could sit next to it. 

Wordlessly, he rested his arms along the sides of the tub and took one of your hands. 

You found yourself tearing up as he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. 

“Ar-Arthur.” Your voice was shaky.

He looked up at you, his own eyes glossy in the oil lamp light. 

“Shit, pumpkin. I-I was scared today.” He admitted quietly. He gave your hand a squeeze. 

“Me too.”

Arthur looked down to your leg. 

“To think that bastard almost–,”

“I was willing to do whatever I needed to get us out of there.” You stopped him from continuing. His blue eyes flickering up to meet yours. “Whatever I needed.”

“Don’t ever think you gotta do that again, Y/N.”

“He was going to hurt you, Arthur.” 

“I don’t care. I don’t care.” He shook his head. “I don’t want you to go through that.” 

He reached his hand out to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. 

“There were a few minutes I thought we weren’t gonna make it home.” You leaned into his hand. “They had us, bear.”

“But they don’t no more.” He kissed your forehead. “I got you, and you got me.”

“Always.”

Taglist: @thefirelordm @redpool @hc-geralt-23 @persephonehemingway @astra-onikisu @Purple-Tsuki @brenobikenobi @haleypearce @zeida @ackerman-19s @bitquirkydoe @photo1030 @bluscryn @blushingskywalker @hc-geralt-23 @janebby 

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader angst #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fluff #rdr2 angst #queenxxxsupreme

[cryyelan]

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 — 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲.

expect bad/inconsistent writing — tws/cws: violence, gore, abuse/bullying, mahito, mc is a lil wack (but I love her) attempted suicide, death, LOTS of angst, also OOC!!

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 — CH 0

canon divergence — some pov switches + a time skip.

AS FAR as you can remember, you never exactly fit in with other people, you looked like any normal person at your school, however your social life was completely different.

it didn't help that loneliness digged its claws deep in your flesh, an agonizing sensation it was. Thousands and thousands of needles pricked at your heart as you watched your peers happily converse without a care in the world.

Every interaction you had with someone either ends awkwardly or the conversation just stops, making friends felt so foreign to you — friendship is like a forbidden fruit, but not like you wanted it anyway. The smell of your peers is disgusting, the scent of perfume, cologne and sweat mixing together as you sat down on the ground behind the school, leaning against the wall.

It was the only solace you had next to sitting on the rooftop benches, it's not often people go up there anyways — mostly because of such a turn off to stay around it is. The sight of dead leaves and litter didn't bother you.

But was it cruel for you to constantly think about your classmates as the trash that oh so nicely decorated the rooftop? Especially — wait what was her name again? oh wait..

Any mention of her name made your blood boil, why was it that Ayane of all people chose to target you? You followed every step there is to being a lonely middle school girl, as if there's an imaginary checklist.

No friends? Check.

Nonexistent social life? Check.

You were just like any normal person, why? why is she doing this to you? You did nothing that made her feel wronged, you stayed out everyone's way, yet like an apple on a head, you were bound to be an arrows target. You couldn't help but think about earlier.

Jeers and cruel words were exchanged as your body was pushed back against the wall as fluid met your face.

Ayane towering over your frail form, giggling maliciously as she watches you wipe her spit from your face.

"Jeez, [Y/N]! I didn't know you were such a loser!" The girl laughed as you get up, dusting off your uniform. "No need to speak the obvious, Ayane." The boy behind her piped up. "Shut up, Shigeru! Go back to smoking with your shitty ass friends, Let me deal with this freak first."

She hissed at him before turning her gaze back to you. "You better not forget my cigarettes next time, otherwise I'll get him to beat you half to death." Ayane snickered, staring at your bruised body. You struggled to stay up, leaning against the wall for support.

"Rotten bitch.." you muttered under your breath, wiping off blood off your mouth and chin.

"What was that?" She growled, eyebrows furrowing.

"Nothing." You spoke. "Hmph, that's what I thought."

"Whatever, don't forget what I said, pest." Ayane growled before leaving for the first floor, her companion following right behind.

You were now left alone again, but you couldn't help but wonder.. the names she called you. They stuck like gum on a shoes sole.

Pest?

Freak?

Is that what people thought of you? A pest? A freak?

Fatigue starts to course through your veins as you lie in your bed, just why are you letting yourself be treated like this? Where is your backbone, [Y/N]? Don't let her push you around like this. You don't have a shoulder to cry on— well, more like you do if talking to a picture of your long deceased friend and alongside a hospitalized mother and a father who's 'always' away for business, never paying attention to you.

It was the only comfort you had, if anything, But made you feel more isolated. But Ayane's words remained. Were you a freak for crying yourself to sleep every now and then? Were you a freak when you talked to the pictures like someone was there? Were you freak for pretty much existing?

You couldn't help but wonder before falling asleep. You could only hope for the best tomorrow.

A COUPLE MONTHS LATER

APRIL 30TH, 2018 — TOKYO

SUNLIGHT peeked through the blinds as your eyes flutter open before squeezing them shut again.

"Today is a special day."

You gently sighed as you get up from bed, walking towards the bathroom to change out of your nightwear and into your uniform, well — it wasn't just a uniform you had on. You had a crimson hairpin that stood out in comparison to your black hair.

"Special Day.."

Despite it today being your first day of high school— well in Tokyo, your mind couldn't help but wonder about her.

Ayane.

You had witnessed her decomposing corpse first hand — Chunks of her face, torso, and right leg were gone, maggots and flies feasting on her already seemingly eaten body.

But it wasn't the fact she died that lingered in your mind, but how. You couldn't help but feel wonderfully disgusted with your fascination.

Was it a cannibal who killed her? A rabid animal perhaps? As far as you know, the bites appear as human nor animal.

You pondered as you applied crimson lipstick on your (l/c) lips.

You weren't bad looking any means, actually pretty good looking. You wonder if anyone would talk to you, unlike your 'unattractive' middle school self.

It was a new school therefore new people, it's not like anyone would recognize the same girl who was bullied to buying cigarettes for her classmates who have no business having them in the first place.

You leave the bathroom to sit on the couch. 'What is time is it' you thought for brief moment before getting up and leaving to the front door, stepping outside and sitting the porch. The air outside wasn't exactly the most pleasant. The scent of garbage and mildew next door was repulsive.

Your nose scrunches as you recognize where the scent is coming from, the house next door.

It was home to a man in his late 40s, he wasn't particularly well liked among his neighbors, primarily due to his 'strange' behavior.

You once heard him frantically speak to your neighbors about seeing creatures — devils, monsters at night, watching him sleep.

It wasn't like you didn't believe him, but you felt like he was blowing things way out of proportion, they're harmless!

You couldn't help but want to pat the old man on the back, what's going through his head? The creatures are perfectly normal, they make great company too.

Speaking of old people...

Oh, mom and dad.

You already guessed they weren't going to be home for a while, He often leaves for work, barely ever appearing home unless hes there to gather paperwork and run errands.

Although both of you are family, your father treats less like a daughter but more like an acquaintance, and of course, you sort of in your own words — return the favor. As in barely talking to him. It was the exact same with your mother, except you never actually see her as per shes hospitalized due to a disease.

You always found them to be quite an odd pair, sometimes you'd overhear your fathers conversations on the phone, something about debt..

If he was in debt then why'd he pay so much money to move into a city expensive as Tokyo?

Whatever kind of business he had, to you at least, it didn't make sense to you that a nearly middle aged man to always be away from home and pretty much never interact or gave a shit about his daughter. But it seems like the most forty-nine year old thing to do. Maybe you weren't raised right, or maybe you just suck.

You snap out of thought as you left the front yard, leaving for school.

You're still fairly new in this city, family moving from Sapporo, you could only hope to cross your fingers for things to go smoothly along the way.

Maybe things won't be so bad.

Not even an a few minutes in, you're feel like you've already lost your way.

You look like an idiot if anything, guess you could never beat the clueless allegations. You walked your way through city as you pass shop after shop, cafe after cafe, time seems to move slow as your mind remains empty.

But while you continued pretty much explore the city, an individual had caught your eye.

You didn't get to see him for too long, but as far you can remember, he had white hair, and a blindfold..? Can he even see through that? Not to mention you felt pretty uneasy around him. Man, Tokyo is full of weird shit.

'Did I forget something?'

Perhaps you did, as now you stand in an unfamiliar neighborhood, the area becoming dark as the sun sets, did you really skip school?

Yeah, you did.

You squinted your eyes as you spot something moving in the distance, what is it?

Your eyes widen as the creature got closer, only realize it was same creature you had first seen upon moving to Tokyo. It had dark yellowish green skin, dirty beige hair running along its back, and a serpent-esque body but had four, smalls nubs serving as legs, as its face contorts into a smile, baring its human— in appearance, teeth.

"Motherr!!"

The slurred, feminine voice cried out as the it approached. You stare at creature practically wriggling its way towards you.

"Motherrr.. am I ugly..?!..."

It spoke again, the feminine voice sounded pained. As its body stops just a solid six feet away from you, close enough to get an even better view of it.

It had far to many eyes to keep count, they were at least as small as a cats. It was far, far uglier than the last time you saw it. A loud, piercing cry sounded out as the entity wriggled even closer. You couldn't help but sort of sympathize with it to some sorts..

"I know, I know. I'm ugly too."

You spoke blankly at the creature, blinking. "Not." You blew a raspberry as you lightly put on your lower eyelid playfully.

You decided to a take steps foward, closing the distance between you and the ugly thing.

You crouch down to its level as continues to wail. "You're not too bad looking, but wow— you're hideous~" You said in a sing-song voice, only to cover your ears as it suddenly screamed.

"I'M NOT UGLY!! I'M NOT UGLYYY!!!!"

"YOU'RE UGLY!!"

Your face twists into a scowl it was spoke as you were pushed down as the creature backed away, the sound of cracking and tearing of flesh fill the air as your face scrunches up in disgust at the sight before you. It's body contorts in uncomfortable positions as the nubs it had for legs stretched into long, human-like arms, flesh tearing in the process as purple blood splattered on the ground, some of getting on your uniform.

'Shit..that's going to leave a stain..'

it's many, many eyes gaze met yours as one, massive eye appears out of its sludgy skin.

It is a special day after all, right?

"You know, I've lived long enough to know I deserve far better than this!" You yelled out at the screaming creature. You thought these fuckers were normal! What the hell?!

You swore you just started to contemplate your entire life and your shitty choices.

Seriously [Y/N]? When was last time you ever learnt from something?

Last time you learnt something was the last time you saw her.

And this sure as hell wasn’t your first encounter with death, Joy and horror were the only things you felt that day.

[Y/N]’S POV

"YOU SHOULD SMILE MORE, [N/N]!" Aina called out, roughly pinching my cheeks, in attempt to make me smile. "What do you want, Aina?" I responded, getting her hands off my cheeks.

"I just wanna see you! You're being a little distant lately." She said, almost scoldingly. "If you ever need something, tell me!"

I couldn't help but smile at her words, I'm glad somebody like her exists.

"And there shes goooes.. shes smiling!" Aina said teasingly. "Now let's get out of here, it's getting late and you wouldn't want your parents to worry!" She took my hand as we ran our way through the hallway and to the entrance where our lockers are at.

"And don't forget to change your shoes, silly!" She quipped.

I opened my locker and started to change my shoes until the comfortable silence was cut off by Aina.

"Hey, have you heard about Hashimoto going missing lately?"

My blood ran cold as she spoke those words. Hashimoto —missing?

"Hashimoto... She went missing..?" I uttered under my breath, but was loud enough for the taller girl to hear. What could've happened to her?

"Yeah, even that boy that always with her too." She responded, voice hushed. "You seem close to them, no?"

"We were close, but not anymore." I scowled and turnt towards her direction. "Okay, I don't know what happened between you both but I won't pry." She gave a soft smile as she waited by the open doors.

I put my indoor shoes in the locker and closed it before turning towards brown haired girls direction, her hazel eyes meet mine.

"Want me to walk you home? Just so you won't go missing?" The taller girl asked as she looked at me with almost pleading eyes.

"No thanks, I can handle myself." I turned down her offer.

"Are you sure?" She asked. "Yes, I am sure — I promise I'll be safe." I said.

"Alright then, you better pinky promise!" She said proudly, holding her pinky up. "No pinky promise — we're too old to be doing this." I responded. "You're never too old to make a pinky promise!" She beamed with stars in her eyes. Damn it, who am I to reject her?

"Fine, I pinky promise." I deadpanned, holding out my finger.

Our fingers joined together only for a few seconds and only to pull away as Aina giggled.

"Well then, I'll see you tomorrow! Stay safe [N/N]!" She waved off and ran off until I couldn't see her anymore.

I pulled out my phone and checked the time, my fingers against the cracked screen.

'Three-Forty Five? Should be barely anyone here..'

I put my phone in my book bag and exited the building, walking to the gate.

My home is rather far from the school, it was solid thirty minute walk at least.

As I walked home, I saw a couple of those creatures again, they were a variety murky and bright colors and strange features, big and small — and they didn't seem to stick around any longer as if they were scared of me. I kept on walking until I stopped on my tracks and scrunched my nose. The scent of iron filled the air I notice a trail of blood

I looked in the direction of where that scent was coming from.

'The forest? Did somebody get hurt?'

It didn’t help that my home was quite far from any public area outside of a bad neighborhood.

But how did somebody not notice this?

Something was begging me not to follow the trail, but the other in the back of head was beckoning.

But I was curious, far too curious.

I followed the trail, only to stop in my tracks again. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run away — But I couldn't.

It was none other but her body in front of me.

Ayane Hashimoto.

I was at a loss for words I saw her rotting body.

How...why...

Who did this?

And why?

I took a step back and turned away from the sight of the body and began to walk away.

I lived long enough to know I deserve better.

I deserve so much better.

I am about to die, yet here I am thinking about the past. Why am I just remembering who my friend is? Why am I just remembering all those horrible things that have happened to me so long ago?

I wonder if anything I've done for anyone meant anything. I wonder what everything I've said meant anything. I wonder if I meant anything to anyone at all.

I suffer because my decisions, but why do I regret them? It's not like it'll happen again.

It's not like it'll happen again at all.

I closed my eyes as the creature attacked me, only to feel nothing at all.

Huh?

I opened my eyes only to hear the sound of crunching and splattering.

There was something else present.

I looked at the creature being eaten and took a closer look.

It was a mantis..? A rather giant one.

It had black, splotch-like markings with red in the center, it looked far different than any other mantis I’ve seen, not to mention its size.

It continued to eat the serpent-like creature as pained wails sounded out before being completely drowned out by the sound of squelching flesh and the cracking of bones.

It wasn't too long until the carnage stopped, the remains of the being disintegrating as it let out one last cry before completely disappearing altogether.

I laid there in shock — just where did it come from?

I flinched as the mantis cocked its head in my direction, before approaching me.

Its bloodied body moved faster than I thought as its large massive eyes met mine.

It seemed to do a nodding motion before its body began to evaporate into steam.

Just what was that?

"Nice shikigami you got there." A deep, masculine voice spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence. I cocked my head to look back at the figure behind me.

He had spiky, white hair and a blindfold, but one thing that really made me wonder was his height, just how tall is this man?! How many times has he hit his head on doorways?

My eyes went as wide as saucers as I realized — this is the same man I saw earlier, passing by a bakery.

I glared at him, pointing a finger.

"Who are you?”

@bridemiko — if you see any of my work published outside of tumblr, quotev, and wattpad — its most likely not me!

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk itadori #jjk #itadori #itadori x reader #gojo satoru #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #amariwritess #itadori x you

[heterophobicmaxanne]

sending you an ask cause you've sent me some <3 when do you think royjamie get together do you think it's during the time of the show or?

awwww, thank you, that is sooo nice!

i think there are honestly a bunch of ways they could get/could have gotten together but i think i'm going to focus on the canon compliant ones - and i think it largely depends on roy and on when and how he stops repressing his feelings for jamie and how much angsting he does about his role as manager and the ethical implications of dating someone on the team

i'm going to put this under a cut because it's def going to get long

so sort of the most obvious/maybe healthiest one is roy does some therapy and with the help of dr. sharon realises that he deserves to be happy and that the way he's repressing his wants and needs because he's afraid of the pain that would come from not getting them met is not in fact at all healthy and directly tied to his anger issues. i think then he'd probably need a couple more sessions until he could actually recognise the affection he has for jamie as what it is, namely a big fat crush - i think the fact that he's low key miserable about not getting to do one-on-one 4 am training with jamie anymore because he's to busy as manager plays a pretty big role in that realisation, and the whole fight over keeley thing also plays into it, like he'd recognise that seeing jamie and keeley hug made him afraid that things were changing and because he's a repressed idiot he concluded it was about keeley when in truth it was about jamie - and then he'd probably need to like lie down for several weeks to recover from the shock and the horror agonize about how to handle the situation ethically for a while, call in the diamond dogs for help and make a plan with them that he then presents to rebecca. and only then would he talk to jamie about it, low key expecting jamie to laugh in his face or tell him to fuck off, and i think he'd be genuinely shocked when jamie is immediately like "yep this is happening i am now Roy Kent's boyfriend"

and that's sweet and healthy and good but it's a little too hinged for me, like as good and sweet as that is, it lacks that certain je-ne-sais-quoi that makes their relationship so fun and fascinating, which is why i prefer a bunch of other options!

one option that i see that is also canon compliant is that jamie does in fact go to see his father in rehab. it goes well for a while and then james tartt turns out to still be an abusive piece of shit because it was never the addiction that made him abusive, james tartt is just like that so he says something shitty and terrible to jamie, maybe something homophobic about colin who's post-match kiss with michael has gone viral or maybe something shitty about jamie becoming a midfielder and no longer dominating on the field. jamie stands up to his father but doesn't feel entirely good about it - he's supposed to be forgiving him, helping him become a better person, the way people have forgiven and helped jamie and what does it say about him that he can't do the same thing for his father? he spirals out about it in a way that's similar to the start of mom city, roy notices, finds out what's going on, including about ted's advice and is just Absolutely Enraged. Completely And Utterly Furious. Cannot Speak Will Commit Murder Livid. he gives jamie the best advice he can give him through the rage blinders he gets, and then he facetimes ted and almost murders him through the phone screen. and ted realises his mistake, apologizes to jamie for the advice and for just walking away after the man city richmond match in s1, and the next time ted talks to roy he makes a suggestive comment about roy's feelings vis-a-vis jamie, maybe something about how he never could've seen roy and jamie's relationship developing into that direction when he got to richmond, and waggles his eyebrows and that does not go over well with roy. not at all. but jamie's doing better and roy's absolutely delighted about it and he can't stop thinking about ted's comment and finally, considering how intensely angry and protective he was and how delighted he is to see jamie happy again, he realises it's true and probably needs to like lie down for several weeks to recover from the shock and the horror again does the same "figuring out how to make a move on jamie that's ethical enough for him to do it"-spiel as in the first option

(leslie higgins voice) another one: jamie gets hurt pretty badly towards the final minutes of a match and roy's brain just short-circuits and only barely reboots enough for him to force himself to make it through with some semblance of composure because he's the gaffer and he cannot fall apart about jamie getting carried of the pitch on a stretcher. the second the whistle blows, roy essentially barrels into the treatment room and pulls jamie into a hug that is so fucking tight that jamie has to essentially tap him on the shoulder at some point because he's about to black out from lack of oxygen. and that leads to jamie making a dumb joke about how he's not dying "jesus grandad get your crap together you're going to make the medics think you're in love with me" and roy's brain is still rebooting which means the repression mechanism hasn't fully come online yet so he can hear that sentence, put it into the context of all the other emotions he's been feeling and realise that yeah that is essentially why he is reacting the way that he is reacting and even say "what if i am" which leads to a very passionate kiss, a number of death threats if any of this gets out and some vaguely traumatized richmond team medics

i can also see roy just being absolutely fucking miserable about no longer getting to do one-on-one training with jamie because 1) he does not have the time anymore (now that he actually has to read the fucking scouting reports and all that other shit he lied about as assistant coach) and 2) it would be way more unethical and favouritism and so on than it was when he was an assistant coach. but he doesn't make the connection because why would he, he barely even likes jamie no matter what phoebe said and no matter the fact that he looks at the kunt shirt and smiles like the biggest fucking idiot until phoebe points out that he's managed to swear so much in just a week that he owes her what he usually owes her after like two months and asks whether it's because he's no longer seeing jamie every day? and roy wants to say no fuck off but because it's phoebe he can't and unfortunately that moment of hesitation he has while he tries to find a nicer way of phrasing it is enough for him to realise that yeah actually she's right and that's not normal why is that happening and it triggers a chain reaction that ends with him realising his feelings

and for the fourth canon compliant option, we have jamie getting a little too drunk at the post-match celebration because he's no longer in training so vanilla vodka here he comes and then drunkenly telling roy that actually it was a fucking dick move to invite him for a beer and to butter him up only to then bring up keeley and ask jamie to "step aside" especially considering the giant fucking torch jamie's carrying for roy and roy is like "the what" and jamie tells him again that yeah he has always had a pretty big fucking crush on roy and how did roy not notice despite the poster and him pulling roy through richmond on a leash and amsterdam? and jamie admits that yeah he did act a little like a dick about it, esp to keeley, but roy was being a much bigger dick not just to keeley but also to jamie and roy is like yeah you’re right i was a dick and i’m sorry but I did mean the proud of you stuff I said and jamie tells roy nice cool good and he'll see roy once they start 4am training again in the preseason and roy's like "wait why do you still want to train with me don't you think this is awkward as fuck" and jamie's like "nope this changes literally nothing" and then fucks off to brazil for a bit and again roy is miserable but once the preseason comes closer he gets more and more excited about the prospect of seeing jamie again and at some point he internally scolds himself for acting like a schoolgirl with a crush and that's when he realises that whoops yeah jamie is not the only one carrying a torch

but also i think there are a few moments in the show that open up fun little avenues for canon divergent royjamie, for example:

jamie does not come back into his childhood bedroom when he does in the show, keeley summarily rejects roy, roy wallows in it a little but realises it doesn't even hurt as much as he thought it would and there's even a part of him that's relieved which is weird why is he relieved and why is that relief so tied to nothing changing between him and jamie and whoops yeah there it is the realisation he has a Feeling

there's the slightly more angsty option where roy only realises he has feelings for jamie when jamie gets hurt during the match against man city (which i'm SUCH a sucker for!)

roy is in the room for the "everyone looks at jamie after beards comment about there being more people in this locker room who are gay"-moment and when jamie says i'm flattered roy feels something like excitment and maybe even hope and like why is he feeling that those feelings make no sense there unless he was interested in ja - whoops okay he is interested in jamie someone kill him now

and of course, amsterdam! i can imagine like a very deeply cute moment where after learning how to ride a bike roy just looks over at jamie and feels deeply content and comfortable and happy and realises wait that's how it felt with keeley why does it feel so similar with jamie is it because - yes it is jesus mary and fuckface joseph and then he falls of his bike and when jamie's standing over him laughing his ass off about it he just either pulls him down into a kiss or lets jamie pull him up and then uses the momentum to barrel into a hug with jamie and during that hug he pulls back a little and just gives jamie a look and jamie immediately fucking kisses roy

and then there's the option i'm playing around with in my fic, where roy and keeley break up way earlier than they do in the show, roy drunk-dials jamie on accident and then things develop from there

#jesus christ this got LONG #but i had SO MUCH fun #i meant to write other stuff but thinking about the different ways these two idiots could get together is just so fun #the royjamie brainrot has my tiny little brain tight in its hands #so thank you for asking this! #royjamie #ted lasso

[levmada]

heyy! can I request one where after farlan and isabel’s death, Levi started pushing y/n away. In one expedition, she sacrifices herself for him and he thought she was dead but she turns out to be in Marley with Zeke without memories? You can choose the ending heh thanks!

hiii it only took me 300 years to finish your request😭. life got in the way for a while. i hope you enjoy!!

also, for the sake of plot, zeke was there when wall maria fell in 845 and eren is imprisoned for longer in s4.

description: Four years after you sacrificed yourself for Levi in battle, he sees your ghost dressed as a Warrior, living in Marley. You’re alive, but you’re no longer yourself. In order to rectify his past mistakes, he chooses to stop at nothing to bring you back.

wc: ~6.3k

content/warnings: so much angst, canon-typical violence, a very painstaking scene, canon divergence, smut for like 10 seconds, undoing brainwashing (emotional manipulation&light physical harm), emphasis on hurt/comfort, s4p1, self-hatred, lots of healing, Levi is trying his best

Liberio. Levi wanted to pinpoint that that was where his days began. 

After nights upon months upon the agonizing and the blood over years, he had never felt more alive than before you both had lost Isabel and Farlan than the breath that passed him the moment your eyes met again in Liberio two months ago.

The woman he had met, or rather, the conversation that had been thrust upon him: he had tailed the Warrior who was playing dress-up using your face and the Marleyans’ military garb. 

It was only after barely fleeing the scene that you—he thought it had to be you, she looked like you, sounded like you—that you approached him upfront.

“And who're you?”  you had asked him, smirking like a fox. “If you were from around here, you’d know how hard it is to sneak up on a Warrior.”

You, a ghost, had been resurrected, sure enough, but you were no longer yourself. It was impossible for him to accept it wasn’t a joke at first—but no, it wasn’t, not even the most abhorrent of one by whatever freak of nature was capable of it.

He had seen battle hundreds of times, but never had adrenaline burned so bright in his blood. What he had known, without a doubt, was that such a miracle wouldn’t be dropped into his hands without a price: you yourself.

He covered the three ugly, trailing scratches on his arm now, deep in thought. Two months later he was still paying for your sacrifice the day Wall Maria fell.

After Isabel and Farlan, knowing what you too had lost, having it fully in mind that you were the last one left who had stuck by his side for so long—he had acted the part of a bastard and he had known it. That was a choice he alone had made.

No matter if those two had been devoured by Titans or fell victim to Levi’s own hubris, either way you would eventually one day be next. And either way, guilt would one day sink its talons into him and never let him go.

He made a choice—for every pleading glance, then pleading words, then outraged ones—every second he pulled away was these past two months in the making. Who was he to expect that you were foolish enough to sacrifice your life for his in that split second? Who was he to expect anything other than that?

He had paid then, and he paid now. 

Following Eren and Zeke’s capture, a recapture on Eren’s part, whatever free fall he had experienced inside himself had gone into cold hibernation.

It wasn’t dead, nor were you. He refused.

Intel confirmed which Titan belonged to you, and that was the one he obliterated in order for you to be too busy healing for the two days it took to fly back to Paradis.

Back on land, Levi had given some men in the Garrison orders, and they had followed them: you had been sedated in the most northern district of the Walls like an unspoken secret, imprisoned, he told himself, just like any regular interrogation reserved for the volunteers—back when their first ships arrived and no one had any clue what to think.

Two months ago, he certainly hadn't known what to think. The softness in your features, a side effect of the sedation, had been an illusion. Your first real words to him had been, “You filthy fucking pig!” then your third, or fifth (it all blended together after a while), “What do you want from me, you devil?” 

So he paid for his mistakes, even now, and he would continue until it was either enough, or the worst case came to be—that it wasn’t. 

A sole objective remained, all else shoved to the side: righting his wrongs. 

He was a filthy fucking devil and he did deserve to die for his sins—though not for the sins of a people centuries ago that no one except the world beyond Paradis remembered. And he had cause to fight despite what he knew himself to be. This was no exception.

Your hatred of him was sick, but in some way addictive. It confirmed the reality of his mistakes to himself; for once he could pretend one of his choices couldn’t be excused away as anything other than a tragedy. To hear you spit your venom and to watch you kick and squirm during the sessions to undo the brainwashing confirmed it every single day. 

He hasn’t taken a single break; he anticipated a relapse of his progress if he did. 

As a self-proclaimed hypocrite, he knew he was made of selfish parts—not only to reap in the abuse, but because he would stop at nothing to bring you back—as well as the parts that would suffer and sacrifice until there was less than nothing left for him to give. 

You had managed to land a hit on him today, which gave him more to be disappointed in himself for. Lately you had hit a wall, nothing was working, and as such nothing mattered more than making it work. 

Pain was the perfect discipline, he had no doubt, but that didn’t mean he loathed using it on you any less in the beginning. He’d rather not be forced to start those lessons again.

His hands shook.

“Captain,” Armin tried. At his side in the entrance way down to the dungeon, he had stepped beside him to fill a basin of hot water for the bruise under Levi’s eye, all while explaining something to him about infection and fingernails and taking it easy. White noise.

“I’m concerned, and so is Commander Hange, so please don’t push yourself so hard. It’s not…”

Maybe he sees the twisted grimace on Levi’s face. This most certainly was his fault. The reason he had been pushing so hard lately, what he was told was seven days straight, was hearing you babble on defending that hairy bastard Zeke. 

This world was not only cruel, but twisted. 

His latest attempts to teach you that Zeke wiped out a whole battalion of soldiers you called your comrades once, that he had four years ago transformed an entire village full of your own people into monsters, and most importantly that he had murdered the Commander you once convinced Levi wasn’t “really that much of a bastard”—have been in vain. Mostly. You weeped at the floor yesterday, mumbling about devils, asking why.

“Because Zeke Jaeger is not the man you were conditioned to think he is,” Levi had replied, voice like ice. “He’s the devil scum.” And it had ended with another tantrum.

He shook his head dismissively, though his heart was tied to other matters; only Hange, and the 104th (who he dubs as “the kids”, but only in his own mind). As if the Commander needed any more stress. Everyone was doing the best they could, considering the dire circumstances. 

But he would use his spare time as often as he could still grasp for it. 

Levi steered the topic of conversation towards how Armin and Mikasa were doing instead—he knew how devastated they had been lately, not at all to mention Sasha’s death. Anything to remove the attention away from himself. 

Later, he had eaten—fuel for his body was all it had been—and nodded off in Hange’s office with his arms crossed over his chest. 

As he had implored them, they roused him in the early morning by setting a steaming cup of tea on the nearby table. 

“Rise and shine, Captain Levi,” they had sighed, golden light glittering through the curtains. He had had a headache.

Which still persisted into the afternoon. 

Jean—who had grown at least a foot in the last year—accompanied Levi down the stone steps, debriefing him on your condition, all secondhand information from your guards.

“She cried most of the night,” he explained, “and, well, Captain—don’t do anything rash, but—”

Levi halted on the bottom step, forcing Jean to stop too. “Yes? Spit it out.”

The muscles in his jaw worked. “One of the Garrison was removed last night. I’m told he lost his temper, and, struck her.”

His hand grows pale and tight around the handrailing. “Was she injured?”

“Only a little. She recovered quickly.”

Because you had the power of the Titans inside you, a hit would’ve meant next to nothing. Still, relief flooded his veins. “And is this guard still with us?” he asked, low and deadly.

The rogue Garrison guard had been detained in the soldiers’ quarters past your cell since the event occurred. That was the only information Levi needed before marching down the hall and inside. 

A hush fell over the four, including the one guilty party who was hunched over himself on a bench. 

“So, what do we have here?” Levi drawled. “A man who can’t treat his common person with respect.”

Even if Levi believed that the Marleyans were lower than the Eldians, you weren’t a Marleyan—he made sure to beat that lesson into the guy while his comrades watched on. They needed to know, too.

Thus they stood at ease and watched with pinched expressions. Taking Levi’s reputation out of the equation, the other regiments no longer resented the Survey Corps like four years before. They knew to trust Levi, and if they didn’t, they knew not to disobey his orders—except for one, anyway.

Your cell was a dank, stony room, floor colored like rotten gunmetal. Immediately, you straightened up and weakly glared him down. If the soldier had left a mark, there was none to speak of now.

He pulled up a chair. As usual, you regarded him with defeated disdain.

“My name’s Levi, in case you forgot,” he began, also as usual. “We met when you were nine and I was older than that. You tried to pickpocket me, and I beat the shit out of you.”

“Leave me the hell alone.”

“You apparently liked that so much you started following me around, and then we were friends. We lived Underground behind the furthest most Wall. On this island called, apparently, Paradis.”

Today, your defenses were more cracked than usual. Your shoulders wracked where you were placed on your backside, your hands cuffed behind you to an immovable metal pole. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling. 

“If you had any empathy, you’d tell me where my brother is, you goddamn bastard. Is my family dead? Did-Did you people—”

You’d long been over that already. Between an exasperated sigh, Levi jerked your head back so his eyes pierced yours. 

Fact was, you had no brother, nor family to speak of. There was the orphanage in the 5th Underground district, and nothing more. It didn’t surprise him that Magath and the rest took advantage of that.

“You’d do well to listen to me for once,” he told you, and ripped away. With wide, hopeless eyes, you stared up. “You woke up screaming pretty often, even after we reached the Surface.”

Your expression pinched. “Stop.”

Often, his only comfort was that expression; this projectile vomiting of both your pasts hurt him like it did you. It hurt him to hurt you.

“Stop what?” he huffed. “Telling the truth?”

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“And yet you’ve never been able to prove it.”

You had even distance between you again, but still you were practically bowed back against the pole—to get away. 

“I don’t know—”

“Course you do. We ran together for years.” The only thing that could have made you forget was brainwashing. 

“How many?” he asked, and when you didn’t answer, he leaned forward, only for you to make a mad dash to bite his hand. You cried out in pain from a kick in the knee.

“One big… happy family,” Levi goes on haltingly. 

He’d prefer it if you insulted him. This just felt like kicking a dog when it was down. 

Next was the opportunity to live cozily in the Interior if you all stole some documents, Levi’s determination to kill a promising Squad Leader.

“But on our first expedition, there was a storm of the century. Do you remember running to me? With her blood painted all over your face?”

It was a crueler and crueler effort not to let the worn resignation show on his face like it now did yours. You’d been over this many times.

“Shut up,” you hissed, “shut up, shut up shut up—”

But of course he would not. He started to say your name, only to scream, “Shut up!” to which he had to slap you across the face—he had to. 

Your bangs dangled over your eyes, breaths leaving you through open-mouthed huffs. His palm stung angrily, grief hard twisting in his throat. 

He hated to look at you this way; this brittle shell of what you were, this reminder of what he had inflicted on you then, and now. It was no longer easy to discern whether bringing you back was a noble goal. If there was still a connection that remained buried beneath hellish dirt and rock, it would never, ever be the same.

But he simply couldn’t give up on you.

Armin had a hypothesis about your nodding in and out occasionally like you were now—that it was your conditioning. 

But Levi didn't want that hope to crawl up behind his ribcage. Twice before, without fail, when he’d gotten you this broken down, you dove back into the shell again.

“How long were we all together?” he asked again. “Answer me.”

And when you didn’t after many arduous breaths, he did what he had to. 

“Why… Why would they?” As you spoke, your voice trailed up into a whining hurt. “They cared about me.”

He swallowed hard and curled his fist atop his knee. “Maybe so, after you got obedient enough to control. They needed a fresh body, and there you were.”

“Zeke wouldn’t do that!” you cried.

“Oh, he would.” He felt a horribly dark humor. “If any of them wanted a dog they could pull around on a leash, it was especially him. A hand to hold. A hole to fuck.”

Two months, two months, two months. You smiling girlishly at him, the hand you had slapped over your mouth, clutching in your other that book of poetry he had stolen for you. Sleeping restfully. Bumping your forehead against his and calling him sweet. Smelling soft soap for the first time.

You sobbed freely now, rocking.

“Here’s a good reason,” he goes on blandly, “It gave you an excuse to forget who I am.”

“You?” You shuddered. “You treat me like shit.”

“If I was nice, would you have started listening? Why would you be with someone who treated you that way in the first place?” He waited for a snarky remark, but none came, so he went on. “You made too big a sacrifice when I… stopped being nice to you.”

You shake your head wildly. That was the threshold that bled into who you were now—that day.

“Remind me,” he said, even though he could never forget it.

Your lips pressed. “T-Titans…”

“Yes,” he states matter-of-factually. “That’s right. Be more specific.”

Even with your eyes red and both cheeks shining with shed tears, you glared at the ground between your bent knees, shaking like a rattling doorknob. Metal rattled behind your back.

“It was Titans…?”

He could tell you were fighting it, and fighting hard. “Go on,” he encouraged. “You were doing so well a second ago.”

“And I…” Your head hung. “It was a dream! I don’t know!”

He decided to wait on bated breath, not allowing himself to speak in case anything he said next would knock off this already precarious balance of mind. This was nothing he’d seen from you before.

But this listless shadow was slowly crawling over your eyes again. He bit the bullet. 

“It was no dream… Could a person mourn for four years straight thanks to a bad dream? Every day, every hour?”

You didn’t seem to know yourself. “N-No?”

“So, why did I?”

You drew up tight like a little ball—as if his words were physical whippings. “I pushed you out of—outta the way? And I almost didn’t m-make it?”

He leaned forward so he spoke right over you. “That’s right—it’s not a question. You know it.”

“But…” Your gait slackened. 

If he let you nod out again now, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself later. This was like two twin sides of the same coin getting crushed together—what would be the result if neither made it through? What if the one Levi knew didn’t? 

With his hand on your shoulder he gave you three good shakes. “C’mon. Stay with me, I know you’re in there.”

But there were no signs of life, so—even though it was against every directive, and most past experiences—he scooped up your jaw so you saw his eyes. His instincts screamed for him to do so.

“I thought you didn’t make it. Everyone did. 'Died in Action' was stamped on your death certificate, do you understand me?”

Your glossy eyes shut hard, dripping two parallel streaks of tears before they, to his relief, opened again. “Okay.”

It was more like you, the venomous artificial side, to take him for a liar no matter how sincere he sounded. This was better. This was the best you’d ever done.

“I never mourned another thing, or person, more in my life,” he went on, no longer hiding the anguish—in all its rawness. “I still am. Because when I found you, you weren’t yourself anymore.”

Surprisingly you laughed, an agonized huff. You crumpled before his eyes. “I think, I thought you’d be relieved.”

“W-What?” he stammered.

“Why did you stop—” a cracked, ugly sob, “—why didn’t you care about me anymore?”

His mouth went dry, jaw wobbling for the answer—that he didn’t, and evidently could never; the fact that you had thought that at all stupefied him. He didn’t think this was an act.

“F-Four years,” he tried. The hand he propped up your jaw with now felt like a terrifying reach.

“Just say it, Captain,” you whimpered. “Just say… say—”

He cut you off loudly. “I acted that way,” and suddenly, it was hard to look at you. “Because I’m a selfish coward.”

He’d never spoken this to anyone. 

There was nothing left to be terrified of—not with strength or tenacity like his—than losing anyone more than Isabel and Farlan. The best decision, he thought, was getting it over with before you left him first. The consequences were more catastrophic than he ever could have imagined.

Even if what happened was always to come to pass, you confirmed for him that he should’ve been better. You too were in the same void of mourning he was. 

He would always, for you, feel like an exploding sun; joined at the hip or worlds apart; no matter who you were, or made to be.

Tonelessly, “I think I would have done it anyway.”

He pinned his tongue between his teeth. “Then you cared for me more than I ever deserved.”

Hot tears bled down your cheeks and dripped from your chin. “Is this all bullshit?” you asked tightly.

“No.” 

In a ghostly touch, he carefully spread his thumbs across both your cheeks in efforts to clean a few of the tears. He got the feeling you’d still be looking right at him this way even if he hadn’t been helping, but he thought it helped, and he didn’t want to pull away.

You searched his eyes fervently. “Where’s your proof?”

That was always his question to ask—proof was never something you needed, always so staunchly believing that he was playing mind games with you.

“It isn’t physical proof, but.” The only reason he faltered was fear. It felt like a physical push to keep his eyes trained directly on your own. “I love you.”

Your lips stuttered, then your expression melted.

It was literal torture, binds fastening his eyes open, to maintain eye contact those next few seconds while he waited frozen still for anything at all to happen. Anything at all.

You breathed like a drowning person. At last, a look rose to your face—something had he blinked, he would’ve missed—before your eyes rolled back and your shackles clanged; it was like you fell away from consciousness.

He found himself lurching forward before he could neither give himself the command, nor stop himself. With the suddenness and the force that it happened, you could have broken your wrists.

To hell with the name Marley gave you; they didn’t even leave you with your own name. He said your name, calling for you, pleading it. 

He hasn’t spoken your name aloud for so long, but it felt right at home on his lips. More importantly you responded to it, just a little; you fidgeted fitfully in his arms, croaking. 

A response was the only thing he needed.

Levi raked his memories—he needed Armin to take a look, or was Hange preoccupied today? They weren’t going to be in a few minutes.

He shook, shaking harder than he has in years, and shot a look over his shoulder at the barred door. The last thing he wanted was to leave you alone like this—on the verge, or if he dared to hope, past a breakthrough.

No, he decided. Not while you were unconscious.

To stoop down lower, he knocked his chair back and did just that so you could sit more comfortably without your head awkwardly tucked into your chest. 

Your name, your name, and your name. He firmly patted your cheek, smearing away hot blood which dripped from your nose and down his hand. A nosebleed couldn’t have been his doing. 

“Hey,” he kept whispering. “Hey, look at me. Right now,” which only grew more determined with your flickered blinking. 

A hoarse version of his name slurred off your tongue, as if you’d never heard it and hoped to test it, then again, then many times.

“You’re alright,” he croaked, hands flat on your shoulders. At the same time he was trying to sit you back, you cried softly and squirmed closer to him. It was for safety just as well as his. It was hard to say if you were properly conscious or in some state of hysteric sleep paralysis.

“Levi.” You began to wail. “Levi.”

He winced. “Yes. It’s me. Look at me, open your eyes.”

When was the last time he soothed you?—What about comforting anyone like this when he only ever tried for you?

Either way he tried, more than anything because you clearly were too. 

For once, repeating himself was helpful. Your head tossed, eyes flickering like two broken bulbs until the fit started to wear off. He would always remember you tearfully looking at him this way: like a light at the end of the tunnel. 

Convincing himself once more that this was nothing, just another brush with saving you before you ultimately left him, that your eyes held no recognition at all—it was finally absurd.

His own searched yours desperately. “D-Don’t you remember?” His voice broke.

“L-Levi,” you croaked, dry sobs wracking your chest. Then your gaze sluggishly left him, looking around. Your eyes grew wide. “I don’t get it, where are we? What-What’re we doing? Is something…”

His face suddenly felt hot. Is it an act? Is it? He kept asking himself, scared to hope, waiting for a sudden relapse which didn’t come.

“I’m confused.” You’re whispering this, looking stunned to hear shackles, that you couldn’t move your hands. You looked to him in panic, breathing harder and harder. 

The trance broke. “No, don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself,” he says, stuttering to sweep your bangs off your forehead. 

When was the last time he touched you this way? Randomly, a memory stuck itself to the forefront of his mind: you used to adore it when he played with your hair. So, he wiped your caked tears and didn’t pull away. Maybe the familiarity would keep you here.

And it did. “Do you—” he faltered. “Do you know who I am to you?”

Your lips moved soundlessly. Even though it was the best case scenario, it stung him for you to remember what sacrifice you had made the day you “died”—even worse, the months that preceded. What torture had you undergone after?

“My Levi,” you answered meekly, like it was a question. He simply nodded.

You had questions—one you knew the answer to several minutes before, but no longer: how you got here, where ‘here’ even was, why, and what time it was.

He did the bare, but earnest minimum of explaining. First and foremost it was imperative he reached someone who could take care of you in a better way than he knew how.

You didn’t know about your years in Marley, and especially not what he had done, had to do. It made no difference. He hoped you wouldn’t forgive him. He didn’t deserve that.

But the recognition that danced across your fragile expression, he savored it for now. It was as if you were resurrected—not physically, not like that day before Liberio—in an invisible way only he knew you were. You were finally alive.

For some reason, he caught himself severely out of breath. “Don’t move. Do you understand me?”

“Why?” you squeaked. “No. Please don’t leave me—”

“I’ll be right back,” he soothed, eyes stinging. “I promise. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, as long as he’d come back, and Levi always kept his word. Forget obstacles. After all he’d done, there was nothing in the world he would allow to get in his way. 

He wouldn’t allow another mistake to slip through his fingers.

“How long has it been?” You whispered this, ashamed to ask, and snuggled closer. 

Ashamed, because your memory had never been quite the same since you became lucid again. 

Nightmares were frequent for the both of you; you laid together now in the dead of night stretching into very early morning after one such terror. It had been three months, and he still wasn’t sleeping quite right, if at all sometimes.

Your hair tickled Levi’s nose, making it scrunch, but it warmed him to feel your hand resting over his heart.

He reminded you without judgment, as he always did, and lightly kissed your hairline. A hum, then without warning you rolled over on top of him. He jerked a little and twitched back to frantically search your eyes. 

It has been next to impossible to erase the fear of relapse completely, even though there was nowhere else Levi wanted to be while you recovered—even though he refused until you begged him. He didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven.

“It’s okay,” you soothed, slowly moving to smooth that  (what must be permanent after all these years) wrinkle between his brow, causing his dark eyes to flutter. Then you traced the slope of his button nose, his high cheekbones just beneath the shadows under his eyes, and finally you left a soft kiss on the side of his mouth. “You’re safe. We’re safe.”

It was his nightmare this time, in which he could vaguely register he had been awake, but his body wouldn’t move when he had told it to, not even to twitch his fingers. He refused to talk about it.

“Safe,” he whispered. His next breath shook. 

The softness in your eyes felt like a distant memory from so long ago, he could hardly believe he wasn’t dreaming up this home in the woods some days. Some days, you cried.

You nodded, then kissed him, and there you laid, pressed so close he could feel your lashes occasionally kiss his cheek when you blinked. 

Okay, he thought. Okay.

Protectively, he cradled the nape of your neck, and held you close. He never wanted to let go, but, there was a piece of news he had been neglecting to share with you.

“I should tell you. There’s been word about an uprising in Shiganshina,” he began, and immediately felt annoyed with himself for ruining the moment. “A band of recruits who follow Eren, of all people.”

You huffed a little, but your eyes were sullen. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You mean… the Jeagerists?” you tried. You’d heard of them before, somewhere.

A part of him was relieved you knew, another thick with nameless dread. Only when the proof was right in front of his face could he believe your doctor, that you were getting better.

Forget the Jaegerists. He cradled your warm cheek. “Tell me. How’ve you been?”

Levi, three months before, had requested this retreat in order for you to recover. For that first week in the hospital you had been moved to, you were inconsolable. He couldn’t have pried you off with a crowbar no matter how much he tried to distance himself, until it became evident you were getting worse again: growing quiet, growing dark. 

You had all but broken down in his arms after Hange begged that he suck up the guilt and visit you. You had actually thought he no longer wanted you, and he thought that all he brought you was pain. That he had ruined you.

The difference was, he doubted there was a thing you could do to change his mind, but at least he could love you.

Yesterday, he had gone on a brief hunting trip, and tears brimmed on your lashes upon his return. You had had quail for dinner, and you never stopped praising him for this despite the awkward seating arrangement; you needed to hold his hand. 

He hadn’t minded, he never did, but there was nothing he worried for more than your state of mind. Always, he thought of you, and you him, at those sporadic moments he locked up and frantically searched to make sure you were still there. 

The two of you walked a shaky tightrope, but life was improving. Every day, you healed a little more, or at least you were on the road to processing the past four years without falling flat on your face. 

That was how you answered him, and what relief he felt, but there was still no telling how you’d cope if, when, he’d be summoned back to his duties—without even considering the possibility that he might not make it back.

It was the next morning when he properly discussed the topic with you. Breakfast was on the stove, and you were cross-legged on the end of the sofa across from him munching berries while he had his morning tea. The fireplace crackled.

This reprieve from all the fighting would not last forever. Levi preferred not to beat around the bush just as you despised being talked to like a kid, so he was upfront. 

Hange was planning to increase the monkey’s security—you hated just to hear his name—in wake of all the political strife in Shiganshina. Meanwhile, Eren was still in chains north of Wall Rose, but with Zeke involved in the whole mess, Hange was right to be careful.

The bottom line was, Levi was needed again. He received correspondence two days ago, and he would be expected tomorrow. It wasn’t a choice, but you could choose between taking refuge in the heart of Stohess District with your family, or staying here at the cabin. Alone. 

Without question, and despite your Titan, you were honorably discharged from the military promptly upon your recovery. You resented that, but even so there was no way Levi could—morally, legally, or out of the way he felt for you—allow you to join him. At the very least you would need the all-clear from your doctor, which wasn’t coming anytime soon.

You were terribly pensive. Just as he set his empty teacup on the coffee table, you sniffed. Your berries joined his cup.

He frowned, and shuffled closer to you. “Tell me.”

Your resolve was strong. “Back then, you know how I always followed you around because I wanted to be useful? Now, you’re being called to fight again, after, after I was fighting you, and…” Another sniff. “…I feel like a burden.”

A deep hurt in his chest, he nudged your chin up. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told you, a little raw.

“Levi…”

“The opposite,” he told you sternly, and took your hand. “Look at me. Does it look like I’m lying?”

You’d always been able to tell somehow, even back Underground, the swindler Levi was. A little smile tugged your lips up. You shuffled up closer, and in one fluid motion he lifted your bent knees so you could sit cradled in his lap.

“I don’t want to face them,” you admit. “I’ll still have the doctor visits if I stay here, so… I want to stay here and wait for you.” And then, reading the indecision on his face, you press your lips to his. “But leave me things to remember you by?”

Anything.

That last night—overcome by a profound sense of loss, or perhaps losing—you rolled on top of him in bed and kissed him, long and chaste at first, then in desperate exchanges of tongue, heat, touch. His hands were all over you, molding your hips under his palms, then your backside to encourage your hips.

You gazed deep into each other’s soft eyes, kissed hard, and slowly revealed yourselves to each other. The little nothings you whispered in his ears mingled with needy sounds that grew needier, then louder until words were no longer needed except praise for how good it felt.

You would remember the feeling of him pushing himself inside you, the way his jaw slackened and the sounds you exchanged into each other’s hot, gaping mouths. The purple marks you begged him to leave, and the scratches down his back, and the sound he made when you locked your ankles behind his back.

The heat was almost suffocating, the air thick with sex, and in his buttery kiss you tasted mint and bitter tea, but most of all an underlying sweetness so remarkably Levi tears sprouted to your eyes to taste him. They spilled over your lashes when he properly began to push into you—a slow pounding that had him nearly pulling out before burying deep into you again.

He noticed your tears and stilled in case you needed to stop. Caged in between both his biceps, you simply ran your fingers through his hair backwards, messing it up to bring him in for a long kiss.

“I just love you,” you whispered.

Above his pink cheeks, Levi’s blue-greys were big and vulnerable. He locked your hands and took you passionately until your toes curled and your rough breathing broke into a cry. He kissed you the same, because he didn’t know how to say it, so he said it this way instead.

When your climax shattered you, he fucked you through it, and groaned soundlessly to feel your nails claw at his strong back—leaving marks he hoped would cling to him for weeks. He gasped when he fell over the edge, hips stuttering as his jaw fell slack, and groaned long and pleased into your shoulder. All the while, you had turned his name into a chant.

That very next day, Levi procrastinated leaving the sheets, and the warm piece of heaven that laid beside him. Beyond, the air held a certain chill, a mourning dove crooning outside. 

When you twitched awake, your eyes shined with recognition to find him first, which was his favorite part of waking up. His G'morning was scratchy and low, causing you to smile. No one left the bed until midday.

In the kitchen after brunch, his stomach was warm but his chest remained cold. While you smoothed down the rich green cape clasped over his shoulders, he held your waist, hesitant to let go.

“Thank you for ironing it.” He cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to.”

A snort. “I always iron your clothes.”

He made himself nod, his eyes dancing all over your soft expression. If this was the last time you ever saw each other—something you both most certainly knew is possible, but neither addressed—he wanted to remember you just as you were now, without the pain. 

Delicately, he took your hand—knuckled scuffed from gardening—and kissed it. It still felt like it wasn’t enough.  “Are you sure you have enough?” 

This was the third time he’d asked in the past hour. Like he was something precious, you kissed him, and hummed. “Let’s see: All your old letters, clothes, that knife you gave me when we were sixteen… Your shampoo, that paper crane, your—”

You were interrupted by his lips—once, twice, four times. “Yeah, well, I had Yan promise to check up on you every week or so.”

You laughed incredulously, but your heart swelled. A tremor sat in your fingers: you were afraid, not just for yourself but for him, but kissing him goodbye was all you could do.

One last time, past the porch, as he’s saddling up his horse, you kissed him. “Hey, I love you, Levi.”

Brow knit, he captured your jaw to return it, not looking at you.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you assure, but before you could even finish he shook his head. He hadn’t told you since that day two months ago, and it felt like an insult. That memory was anything but happy.

He pet your hair, then pulled you into a tight embrace, relishing the way you squeezed him back twice as hard and clung to his hood.

“Remember,” he mumbled over your shoulder, “I—I do too.”

One last kiss, and then you parted. He couldn’t bring himself to look back, but he knew you were there, watching. Hopefully, you would always be.

Off the dirt road, two robins hopped around, pecking trepidatiously at the grass. Beautiful birds, but colored uncannily like fresh blood. He tore his gaze away and urged his horse into a gallop to focus on the road ahead, which he hoped would one day soon lead him back home.

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#levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi fluff #levi ackerman fluff #levi x y/n #snk #aot levi #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi fic #g.scribe #levi fanfiction

[xxhappy-chickenxx]

Tagged in a writers ask game by the lovely @justanothervariant!! Ty bestie, i love talking abt my fics 😅💕

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first and last fics you published there, a fic for a fandom/ship you've only written for once, your favourite fic in the fandom/ship with the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonised over the most, the fic that sprang fully-formed from your mind with minimal effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason. <3

First Fic Published: Future, Present, Past, a post-canon canon- divergence (say that 10x fast) VegasPete fic where they've been raising Venice with no knowledge of his family's past. This fic is my baby, and even though there's things I look back on that I'd change (not nearly enough Pete POV!) anyone who's read or commented on it is truly so dear to me. Venice is something that can be so personal 😌

Last Fic Published: Wedding Night 😳 listennnn I've been in my breeding era and it's not changing anytime soon. Summer break = late night horny writing hours, I don't make the rules.

One-Time Only: High and Low is my one and only BigKinn fic and it'll probably stay that way 😅 I love the angst potential, but writing the smut was such a challenge. The whole time, I was like "is this any good??" Luckily it got a lot of wonderful feedback that I'm so grateful for and I really enjoyed writing from Big's perspective!

Favorite VegasPete Fic: Oh my god, this is really hard to choose!! Especially when most of my writing is for them 😅 BUT 3 a.m. is one of my favorite fics that I've written overall, and especially for VegasPete. Writing the nightmare of Vegas dreaming that he kills Pete in the safehouse was so fun and I feel like this fic really solidified my love for angst. Vegas' panic attack and his conversation with Macau are also near and dear to my heart. This is one of the fics that I reread regularly.

Fic I Wish More People Read: Haunted by the Thought of You is a fic that I loved writing and really enjoy, but for whatever reason it just didn't get a lot of traction! I love ghosts and all things spooky, and the concept of Vegas being haunted by Tawan was just so delicious, especially when I dug into Buddhism and ghosts. If you're interested, I highly recommend checking it out 💕

Fic I Agonized Over: Pete Pray Love is my post-canon long fic and I've been struggling to get it finished. I've written, and re-written, and cut chapters, and contemplated giving up; it's been a whole process. I'm determined to stick with it (and am actually working on the final chapter right now) but I'm so grateful to the people who have supported it from the beginning and continue to engage with it!!!

Fully-Formed Fic: The first chapter of Great Expectations came to me in a horny vision; I had no idea it would spawn into a 30k longfic that's changed directions at least twice. Looking back, it could have used a bit of polish (and perhaps some lube), but ultimately it's a horny, angsty good time and I wouldn't have it any other way 😆

Fic I'm Proud Of: Playing for Keeps is so, so dear to me; I was absolutely overwhelmed by the feedback and it reinforced the feeling I had that I'd touched on something really special about love and family while writing it. This fic completely took hold of me - I wrote 10k over the course of 9 days and it occupied all my waking thoughts. The intimacy between Vegas and Pete felt really special; it's some of my favorite smut I've written purely because of how tender it is. There's something about letting someone into your life after years of closing yourself off... *cries* I could literally talk about this fic forever, it's a problem, and this is why it's getting it's own little universe bc their story is demanding to be told!!!

Ty again to Variant for the tag 💖 I'm tagging @saturnskyline, @wisteria-daydreamer, @transwegath, @xhangkyuns and ofc anyone else who wants to participate ✨✨

#writing game #writing game tag

[nachosncheeze]

Fanfic Writer Ask Game

📚 & 🏷️

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

Definitely! It depends on what you are looking for, so here's a few of my faves in a couple different categories:

***Edit: I'm adding a cut bc it's just occurred to me to mention, anyone new who's not done the series but is seeing this - I do have a spoiler-safe fics list that Scotti and I were working on at one point, so if there's a specific season you're looking for, but not wanting to know what twists come after (or if you're looking for fic for a specific episode or event), feel free to inbox me and I'll send some links. :)

Below this cut there are descriptions that spoil all sorts of things, so.....***

For Jeller, everything by @indelibleevidence is outstanding. I'm gonna start out saying probably a majority of it has passages that are NSFW so if you're a minor or not into that, tread lightly. I'm currently revisiting Remember to Forgive, which has late-season 3 Weller suffering amnesia that takes him mentally back to early season 2; you know, when he couldn't stand to be in the same room as his wife. The angst! It's a fave and totally my jam, I could probably quote it. Torture Without You is... well. Read it. Amazing. I'm a big Remi fan, and here you will also find one of our two Reller champions: the Damaged Goods series is so dark (also very NSFW) but soooo good.

@idealisticrealism is another that everyone should definitely read, imo. The Fire is basically my favorite one-shot ever, and she's our other Reller champion - as complete AUs go I can not possibly overstate my love for From the Ashes and Into Flames. I could literally quote them both to you.

@gypsyscarfwoman is responsible for my other favorite one-shot, Nothing Can Come Between Us, which is Jeller after season 2, but from Sarah Weller's POV. It's just a tiny bit angsty but fluffy and sweet. I love the way she describes the interactions between Jeller as viewed by a concerned third party. There's also Shelter From Your Storm, which is another season 2 AU except that post compound raid there's legitimate concern Nas might throw Jane under the bus and let the CIA have her, so Weller fake marries her to legitimize and protect her.

@ladyriot recently did a lovely retelling of s2 but as a Jane/Patterson slow burn. The way they low key agonize over each other is tragic, but the ending is so sweet without being completely saccharine, and it's definitely worth a look.

I haven't read much Zapatterson but @narvaldetierra is actively writing them. I read Remembers from September and No Good Deed Goes Unpunished a while ago, and I'm excited to reread them soon and then keep working through this ship 😁

Dylan Cruca is worth checking out if you want a bit of season 2/3 Jeller canon divergence/extra scenes, or Jeller/Reller AUs - I thought their post-season 1 AU ended up being a particularly interesting twist - but they're not for everyone.

I could go on but I'll end with one that's basically the fic equivalent to a playlist of Sad Songs to Sob To: Silence Speaks by lochness20, in which Jane's black site escape attempt fails, and when they find her, she is in a REALLY bad state. Warning that it's pretty dark and brutal and tw for suicidal thoughts and an eventual very graphic murder.

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

I don't really look for specific tags; it's not a huge fandom so there's not a ton of room to be choosy. I can say that straight whump isn't my thing, nor is pure domestic stuff, and I generally steer clear of pregnancy/kidfic unless there's some other compelling plot alongside the kids. I guess I basically love angst most of all 😍

Thank you for the ask!! :D It's always fun to revisit some faves. 💕

I'm trying to find my mojo and inspiration to start creating again, and I find these memes are a really good exercise to think critically about my ideas and hopefully get the juices flowing. If anyone else is curious, please check here and consider sending me an ask!

I've also recently done a WIP ask meme, which you can find here if you'd like a peek at what I've been working on before the words left me. :)

#blindspot #ask meme #writer ask meme #blindspot fanfic

[theothersarshi]

tagged by @kd-heart

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

First fic published on Ao3: I'll go with Mangaka! It's not an Ao3 exclusive, but it's the first story I published there, X-posting from ff.net. It's a Bleach story, Ichigo/Gin. Ichigo lost all his shinigami powers and friends and he meets Gin, who's in hiding and works as an eccentric mangaka. I've always wanted to turn this one into an original, but I never got around to doing it.

Last fic published: Demon dulce, bade blând. It's a very rare Romanian fic (I usually write in English, I like having an audience, thanks), and it's an alliterative slash fantasy AU poem about two of Romania's adored 19th c. canonical writers, who were friends IRL: Mihai Eminescu ("the last great Romantic poet") and Ion Creangă (a fun storyteller, lower class, dropped out of being a priest; wrote an autobiography, fairy tales and a porn "fairy tail". Remind me to tell you about his story with Jesus "blessing" a field of corn and turning all the corn ears into dildos). Anyway, in my poem, Eminescu becomes a sort of incubus figure who seduces his best friend.

Fandom/ship I only wrote once: My most recent "one time fandom only" is Doubts (Lord of the Rings). Aragorn/Legolas. It's also angst, which... why?

Favorite fic in most popular fandom/ship: The Affair of Loki and Darcy! It turns out Avengers is my most popular fandom on Ao3, although my works in that fandom include some youthful follies. Nonetheless, "The Affair" is a story that wrote itself. It's simple, it's funny, it's fluffy, and people loved it. There was a sequel at some point that got lost in a folder somewhere, but it was never finished and never great, so I never got around to publishing it.

Fic I wish more people read: A Fair Trade is a story that I'm always very pleasantly surprised to get any comments on. Mission Impossible/Avengers, Benji Dunn/Loki. It's such a crack pairing. It was supposed to be 3-5k words long, PWP, and it ended up 30k with extra Situations.

Fic I agonized over: Not exactly agonized, but Aimless. Eventual Hermione Granger/Severus Snape. It's very angsty and I wrote on it mostly while feeling depressed and adrift myself. Additionally, it's in the HP fandom, and that's an agonizing fandom in itself. (My stance on it is: I don't mention HP often out of respect for those who abhor it; but my wish is that the fandom goes on to become everything JKR hates, and that she flinches when she hears of it, not former fans.)

Fic that popped out fully-formed: I already mentioned "The Affair..." above, so I'll say Daughter Mine this time. It's dark and disturbing, but I love it.

Fic I'm proud of: Gonna go with Demon dulce, bade blând again. I keep showing it secretly to people. Alliterative dirty poetry! I didn't know I had it in me!

Tagging: I'm bad at this tagging thing! But if you feel like being tagged - tag, you're it! ;)

[lunagojo]

OK SO UMM WTF LOR'THEMAR AND THALYSSRA GOT MARRIED?????

so for context I had a World of Warcraft OC (Lunastrasza) who I shipped with Lor'themar for years, basically wrote my whole fanfic around their relationship, and now that Lor is canonically married to Thalyssra...welllll....

Decided to write some angst ;u; sorry Luna

warnings: umm none really? mainly just like a breakup

It had been a while since Lor’themar had told her the news. In the years that had passed since their separation, Lunastrasza had agonized over his reasoning as to why they had gone their separate ways. Everything had seemed so perfect, from the beginning. They had been best friends in every way, so deeply in love with one another it was painful.

He had said it was because their lives had become too different and too difficult to navigate, his duties as regent lord taking most of his time, hers as dragonprincess keeping her away from Silvermoon, often for months at a time. In the rare bits of time they had been able to see each other, little to no words had been exchanged, often times just a small smile or a quick, breathless kiss before they had to be pulled away once again.

Lunastrasza knew he had a point, when he brought up what had been happening, but there was something else, too. Lor’themar had been in close conversations with First Arcanist Thalyssra of Suramar, and even Grand Magister Rommath had joked about the chemistry the two had. Thalyssra was a beautiful, kind, driven woman, dedicated to her people and their safety above all else. In the few times Luna had met her, she had noticed the way the First Arcanist and Lor’themar glanced at each other.

Luna had shrugged it off, played it off as something simple, that they merely were just getting along well because they were so much alike.

But it was when Lor’themar pulled Luna into his office to discuss their relationship, she knew.

Hearing him say that he felt they were no longer in a relationship of any sort, that they had grown too far apart, crushed Lunastrasza’s heart. But Luna knew it was also because his heart was being pulled in a different direction. When he was around Thalyssra, he was lighter, his smiles wider, his eyes softer. It was a side of him that Luna hadn’t seen for decades. She just wished she could have been the one to make him that happy again.

As much as Lunastrasza wanted to fight for their relationship, she knew it was no use. She had left Lor’themar’s office feeling hollow in her chest, tears pricking her eyes, her throat tight. Lor’themar had been her first love, they had been through so much together through the years, and yet here they were, drifting away from one another. She had endured nightmares about this and now that it had happened, the pain was so great she felt numb.

She rarely, if ever, went into the city anymore, instead sending her handmaidens for errands. She didn’t want to risk running into him and feeling all that heartbreak once again. She just prayed that Thalyssra made him happier than she did, as much as it pained her to think of.

Then she got the invitation.

It had been early one morning when a knock came at the door of the estate. Luna heard her handmaiden, Ansuja, allowing the visitors inside and showing them into the foyer. A pang of shock went through her spine when she suddenly heard Lor’themar’s voice echoing through the halls. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t know how she would react upon seeing him, didn’t know how he would react upon seeing her. But she still slowly stood and made her way through the halls to the foyer of her home, where her former lover stood, still as handsome and glorious as a proud eagle on his perch.

To her surprise, he had come alone.

Lor’themar stared at her for a moment, clearing his throat as he nodded. “Luna, it’s…been awhile, hasn’t it?”

It took every ounce of restraint on Luna’s part to keep from spilling her emotions out in one giant ramble. Swallowing, she nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Yes. I’ve…been busy.”

It was a lie, she had been nothing of the sort lately, but she didn’t want him to know that she had been purposefully avoiding going into the city out of fear of seeing him.

He nodded again, brows furrowing. “You’ve been well, I hope?”

Lunastrasza chewed her lip. “Y—Yes. You too?”

“Yes, I’ve been great. That’s…actually why I’m here.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small, gilded card.

Luna’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach. She knew what it was before he even had a chance to speak, yet still took it from him with trembling fingers. Opening the card, she read the contents and her suspicions were proven correct.

Lor’themar and Thalyssra were getting married.

“I know…I know we didn’t exactly…end on the best terms, Luna,” Lor’themar said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it would mean a lot to me if you would come.”

Luna was at a loss for words, she didn’t know what to say. Several moments of silence passed between the two, the only sound the very distant noise of Ansuja cooking in the kitchen.

“Luna?” Lor’themar ventured. He had noticed the look on her face.

Taking in a deep breath, she finally replied: “I’ll have to see if I can make it that day.” Her golden eyes were downcast.

Lor’themar took a step forward, unsure of what to say. He knew that him even being there must have been difficult, but he had wanted to deliver the card in person.

“…Does she make you happy?” Luna asked softly, her eyes finally meeting his.

“Yes. She does.” The regent lord replied.

“…Good. That’s…that’s good. I’m glad.” Luna said, feeling the inevitable tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

Lor’themar lingered for a moment, before nodding. “…I’m…sorry for barging in on you like this. You must be busy, so…I should go.”

As he turned to make his way to the door, he heard, in a small voice behind him: “I really loved you. More than anything. Maybe I still do. But…what I want more than anything is for you to be happy.  And if that means…me not being a part of your life anymore…then that’s alright.” Lunastrasza sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “You were my best friend, Lor.”

Lor’themar’s shoulders stiffened, and he exhaled heavily. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, his one green eye glinting slightly. “I loved you, too, Lunastrasza. But…I cannot deny what I feel for Thalyssra.” He paused. “…Sometimes things are not meant to be.” He turned and walked out the front door of the estate, shutting it softly behind him.

Luna nodded, the card still in her hand. She knew that as much as it hurt, she had to let him go.

#i cried writing this #this is like the end of an era #lor'themar #lor'themar theron #lunastrasza #world of warcraft #u guys have NO idea how hard I shipped Luna and Lor #also if Luna went to the wedding she'd be in the back stuffing her face with cake and drinkin tons of booze

[fanonplussed]

thanks @lu-sn for tagging me!

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

--

first fic ever published: Settling Down, Settling In

this was Beka Cooper post-canon fic from 2011 and also the only het fic i ever wrote lollll though i then proceeded to publish nothing else for 8 years, i do still have a lot of fondness for this fic, and for the many, many het YA fantasy novels that have shaped the way i read and write

last fic published: a patient kind of guy

actually i lied, there's het in this fic too...specifically comphet, and the explorations thereof (it's a Be My Favorite fic, specifically a Pisaeng character study, nuff said). actually really proud of this one cause i like to think this fic showcases how far i've come in terms of being able to write angst, smut, humour, longing, and complex themes all in one 6k word fic

any fic i wrote for a ship only once: Five Times Wen Qing Writes to Jiang Yanli

huh, turns out i write quite a lot of ships only once, but i'm particularly proud of this femslash fic, firstly because in general there's not enough femslash in the world, and secondly because the MDZS ladies in specific deserved better!! also there's an incredible podfic recorded by some incredible people for it and listening to that was the COOLEST FREAKING THING

favorite fic for ship with most works: Thirty Years of (Someone Else's) Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!

you know what, i loved this ship SO FUCKING MUCH and this was hands down the most joyful cracktastic fic i've ever written and it's all about THE MAGIC OF FRIENDSHIP and yeah, if i could pick one work to remember of everything i wrote for these boys, it would be this one. sigh.

fic i wish more people read: Dad Joke

speaking of joyful cracktastic fics about the magic of friendship lolllll Macau and Chay have so much potential to be INCREDIBLE together as romantic/platonic co-conspirators and i didn't even realise until i finished writing this fic--this legitimately started out with me wanting to have Macau yell "it's a dad joke" about calling Pete 'dad' and then i woke up from my 24 hour writing fugue state with new, inconvenient macauchay feels lol guess the joke is on me (also i sometimes read this fic again and still laugh at my own jokes and i'm v proud of that)

fic i agonized over the most: Starving, Faithful

okay i'm sure i agonised over The Long Road Across The Wilderness - 荒尘渡 too (42k words of yi city boys on a big bang deadline ><) but FUCKING HELL the sheer amount of SCREAMING i did about the vegaspete post-credits scene for Starving Faithful man, and how it didn't ALIGN THEMATICALLY with how i'd conceptualised vegaspete in chapters 1 through 4 with the HUNGER and the OWNERSHIP and i rewrote that ending scene SO many times (with very patient, intelligent handholding from my incredible beta) and in the end just kinda went fuck it and gave up lol tbh i still have no idea if it's as resonant or consistent as i wanted it to be but overall i think i did pretty okay with that fic anyway

fic that sprang fully formed from my mind: Seven Years

444 words of Xue Yang character study that just flowed out in like 10 minutes inspired by this piece of fanart, one of the coolest collab and writing experiences i've had because i'm a plotter so that's basically never happened to me before and has never happened to me again lol (maybe i should actively look for fanart i like to see if inspiration will strike again hmm...)

work i am proud of: all of them. genuinely. i worked hard on every single one of those fics and at least one person has enjoyed reading each one of those fics, and i dunno i just think that's really, really cool. fandom is really pretty special <3<3<3

--

tagging @ghost--houses and @giraffeter

#nonplussed's nonsense

[swaps55]

Oh boy ⭐️ for Concerto, gimme all the Virmire feels swaps <3

Concerto Director’s Commentary!

This is so much more than you wanted to know, I am so sorry.  

Concerto was such an interesting project. Back in 2013/14, I wrote a full Mass Effect 1 story called Exordium for a different Shepard (this is where the Pressly vs. Hackett snippet that went around comes from). In my head, this Shepard (who never got a first name for Reasons, and shall be known as E!Shep) and Sam have a lot in common, including having served with Kaidan for several years before the Normandy, with a first meeting that took place over pancakes. Sam, in many ways, is an evolution of E!Shep. So in my mind, the events of Exordium are more or less Sam’s canon, except in the places that canon need to bend or shift to fit Sam specifically.

Because of this, I haven’t felt particularly driven to write a Mass Effect 1-era story for Sam. However, Virmire takes on an entirely different meaning to Sam than it did to E!Shep, and Virmire plays such a key role in his relationship to Kaidan, that I wanted to write that. But much of Virmire still unfolds the same way, and I did a lot of work on Exordium to patch up some plot holes, envision how the mission went down from the salarian side of things, etc., and I didn’t want to reinvent the wheel. So what I decided to do was take the existing Virmire chapters from Exordium and adapt/update them for Sam.

The big things that needed to change were:

Completely rewriting the beginning from the ground up to really frame Team Milky Way, since this is the first time seeing Ashley Williams in Opus, and it needed to mean something in order for The Choice to really land.

Taking any scenes that were in E!Shep’s POV and move them to someone else’s, as I do not tell Opus stories from Sam’s POV.

Adding Kaidan accidentally confessing his feelings to Joker, which is a moment I had alluded to elsewhere but not actually written.

Completely reframing the beacon visions, as Sam’s beacon angst is very different from E!Shep’s.

Deep dive below the cut.

Not having scenes from Sam’s POV really hamstrung me, because in the original version, I used E!Shep’s POV to show the reader how much he was unraveling after using the Virmire beacon. Without his POV I needed another way to show the reader that Sam was having trouble separating reality from the beacon visions. I finally found a way to do it through kind of a funky combination of people: Liara, Tali, and Saren.

Liara was easy because she has context no one else does – she has melded with Sam and knows what visions he sees, so when Kaidan sets the bomb she immediately understands that Sam’s worst nightmare – losing Kaidan – is literally threatening to come true right in front of his eyes, at a time when he is very likely having trouble separating reality from the beacon visions that just refried his brain.

Tali was also a big help, because when Sam apologizes for not protecting her from getting hurt, he slips and says it was husks who attacked her. Rightfully confused, she corrects him – she got shot by a geth, not a husk.

But Saren was my ace in the hole. The first time I wrote through Virmire I was so focused on The Choice, I completely forgot about the Saren confrontation and literally had to go back and add it in. This time around, I had to figure out how to take a scene that really didn’t do much different from what we see in the game and find a way to make it both interesting and important. I agonized over this, because I couldn’t figure it out, and was tempted to just cut the scene entirely and do Virmire without Saren.

And then I wondered, what if, I played into the idea that if Sam’s memories are being overwritten by the beacon, Saren’s are too? What horrible things does the beacon show him about a future filled with reapers? WHAT IF, the loved one the beacon latched onto for Saren…was Nihlus? And what if Saren shot him not as an act of cruelty, but a warped act of kindness – if I kill him, the reapers can’t hurt him? And what if he reveals this to Sam in the moments leading up to Kaidan potentially sacrificing his own life to protect the bomb?

If Sam saw Saren killing Nihlus as an act of cowardice, his own fear of becoming Saren would drive all rational thought from his head – all that would matter to him is protecting Kaidan. So for Sam, The Choice really isn’t a choice at all. Protecting Kaidan is the only course of action his beacon-warped brain has to offer. And because Liara, the POV character, and the reader, understand Sam’s connection to Kaidan and what the beacon does to him, I can telegraph it without being in his POV.

The other big challenge I had was witnessing Sam’s beacon visions through Liara. In Exordium, this was a characterization tool. A linear progression through E!Shep’s memories from Mindoir to Torfan, overlaid with reapers as the attackers instead of batarians, was a really fun way to reveal more of E!Shep’s backstory to Liara. Well, with Sam I didn’t have that option. Sam’s beacon visions are in essence seeing Kaidan die to the reapers over and over again. It’s easy to say that’s what he sees, but witnessing it in a way that’s compelling is not.

What does getting killed by reapers look like? The only ground troops we’ve seen to this point are husks. A lot of the important memories Sam has of Kaidan involve being in a confined space, like a ship or Arcturus, which makes it hard to just have a reaper attack. How do you create multiple, meaningful ways of Death By Reaper? Also, the memories that get overwritten can’t just be any memories – they have to be important. This is the closest we get to Sam’s POV – what memories are important to him says a lot.

So I picked the memories and then backed into the rest, which took a lot of banging my head against a wall. It took forever to strike the right balance and find the right language, and some of what’s in there is subtle. For example, I don’t know if anyone picked up on the fact that the first time Kaidan ever calls Sam by his name to his face is while he’s bleeding out getting rescued on Virmire. Yet in every memory Sam has, Kaidan calls him Sam. That's not what Kaidan called him when those memories were made, but it's what Sam wants to hear, and so it's how he remembers it. That’s probably one of the smallest details I am most proud of.

Anyway, that’s a behind the scenes look at Concerto. if you’ve read this far you deserve a cookie. XD

#mememe #meme replies #how writing is written #opus!verse #thank you!!!! #sorry this got SO LONG

[groundcontrol21]

2 for the ask game! And... could I hear your 7 opinions on Aramis?

2. what in your fiction has turned out differently than you expected when you began? what has always remained the same?

Well, since this came from the general section of the questions, I’ll answer more broadly: I never expected to be writing solely for fun. I started writing as a kid/preteen for fun, yes, but always with the goal of being a published author very firmly in the back (or front) of my mind. When I won my first national contest at 14, that was just enough to make it seem like this goal could actually be a reality, and to ensure that for the next four years, I almost never wrote anything purely for fun again. I tailored everything I wrote to what I thought other people wanted to see, and in large part it worked: I won contest after contest, won money for what I wrote, got pieces published in magazines and even wrote a whole novel that got published through a small indie publisher. But because I was writing purely for external validation, I began to view it as a chore, as something I had to do bc I was “the star writer”, and that’s all.

Now whether you all think any of those accolades were deserved based on the quality of writing I share here is another story 😂 but also please know that I do not share that type of writing here. I agonized over every word and plot point, edited and edited again to the point where many times I was an inch away from deleting the whole thing and starting from scratch. Not all of this obsession with perfection was bad; I learned very valuable techniques and style choices that I still use to this day, but crucially, I can now use them in a way that satisfies me and no one else. Obviously I still plan and edit my work that I share here bc I take pride in it, but the process is so more relaxed. I have found a joy and freedom in creating (both on here and on vanilla fanfic) that I don’t even think I had when I started writing as a wee child.

Maybe one day I’ll write something and have it published again, but I’ve gotten to the point that I can honestly say I’m fine if I never do. That’s what’s changed, and for the better. I take pride in my writing, that part has stayed the same through it all, but the source of it has changed from how others value my work to how I value it.

(oops kinda deep for a snz blog)

7. do you have a favourite scene of theirs in canon, or in your own work? what scene have you always wanted to see or write for them?

Psh, “can you hear my opinions on Aramis”. I will give my opinions on Aramis whether they are prompted or not! (though thank you so much for asking ofc, and hyping up my obsession). So favorites, bc in my mind there are 3 subtly different versions of the guy that I love:

Book: The mf dropped-handkerchief-intro-scene, for obvious reasons (may have a bit of a handkerchief fetish on top of it all) but also since the little verbal sparring match he gets into with D’Artagnan here contains, in my opinion, some of the funniest lines in the book. Also love the part where he gets shot and tries to be brave about it but can’t carry on

Movie musical: the part where he sings and sniffs the damn handkerchief, my god, you absolutely insane man.

BBC show: The absolute whump-filled angst fest that is episode 4, because I am a terrible person.

In terms of my writing, though, I really love him in”A Routine Occurrence”, being a good friend but not being at all happy about it. Especially when he says he thinks he’s getting a fever 😈

In terms of what I’d like to see, though perhaps not write myself bc I’d be so out of my depth, would be what I’ve sort of danced around in my fics: him in bed with his mistress, getting a little spicy only to have to put it all on hold bc he’s dreadfully ill. Or, him picking up a cold from a lady who swears she’s recovered but really isn’t after all (but of course it’s all worth it to him, the daft man).

#thank for asking!! #answered asks

[quarra]

LOLOLOL don't worry, I DO enjoy your Caskets and Cookies series!

My first and truest love in Tropes is WEREWOLVES, and while A/B/O is Not the Same, I find I enjoy a lot of "non traditional" type takes on it in the same kind of way that I enjoy werewolf stuff. This is very true of the Casket and Cookies stuff. Give me extremely ALLLLLL the "i don't really get why my body is doing this OH SHIT" sensory stuff. :3

Re: Dooku more generally, I really, really love sci fi that talks about "how do you go on after you went a little Evil? what does repentance look like?", as well as "what does forgiveness look like? How do you get to a point where you CAN forgive someone?". I feel a lot of those Vibes in your work in general, and in your Dooku stuff in specific. Don't even get me started on "THEIR FATAL FLAW WAS ALSO THEIR STRONGEST STRENGTH" stuff, which is a really easy theme to improvise on from the various Star Wars Canons Characterizations we have of Dooku.

anyway, (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Oh WHEW. Lol, good, I'm glad that worked out.

A/b/o is definitely hit or miss with me. Once in a while it scratches an itch, especially when I play with with what's expected from those situations and see what shakes out. Knotting is hot! But wow sometimes the social meta built into the stories makes me sigh, lol. That just means i have to write it myself! :) Be the change and all that, you know?

The Caskets and Cookies series does that a lot and it tickles me to no end. It plays with expectations a little bit. As with all of my fics, I love the fine mix of crack, humor, and feels/angst. Crack treated seriously is the best genre.

I also agree with the redemption stuff. I love a certain type of villain and I *love* a good redemption arc. I love giving Dooku some options on what's going on with him and how, or even *if*, he can come back to the Light. I feel like he is one of the characters in Star Wars who could have made such a difference in the canon story line if only he'd stepped two spaces to the left, you know? Jango Fett is the same way; he's involved in so many galaxy shaking events. I've got a wip where I explore more of him, too. How does one try to come back from doing to many terrible things? (Sorry, its a later au of an au kinda thing, set *after* the currently partially-written next story arc of 212th guide, so it won't be posted until that stuff is done and posted, which means it likely will be a whiiiile before anyone sees it.... but let me tell you I am *so happy* about the stuff I have for Jango in that fic.)

I think in the end I just don't like Star Wars canon very much and I'd much rather change it to be less grim. Ultimately, Star Wars is a series about hope and good triumphing over evil, which is great!! ... it just seems like too often the evil has to destroy 99% of everything good first. I'd like to see how things could go if they aren't totally fucked. I like seeing people figure their shit out *before* a billion people die, though sometimes after very painful mishaps caused by poor choices or bad luck or both, and then see Good succeed.

Because, really, humans are like that. Everyone ever has done shit they regret. How do we move on from that? *Can* we move on from that? What does that look like?

Setting these themes in an extremely grand way (sometimes) makes them paradoxically feel more real. A real person might agonize over being thoughtlessly cruel to an acquantance (for example), or maybe regret a certain poorly thought out choice, even years after the event. The guilt, shame, and anger that builds up around the event can feel disperportionate to the offence. Same with suffering. A person may be in mental agony but have no way to externally justify that their pain is real, especially if they have no emotional support.

But a character in a story can do the worst things imaginable. They can suffer more than anyone could reasonably survive. And their pain, guilt, and anger are real (in the story, you know what i mean), their offences and injuries are very obviously awful and thus their guilt, shame, and pain are justified. From that place of authenticity, we can explore a story of redemption or recovery. How *does* that work, especially for the worst of the worst?

Such stories are catharitic to read and if done well can be satisfying on a very visceral level.

These are such exciting ideas to play with! More so if the basic story premise is wacky, because then I get the most amazing comments that are like, "why the fuck is this weird thing so great??"

This is why I fanfic, lol.

..

...

...... also, Christopher Lee as Dracula was hot and he has a phone sex voice and i am weak.

#asks answered #meta #stories are important! #this was probably more than i needed to say about this subject #i mean for real dracula is hot as fuck and christopher lee's phone sex voice makes me swoon #i could have just left it at that but noooo #lol ah well #its late and whoops i stayed up far too late to write this #sleep time is now