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fraugwinska · 2 days

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I'm dying to see you write Alastor opening up to Reader about his mom, maybe a little angst and lots of fluff? (- v -)''

WE NEED THAT MOMMAS BOY GETTING SOME COMFORT!

Finally Anon, I found the strengh to write this. Sorry it took so long - I hope it was worth the wait! Next story will be less sad, I promise! :'< But I think we can all find some love for our Mommas Boy today, right? (Prepare your handkerchiefs, fellas...)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Mother O'Mine

Not the kitchen. Not the lobby. Not the bar. Not the radio tower. Not his room.

You sighed and stilled for a moment, thinking of a place where he could've gone.

If Angel had just shut his damn mouth. Mother's day was a shit day for everyone in the hotel. You, who never knew a mother, raising yourself in the farce that had been the foster care system, rued the day. Charlie was still in denial about her mothers blatant absence and ignorance, Husk melancholic and tense at the memory of seeing his mother being exterminated shortly after reuniting with her in hell, and Vaggie bitterly wanted to ignore the holiday all together, feeling as though she would be betraying the mother she could no longer reach in heaven as a fallen angel.

Angel had been pissing them all off by breakfast, obnoxiously mocking their various reasons of why this day felt even heavier than others in hell. You knew it was his own way of coping with his mommy issues - something he didn't even talk about with Husk, as far as you knew, but he bordered on being not only menacing, but outright cruel.

Alastor had listened to his rambling stoically, flipping eggs while drinking his coffee with not much more than an annoyed twitch in his brow, but then the spider made the gruesome mistake to mention her.

Alastor's mom.

"What, 'ya think any of 'ya mothers could even look at 'ya without punchin' themselves? Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me Bambi's mommy wouldn't be fuckin' disappointed by what her little fawn has become... Can ya really see a sweet southern lady all happy, lovin', and coddling ol' murder-clown Alas..."

The green explosion came faster than you could blink. You were frozen in place, only staring in fear and worry when Angel landed unceremoniously into the table with the rest of the breakfast, the other residents as shocked and dazed as you were, while the radio static and greenish-black shadows seeped away from Alastor who then swiftly made his way out without a word, holding his staff while his tendrils bristled dangerously.

Alastor had vanished and the only thought coming to your mind - after giving a cursing, groaning Angel a righteous 'You fucking deserved that'-speech - was that you needed to find him before the princess did to make sure the demon had calmed enough not to finally lose it and maul her to pieces. Charlie meant well, but she didn't know. No one did know, except for you, and even you only knew so much.

It's not like it had been an elaborate talk. It just happened, after a nightmare that made him tear up in a mixture of rage and sorrow, a bad memory that had made his shadow basically drag you, half asleep still, from your bed to his in the middle of the night. Why you? You weren't so sure. Alastor usually preferred your company more than the others just because you were the most neutral, sane person in the hotel. Some would even say impassive. An introvert who didn't draw attention, silent and observing. But not once had his shadow ever acted up around you, and while it wasn't overly friendly with anyone, it seemed to watch mostly you with curious glances and interested hisses. When you had finally woken up enough to comprehend your situation, you were sprawled across Alastors stomach with his arms wound so tightly around you you struggled to breathe, strained mumbled words pressed through gritted teeth into your nightgown.

"Mother... I'm sorry... Oh mother..."

He had been sobbing into your shoulders and and shaking against your chest while he let go of a strange anger and grief he never seemed to get rid of while you had, confused but worried, whispered words of comfort in a hushed, soothing voice until you both dozed back to sleep. Morning broke, and when you opened your eyes again, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, not able to look you in the eyes. He had thanked you, gruffly and with an unsteady voice that made your heart ache, before offering his hand to teleport you back to your room. As far as you were concerned, the weirdest of it was that you felt him caress the palm of your hand with his thumb, barely audible as he mumbled that "that should have never have happened, and we shall never speak of it again." - he was usually a gentleman, and he never touched you this intimately before - but, to him, it was obviously a humiliating and horrible thing that you had witnessed him like that.

And you didn't speak of it. No one knew, and you intended to keep it that way. It was a moment you shared and fragile trust was on the table. You would take it to your second grave, along with all those feelings that had come with it, to prevent it from breaking.

Back to the present, you sighed and massaged the bridge of your nose. You had checked all the obvious places that crossed your mind, so maybe, you should start to look at the not-so-obvious ones... Maybe some place you knew was connected to... His mom...

A sudden pang hit you as you got an idea of where he might be hiding.

"Is this seat taken?"

The roof of the hotel was usually restricted from access, due to the general instability and collapse-prone architecture it presented, but you and (after an admittedly awkward encounter on a hot day that had involved you in a two-pieced swimsuit sunbathing and a very flustered Alastor with a book in one and a severed hand on a plate in the other hand) the radio demon knew about a small nook between the roof's overhead window frames and the hotel's ventilation system, hidden by the growing shadow of the radio tower where no one else ever came looking. A hideout, a place to go when you wanted undisturbed solitude. You had quickly left the place, apologizing for intruding a space that Alastor had apparently already claimed for himself (explaining the existence of the lounge chair you've so rudely used), but soon enough he discreetly invited you back, second chair added, to sit in silence together every once in a while, as long as you swore secrecy. It became a place of comfort for both of you, a retreat when life in the hotel got too stressful.

Alastor's reaction to seeing you was a quickly stifled hum before going back to staring stubbornly at the horizon. He looked dejected, and if you would not have known him so well, you wouldn't have noticed the trembling twitch of his ears nor the way his claw tapped impatiently against his knee, his shadow balled in on itself while hovering at the edge of the small roof.

It looked like he was staring straight through the distant buildings of the pentagram to the faintly illuminated orb that was heaven next to hells own sun, while also refusing to acknowledge you or the world around him at all. His smile had slipped into an emotionless line of pursed lips.

"That depends" he mused quietly. "Are you here to make me return to that insolent arachnid and attempt a 'healing' conversation?"

"I think you know I know that I couldn't even if i wanted to." You tried a weak smile.

Alastor briefly met your eyes at that, giving away that, despite his aloof act, your comment got his attention and he considered it before turning back to the horizon, the tense posture relaxing somewhat. A brief silence passed until he hummed an affirmative noise. "Then you may sit, darling."

After sitting down, minutes passed without a word said. The distant roar of the bustling traffic carried the muffled sounds of hell with the usual maelstrom of catcalling, profanities and general noises of mayhem to you, while you fought to keep a certain twitch in your hands as you counted the beats of his heels clicking on the tiles.

"You must know... my mother was a rare light in a world of filth." he declared suddenly into the silence. "An honest, virtuous soul of beauty and strength." He said it slowly and, surprisingly, completely unamused, the clacking of his shoes ceasing at once. He stared at the city in contempt, hands clasped together and resting on his legs to hold back a tremble that you caught anyway.

"She, unlike me, had not a spec of corruption in her bones. Wherever she found the warmth and love she shared with me, I cannot fathom. But she did. I may have been mocked and shunned by the world, the bastard child of a black woman and a white man, but I always had her as my home to return to.” The knuckles on his hands turned white. “But the cruelty of life and the disgusting human that was my father, the unbearable excuse of a man, killed her before I was grown enough to help. Before I was old enough to kill that monster myself." He spat the words, claws digging deeper until a faint trickle of blood could be seen. "I remedied that circumstance, twice to be exact, although it couldn't make up for what was lost. Nothing I did to him could make up for it..." his smile widened bitterly as his face twitched, recalling a fond, yet regretful memory. "… and believe me, I tried. But it was cathartic nonetheless, and quite educational... for my further career."

You stayed quiet and studied his profile, patiently waiting for him to continue talking. It was painfully obvious how hard it was for him to speak about actual feelings, with his tense grin and his white knuckles dripping with crimson blood.

"I knew, of course, where I would end up after my demise, and that I would never be able to see her again. Because I was sure she'd end up in heaven, like the saint she was. Is." He cleared his throat, attempting to appear dismissive, but you saw it. The sadness, the longing, the resignation, and it shattered your heart.

"Alastor...", you knew he hated physical touch, but your hand reached out on its own, to stop his hands from ripping themselves apart. He stiffened at the contact, but said nothing.

"Don't tell me you took what Angel said to heart..."

"How could my mother love me after what I've become after her death?"

His tone was monotonous, but his hands trembled under your fingers. He refused to look at you, but you saw his eyes, glazed with wetness that threatened to turn into actual tears. How he could still smile was beyond you, you had your theories on that, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered was that he was hurting, and that fact broke your heart. You never knew motherly love, how could you really miss something you never really knew? But Alastor did, and it had been ripped from him in the must cruel way, the impact of it so hard it made him even question the very foundation it was built upon.

You moved your hand from his to cup his cheek and turn his face to yours. His expression was blank, and if it weren't for the tight grin and the eyes filled with an unspeakable anguish, it would have been an emotionless stare.

"Alastor, do you know the poem Mother O'Mine?"

"I'm afraid the memory of it fails me, darling."

"Then, I'll recite it for you."

"Why?"

You gave him a sad smile.

"Because I want to."

He eyed you with stunned curiosity as you reached into your pocket, glad for once for your mostly useless power. You've only told Husk about it, in one of your late nights where everyone else was asleep aside him and your insomnia got the better of you, drunk and as a bargaining chip for one last gin tonic.

The blank piece of paper was a bit crumpled, but it would do. You started to fold it while you spoke, your voice sounded soft and almost like a spell.

"If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

Your fingers moved with a solemn purpose as you folded the paper this way and that, a skill you perfected out of boredom over the years, the edges turning into an elegant shape, the poem coming from your mouth like a song. Alastor watched your hands move in a trance, not sure what you were doing, but too focused on the faint glow of purple around them to ask.

"If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

There in your hand, sat a little origami bird. It wasn't anything special, maybe a traditional crane would have been better, more elegant, but you were out of practice and for what you intended to do it would work either way. Carefully you reached out, silently demanding for one of Alastor's hands that were still digging into each other. He didn't protest, and slowly raised it to give his hand to you. The tips of his claws were covered in a thin, fresh layer of his own blood, and his skin was warm and slightly clammy. You put the little paper bird on his palm, a speck of his blood staining the bottom of the pristine white paper, and closed his fingers around it, holding it in both of yours.

"If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine."

His enclosed hand in your own was encased in purple light, with wide eyes he followed the soft tugs of your fingers and opened his hand. The little paper bird flapped it's wings on his flat palm, looking at him for a heartbeat before taking off and flew in a singular circle around his head before it headed into hells deep red sky, towards the bright heavenly sphere. You watched it until it vanished completely from view, hoping there was a possibility that maybe, with a bit of luck, it would find it's way to her.

"This, Alastor, is what a real mother is. She loves you, I'm sure of it. Always has and always will."

Tears fell silently on his lap, a strangled, coarse breath escaping him. Without warning, he pulled you from your chair into him, holding you pressed close to him. Just like in the night of his nightmare, his face was buried in your chest, arms wound tightly around you in a hurting embrace and shoulders trembling with suppressed grief. His grip was bordering on painful, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying one of your hands in his hair, stroking gently while you let him quietly cry into your shoulder, not caring that the wetness of his tears was soaking through the fabric of your shirt. You felt his heart beating rapidly, his pulse erratic and his breathing fast.

"I miss her. Oh, how I miss her."

You held him tighter.

"I know, Al... I know."

You didn't know how long you two stayed like this, him in your arms and crying silently while you tried your best to comfort him, but you didn't care. As far as you were concerned, you would stay here forever if it only meant to lift this weight for a little while from his shoulders.

It took him some time, but eventually his breathing evened out, and he calmed down, his hold becoming less desperate and more... affectionate. You didn't realize it at first, but he had moved, his head resting under your chin and his forehead leaning against the hollow of your throat, his antlers slightly poking the thin skin. It felt strangely intimate, and you wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, but the moment he moved to get up and leave, you knew the spell was broken. He didn't let go of you entirely, but instead helped you to stand up and held your hand, his gaze firmly planted to the ground, avoiding your eyes.

"Darling, I..."

"Don't worry, Alastor. Although I'm glad I was able to be here when it happened... we shall never speak of this again."

You could feel his hesitation, a strange nervousness radiating from him. His shadow hovered next to him, a hand reaching out towards your face. You smiled at it, and, just for a brief moment, allowed yourself to lean into it's warm, buzzing touch as it caressed your cheek, before you turned and made your way back inside without a glance back to the sudden sound of a longing hum.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #charlie morningstar #quickfic #light angst #comfort #alastor is a mommas boy #alastor needs a hug #and a good cry #and some sleep

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pellucid-constellations · 15 hours

Text

If It All Fell (8)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst, pining, injury

a/n: I appreciate thoughts and reactions more than you know!!! <333 Italics indicate flashbacks.

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

The next two weeks were interesting.

In the first few days after the accident—the ones filled with confusion and incorrect suspicions—you had spent most of your time alone or sleeping. Mor visited your bedroom every morning to share limited information about your past, but there was no routine beyond that. Everyone tiptoed around you, too afraid to set off the timebomb they assumed was your mind.

But Helion had disputed that assumption.

You were allowed to know who you were, to become the person you had been.

So, a routine began to form.

Breakfast early in the morning, usually with a random assortment of the inner circle. Mor was always present, keeping up with her responsibility of telling you about yourself. Cassian joined more often than not—an early riser, he deemed himself. Azriel made it when he could. He was always busy in the morning. Doing… something, everyone told you.

Rhysand would join you after the meal, whisking you away for an hour or two to work on the powers you still could not call upon. He would have a different objective in mind every day and it was your job to parse out what it was.

You failed.

Obviously.

He started bringing in random Velaris citizens instead, but you still felt nothing. It was nice to see the smiling strangers; they were all kind to you, all apparently knowing who you were. The vagueness surrounding them leveled the playing field more. They didn’t know your whole life story and you weren’t supposed to know theirs.

“You’ve explained it to me before,” Rhysand had said. “It’s a vibration, sometimes a light or a color. You see it around them, feel it. You understand a deep part within them that they don’t even know they’re revealing.”

Well, there was never any light or vibration or color. You could never tell that the fae were lying or that Rhysand was planning something big for his anniversary with his mate. None of this otherworldly intuition that the Night Court seemed to value so highly. It was all just stagnant.

After spending some time failing with Rhys, you got to explore Velaris. You had insisted that you didn’t need a chaperone, and your family believed you—for a time. You had three whole days of walking around the city alone before that privilege was revoked.

Granted, it was your fault that it was revoked, but that was neither here nor there.

It hadn’t been your plan to get lost, just as it hadn’t been your plan to get caught up in a street brawl over a cart of potatoes. But when you weren’t at the designated meeting spot for Cassian to bring you back up the house, and when he found you with a bleeding nose an hour later, what you meant to do didn’t matter.

“Y/n?” you heard a voice shout, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath you. “Shit—y/n, look at me, you okay?”

Warm hands enveloped your shaking ones, drawing them back and catching sight of the red staining your fingerprints. It was Cassian, you realized, with his broad wings cloaking you in their shadow. The General’s expression hardened when he took in your face.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, comfort combatting fury. “Where have you been? We have about 10 people looking for you, sweetheart.”

You grimaced—both at the pain in your nose and the notion of your family scouring the streets of Velaris. “I’m so, so sorry, Cassian. I got turned around and then I was in this alley and there was a boy—”

“Hey!” Defeat washed through you at the sound of another voice in the alley, all hopes for a peaceful return home washed away. “Is your girlfriend over there gonna pay for the product I lost?”

The Illyrian before you paused, body going still at the accusatory tone. Cassian’s jaw clenched and he turned, keeping you well behind him. You still caught a glimpse of the scene from between his legs, and the merchant—to his credit—had the mind to stop his taunting.

And to look afraid.

Really, truly afraid.

“You did this to her?” Cassian growled, fists clenching at his sides.

The merchant swallowed. “You’re—and she’s…”

“Did you. Do this. To her?” Cassian asked again, words broken up by malice.

A beat of pressing silence, only whispers of the street meeting your ears. The merchant took several, shaky steps back, but the movement damned him. His hands swayed with his backtracking feet, and red glistened on his knuckles.

Cassian’s wings flared at the sight. It only took a small uptick of his brow for the smaller man to fall to the floor in a plea.

“Please, please don’t kill me! I didn’t know who she was. Don’t turn me over to the Shadowsinger, I won’t make it! I have a family to care for—a wife! I was only trying to protect my crops and she butted in. I didn’t want to hurt her!”

The General hooked his chin over his shoulder and sent you a questioning gaze, one you were sheepish to answer. With a harrowing breath, you revealed, “There was a little boy stealing potatoes. He was going to hit him. I stepped in the way.”

A tug at your chest had you gasping as Cassian turned back around. The feeling had been persistent the moment you got lost, increasing after you’d been implicated in the merchant’s conflict. It pulled and pulled, a desperate winding around your ribs that you didn’t know how to relieve.

It had to have been fear. Or stress.

Cassian eyed the man crumpled to the floor. “Is the boy okay?” he asked, the question meant for you but directed across the alley.

“Yes,” you confirmed, pressing your hand to the blood running down your chin. “He ran away.”

Cassian grunted, sent a harsh warning to the man, and then crouched back down to your place on the ground, shaking his head in frustration. “Let’s get you home.” And then he grumbled, “I might get my ass kicked but…”

Cassian had not gotten his ass kicked when you got home, but many other things happened. Mor just about cried in relief, her arms thrown around your neck followed by a string of commands to never do such a thing again. Rhys rubbed at his jaw as tension lifted from the House. He also had a command—that you wouldn’t be traveling alone anymore.

And Azriel… Azriel looked like he would vomit, his shadows flitting angrily around him before bridging a path to you. He had cleaned the blood from your face, eyes haunted by misplaced grief, and pure guilt replaced all else in your myriad of emotions.

You agreed an escort would be better.

Azriel volunteered. Every day.

And so you got to know Azriel.

Mor had described him as reserved, not one to offer the intimacy of touch or personal information so readily. That was not your experience with the Shadowsinger.

Fleeting touches had become commonplace between the two of you, whether it was his hands or his wings or the brush of his thigh as you sat by the Sidra. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously, but you welcomed the familiarity. You found he did it most when he wasn’t paying attention—when he was deep into a story about your past or listening to your opinions intently.

He was open, sharing pieces of himself you didn’t have to pry to receive. He told you about his mother, about his scars, about how he overcame them. He shared with you how important you were to him many, many times, slipping it into conversations so causally. A thread connected the pieces of his life, and you, it appeared, made up the spool.

He did not speak of his mate, despite being prompted.

A sadness came over him at any mention of her, one so achingly melancholy that you told yourself you wouldn’t ask again.

He loved her deeply, but something had happened there.

You tried not to get too close. This was friendship, a deep familial love that he relied on. That you seemed to have relied on for so many years.

And Azriel was hurt. Even if he and his mate were no longer intertwined by their bond, he didn’t need the onslaught of emotions his amnesiac friend was suddenly overcome with.

Because you were—overcome by emotions for him.

It was wrong.

You wished you had the context to separate those feelings. If you understood your history—if you had memories beyond the few weeks of sweet stories and brushes of his fingers along your hair—maybe you wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe your heart wouldn’t beat painfully against your ribs each time he entered the room… each time his eyes met yours as if he could feel your admiration for him within his own chest.

You wouldn’t be feeling this way, surely. Because no one had told you that you should be.

You only had the recounts of your friends, and the three of them had made no insinuations about you and Azriel.

You wished you could meet the rest of the inner circle.

There had been plans to, but then you came home with blood on your face and a disorientation in your eyes and that was suddenly off the table.

After your time exploring Velaris, you read.

Mor would pile your favorite books beside you in the small reading room you had come to love and rave about how great of an opportunity this was for you.

“You would kill to be able to read these for the first time again,” she’d laugh. “So have at it!”

Reading felt easy.

Books did not pressure you to remember things you weren’t able to.

You could see it all in their eyes, the way your family clung to each of your words for even a hint of reminiscence. They’d make a joke and hold their breath, desperate for the laugh that should be bubbling out of you. But you never got it, never making the connections that they did.

Azriel was the only one who’d catch the shame you felt at your lack of deliverance. Although he was the one with the most torture in his expression, he was also the one with the most understanding. He’d lean his head down and whisper what you needed to know in your ear, and then you’d giggle—for show—and hope would return to the room.

But nothing had returned to you.

You were still a shell.

“What do you think?”

Cassian’s question blanketed the table, forks halting their movements atop plates. Breakfast had just begun and you were dressed for a morning in Velaris at the theater, this time with Cassian.

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Mor questioned, eyeing the General beneath a raised brow.

“Were you there last week when I brought her home all bloody? I think it’s a great idea. Rhys agrees.”

“And Az?”

Cassian continued his breakfast, reaching for his drink. “Cassian—”

And so you found yourself steps away from the roof of the House of Wind—no longer in the comfortable daywear you’d been sporting—squinting into the morning sun. Leathers fitted for your body were laced up at your back and waist, stretching with a groan as you reached up to block the light from your eyes. Although the pain in your head had subsided to practically nonexistence, it often flared up in brightness or in times of stress.

Like when you stood atop a mountain and stared into the sun. Or got punched in the nose by a potato merchant.

“This is where I go while you go galavanting around the city,” Cassian chimed in, a grin evident in his words.

“Charming,” you muttered, still adjusting to the jarring assault of the sun.

The sound of grunts and clashing metal oriented you quicker, and as your eyesight settled you were met with the image of Azriel. He was bare-chested, leathers donning his legs as he pressed further and further forward, the knife you always saw at his hips hacking away at the metal dummy before him.

He moved so quickly that it was difficult to track him, one swipe after another, so carefully skilled and practiced. Sweat beaded down his tattooed skin. His wings rippled and spread in time with his footwork.

He was mesmerizing, a force of nature only halting as his shadows wound around his ear, whispering. Azriel whipped around, sheathing his knife at his side and staring out beyond the training ring with a narrowed gaze. He spotted you instantly, without looking near or around—a magnetic force.

Until he wasn’t looking at you, instead glowering in Cassian’s direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he bit out. The back of his hand made a quick pass along his forehead.

Cassian didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish, ushering you to the outskirts of the ring. “She’s going to train. Now that we know she won’t break at the slightest thing.”

Hazel eyes slid back to you, a softness overcoming them as you quickly averted your gaze from the broadness of his chest. You were not ogling him.

You bit into your cheek to stave off the embarrassment.

“I thought we agreed—”

“Az, come on. It’s been a couple of weeks now. We need to get her back in the swing of things.”

A crack of defeat edged its way onto the Shadowsinger’s face.

What had they agreed on? To wait it out? To treat you like glass until you were their version of yourself again? Something ugly licked up into your chest, something raw.

For a moment—just one—you stood on the sidelines and felt pathetic. While the two Illyrians stared at each other, a silent conversation between eyes, you let yourself feel like an outsider. They had had discussions about you, but not really about you. About the you that they loved—the one with memories and reciprocation.

“Will you be careful?” Azriel’s even voice snapped you out of the spiral you had initiated. His expression was uneasy, a hand pressed to his chest. “And tell us if you need to stop? If your head—”

“My head has been completely fine for a while now,” you assured, hands coming up to grasp the rungs of the training ring. “Promise.”

Azriel pressed his lips into a line but motioned you in with a nod of his head.

Despite the conflict still raging within your mind, you smiled at Cassian, the two of you letting out a small cheer and high-fiving before the General lifted you by your hips and past the rungs. You regained your footing and stood before the spymaster, meeting his level gaze with your own.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Cassian began, a loud clap resonating behind you. “Muscle memory is going to play a big role here, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, so you’re just with this guy for now.” He patted the shoulder of the dummy Azriel had been practicing with.

You scoffed, dropping your hands to hang by your thighs. “What? I still have the same muscle tone from before and last I checked my face was beaten in by a real person, not a chunk of metal.”

“And that will not happen again,” Azriel cut it. “Ever. But especially not when you’re… in this state.”

You ignored the unsettling remark. “Okay, well I think sparring one of you would be more effective in the prevention of that, don’t you?”

“Cassian and I could hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“We can’t guarantee—”

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your view of Azriel partially obstructed by the shadows that wound up your body. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Let me do this, Az.”

The male before you faltered, his eyes darting quickly between yours. His chest, gleaming in the sunlight, rose and fell with strenuous effort. A clench of his jaw. Another pass of silence.

“Okay,” he nodded, gaze roving over your features. “Okay, y/n. Get warmed up and we can spar.”

You warmed up with Cassian, stretching and relishing in the feel of your body moving. He went over a few basic maneuvers with you, and you tried your hardest to pay close attention to how his feet slid around the ring.

It was a rather hard task, seeing as Azriel had continued his blade work on the dummy. Still shirtless.

After the General was satisfied with your progress, he passed you off to his brother. The Shadowsinger’s posture had softened a hair from when you first entered the ring, his wings coiled back and his shadows creating uneven shapes along the floor. He kept his hands by his sides, his feet relaxed—not a fighting stance in the slightest.

“Come on,” you teased, cocking your head to the side. “You have to at least try, Az.”

“I did not spar with you often before your memories were lost,” he admitted. “I do not enjoy the thought of hurting you.”

Guilt immediately flooded you. You hadn’t even thought about what this would be like for him, too caught up in your own strife. Your stance dropped, the fists at your chin loosening and falling.

“Oh, Azriel, I’m sorry. I can have Cassian—”

“No.” He dragged his left foot back. A ghost of a fighting position. “Only me.”

You took a painful breath in.

He didn’t move, allowing you to lead.

You shook your hands out and then your body moved of its own accord.

You swiped at his legs first, unsurprised when he leaped back with practiced grace. The two of you fell into a dance of drawn arms and calculated shifts and you were almost unnerved by how your body moved without you willing it to.

Cassian had said that muscle memory would play a role.

It seemed to be the only thing driving you.

You went for his knees, but in a way that maneuvered past his wings.

You used his shadows as cover, taking advantage of their familiarity with you and cloaking yourself in their mist.

Azriel swung a halfhearted punch at your shoulder and you bypassed the motion, grabbing his wrist and twisting at his back.

It felt right. Your actions were not your own but they were ingrained in your being.

This was your body.

Something that remained unchanged.

In your newfound joy, you missed the open palm Azriel carefully directed at your chest. The impact caught you off guard, stealing your breath from your lungs as you were pushed to the ground. As your back hit the floor, another shocking burst of air was ripped from you.

You laid frozen for a moment before a shadow cast over your body, the sun no longer beating down on your skin. Through the ringing in your ears, Azriel’s voice flowed through.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—y/n, take a breath.” A scarred hand rubbed along your clavicle. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.”

A startling gasp of oxygen entered your lungs. You were fine, completely unharmed, only shocked and disoriented. Azriel bowed his head as you continued to circulate the air into your body, and it was then that you saw it.

A chain hung between you, dangling from his neck and brushing against your chin. It swayed back and forth, a grounding point as you blinked back the tears lining your eyes. The ring glinted in the sun, rubbing against the golden chain, looking as if it did not belong there.

Azriel tracked your gaze as he raised his head, looking down at the object of your attention. He sat back on his ankles and the diamond followed him, resting close to his chest.

You raised yourself to your elbows. “Who’s—” You coughed. Azriel winced. “Is that yours?”

A stupid question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. A guarded look passed over the Shadowsinger’s face and you regretted it instantly. He reached up and clutched the necklace in a closed fist.

“No,” he responded. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t release the ring.

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “I’m not hurt. It just knocked the wind out of me.”

Azriel nodded. A grim line formed between his brows.

“Hey! She alright?” Cassian called. He had moved clear across the roof when you began to spar with Azriel, mentioning something about inventory or knives or something you hadn’t paid attention to. You had been too focused on the warmth you felt from being so close to Azriel’s skin.

The sound of Cassian’s voice did nothing to break the hold Azriel’s eyes had on you.

Another beat of silence passed.

The wind blew a strand of his hair across his forehead.

“I—”

“I have a mission. I was supposed to meet with Rhys before midday.” He spoke the words apologetically but his hand shook when it lowered to his knee.

The sun was already past the high point in the sky. It was no longer midday.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I want to thank you for—”

“Don’t thank me. Please, just—Be careful. I have to go.”

A quiet collection of parting words fell from your lips and Aziel twitched, looking as if he would move forward but thinking better of it.

But you had thoughts too, and they worked against Azriel’s

You raised to your knees and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a small smile gracing your face, trying so hard to melt some of the tension that had grown between you. Azriel’s breath caught as you moved, but you only doubled down, softly dragging your nails along his scalp.

He shuddered, eyes falling shut for a brief, unguarded moment.

His shadows consumed him.

Azriel was gone.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction #fanfic

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yuri-is-online · 14 hours

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One Sided Love Triangles: Twisted Wonderland

Because I really hate it when someone has to lose. Anyway idk I thought these would be funny:

Jade vs Malleus- partially inspired by Private Thoughts of a Moray of course but also just like. The randomness of it. Jade has nothing against Malleus before he starts liking you at all, he's just a very powerful person who he would like to get close to so he can help him out. But now? Oooooh he hates him he hates him he hates him. He's the literal worst for getting to be close to you when no one else is close to him and Jade has yet to dance across the line of suspicion that's keeping you from living happily ever after. Malleus thinks Jade's courtship efforts are deeply fascinating, probably asks Lilia if ritual self humiliation is part of the process, and gets a very disappointed look sent his way. He's rooting for Jade because someone has to take care of you when he's not around and an eel isn't a bad choice.

Floyd vs Ace- crabby is little shrimpy's best friend and that makes him moody. Floyd wants to be happy when Yuu come in to basketball practice with his water bottle, but the only reason you brought it was because you found it on your way to drop something off for Ace. Damn this is the pits, why can't all of your attention just be on him for once? Seven he wants it so bad he floats through practice like a jellyfish because of how dispondant he is. Meanwhile Ace thinks your crush on Floyd is super gross but he's not going to judge. To the point Yuu starts to worry they're being set up for failure when encouraged to confess.

Trey vs Rook- you would think that Trey knows better than to assume Rook is in love with everyone he compliments but there's just something about watching you two interact he doesn't like. He tries to rationalize it by assuming it's because he likes you, and he wants to be capable of fligrting with you but he's not like this when Cater makes joking passes or when random mob students actually do. Rook decides he finds this funny and determines to play into it so he can goad a confession out of Trey. Love is truly beautiful ♡

Ace vs anyone who can breathe- he's delusional. He loves Yuu so much the idea that some people aren't interested in the same way he is just doesn't enter his mind. Might have something to do with how much he's denying his feelings that he's constantly assuming the worst but when Cater tries to tell him that he doesn't make it super far into Ace's skull...

I've got more but I need to sleep...

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #i also have a version of this for tdb but meh #eepy time #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #trey clover x reader #ace trappola x reader

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acapelladitty · 2 days

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NSFW Alphabet: Cooper Howard

Summary: A full NSFW alphabet for Cooper Howard/The Ghoul from Fallout (2024).

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Pretends that he's not needing anything after sex but actually loves it when his partner wraps themselves around him like a second skin. Won't ever admit to it, but the way his arm snakes around to pull them even closer is hint enough to his real desires.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Likes his hands because they're quick and dexterous, and can justbas easily gut a gulper as they can seek out and tease a clit. Not much pride in his own appearance aside from that. He's also a tit man and the pillowy softness of them is so opposed to his own body that he only enjoys them more, usually with his mouth as much as his hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Sterile as all fuck, he can do what he wants with his cum and it makes no difference. Enjoys the taste and likes oral because of it. He does love for his partner to hold onto his cum though, either by swallowing or by pushing it back up their holes with his fingers. They earned it so they're going to keep it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has experimented with his new abilities as a Ghoul in some interesting and intense ways. Usually pushing the edge of pleasure and pain as he tests his own limits. His leathered skin is less sensitive than most so he's spent some of his more boring nights doing things to himself that would have a normal man in fucking hysterics.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows his way around a hole that's for sure. He slept with one or two folks before Barb but he was pretty monogamous after that despite the sleaze of his acting career. He and Barb did share a very healthy, vibrant sex life and he was eager to experience new things with her but nothing too outside of the 'vanilla' realm.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Seated with his partner riding his lap like any good cowgirl should. The close skin-to-skin contact, plus the easy access to their chest, makes it a firm favourite as he's generous with his tongue and teeth. Plus, it lets him enjoy their facial expressions and hold some eye contact as he drinks in their pleasure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Never 'goofy' is a daft sense but isn't above using filthy talk and double entendres while cracking a wicked smirk. Lots of word play around his status as both a cowboy and a monster and he likes to remind his partner of BOTH of those facets of his personality.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Look at the poor cunt 😭 he's a great big baldy bastard with nary a pube on him. The only hair he has are the follicles that fall off the folk he occasionally scalps.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Surprisingly romantic given how gruff and generally detached he is, but only with a romantic partner. A random fuck gets a casual pump and dump while sex with a partner has some meaning for him and he likes to feel his partner close and ensure that they have a good time with him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not at the top of his priority list in the grand scheme of things. If he's feeling horny then he'll deal with it and leave the mess splattered on the ground where it fell.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Roleplay is a kink of his and he would be at his happiest role-playing a very traditional "cowboy saves a damsel and she's looking to repay the favour" type scene. His most 'out there' kinks include a mild touch of erotic cannibalism, ropework, and dom/sub dynamics relating to discipline and cnc.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Strong enough to make any vertical surface a viable spot for a fuck, there are very few areas that Cooper can't turn into a good spot for sex. His preference is for a bed though because he can be a lazy fucker when it suits him but that's an indulgence he's very rarely afforded.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Very easily motivated if he can sense his partner is down for a rough tumble in the sheets. All he needs is a WHIFF of a chance of hole and he'll be rubbing himself across you like a cat in heat. Hand straight to the groin like it was magnetic.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing his partner? Oh no. He'd fucking kill any third party before they could do anything too untoward. He's jealous as hell and volatile with it as he claims so little in the shithole that is the wastelands. Will threaten to tie his partner up and leave them for the raiders and beasts but that's just a horny threat.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

One leftover from his previous life is his love of giving oral. His wife loved it and he loved receiving it in equal measure. However, with things as they are, he'd rather get his rocks off in warm hole when the opportunity and time arose.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally? Fast and rough. However, in the quieter moments when the sun hangs low and he feels relaxed enough to enjoy some time with his partner, he takes great pleasure in some slow and sensual sex.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Due to his circumstances, quickies are often the only option for some hole so if he and his partner are frisky then it's as and when the potential arises.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think choosing to fuck someone in the wastelands automatically qualifies as a considerable risk. But, yes. He's fond of risk and it's something that he'll continue to push and push until he's satisfied.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ridiculous stamina. The kind of stamina that will have smoke pouring from your hole if he's not careful lol. As a ghoul, his skin is slightly desensitised so he can go for longer but usually only lasts one good round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not really a big fan of toys (finds his cock and mouth MORE than capable thank you VERY much) but will use easy-to-access objects like his lasso and knife for some kinky play.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Only teases when it's a game he's playing. Most of the time, he's looking for some quick, rough action that he and his partner can enjoy in their limited, quieter moments. In terms of vocal teasing? He's very quick to spout off with some sleazy promises and demands.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Tries to be very controlled but does have a tendency to grunt and growl a lot which makes him more animalistic than vocal in terms of his speech when he's fucking someone.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Cooper would like to eat a little bit of his partner if they were willing and had the bit going spare. Most of his meals are a necessity but to have a willing offering would be quite erotic and a big deal for him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is the same shade as the rest of his skin but with a slightly deeper tone in his cockhead. Very average length but on the girthier side with a slight lean to the right when he's fully erect. No pubes, obviously.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Makes a lot of inappropriate comments and touches which would have you believing that he's constantly looking for some tail. That's only true because he tends to be hornier in high-stress situations which, unfortunately, is most of the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't sleep much and there's something possessive in him that makes him happier watching over his fucked-out partner as they sleep rather than sleeping himself.

#top shagger lads lmaoooo #cooper howard #fallout #fallout 2024 #fallout amazon #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #fallout ghoul #ghoul x reader #walton goggins

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greenandsorrow · 18 hours

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~Her man child~

Headcanons 📺

Vox is the definition of a manchild and I think it's kinda obvious.

He's the mean kind, acting with so much spite, sometimes without it being necessary or justified.

He NEEDS to be taken seriously. He tries so hard, blurring the lines between respect, fear and tolerance.

But when you two are alone... the telly-head man is a whiny boy.

He complains like it's a form of art. You can't help but roll your eyes playfully when he lets out a too loud sigh, but after doing so you're always ready to give him all the reassurance and attention he desperately craves.

Your man prefers being the little spoon. He's like a lap cat.

If anyone finds out about his cuddly nature, he's gonna die a second time...

Vox feels the need to constantly prove himself to Velvette and Valentino, but with you he feels safe. He can be overly emotional. And weak. And needy.

Very needy.

If you're not somewhere behind the camera admiring him and boosting his confidence, his day is ruined.

Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy.

In the mornings he doesn't even turn on his screen... settling for the protection setting instead.

You have to be patient with him.

Bring him a steaming cup of coffee and hug him from behind and he might as well start giggling like a schoolgirl.

He's too sensitive for harsh jokes. Being in Hell means ONLY dark and cruel humour, but Vox can't take it sometimes.

His ego is fragile.

In order to feel loved, Vox has to be showered in extravagant compliments on a daily basis. Whether it's about his appearance, his job, his amazing and very interesting personality... He needs them.

When you tell him he's better than the radio demon.... he literally gets rock hard.

Vox is in a constant dilemma between showing you off for all Pentagram City to know you're his, or keeping you secret.

It's the same as a boy with his favourite toy. If other kids see his toy, he's gonna have to share.

What if someone steals his favourite toy?! Or even worse... BREAK IT?!

That being said, he doesn't objectify you, but he's terrible at showing affection or appreciation.

He's gonna be there for you, help you with anything you need, laugh with you, spend quality time with you. Still, deep communication is a difficult subject for him.

Thank god you're observant enough to catch all the messages he tries to pass to you.

Such an attention seeker though.

Have you ever seen a six year old trying to impress his crush?

Just look at Vox trying to woo you. It's the same thing.

But he's not that bad... His self-esteem is an obstacle alright, but he becomes a rug for you to step on and use as you wish most of the time.

Vox would definitely go out of his way if you asked something from him. You're his rock. It's the least he can do.

The guy even whimpers in his sleep.

Vox loves to fill his hands with your thighs when it's bed time. They're warm and soothing to him, like stress toys. Being a walking television has its disadvantages temperature wise.

He would bend you over and take you in front of a mirror so he could see himself while at it, but he hasn't done so yet. He wants to ask you beforehand and make sure it won't make you feel weird.

Vox is easy to rile up. A breathy compliment and a squeeze of his thigh and he's more than ready to go.

He doesn't actually feel dominant, but he tries to act like it. This Vee member has the stereotype man = dominance engraved in his subconsciousness and so he fights to live up to it.

But between you and me... Treat him like an inexperienced and innocent boy and he'll be crying out in pleasure.

Aka... be a femdom. Even a soft one. You won't even have to try that much.

Another thing. Vox is loud. (Like his name implies 🫣)

He also pants a lot. Almost like he's hyperventilating.

Unlike Alastor, this man is very insecure about both his performance and... size.

I'm not saying he's lacking in either though. It's just how his mind works. Always comparing himself to his opponents and in this case, his opponents are other men that could perhaps satisfy you more thoroughly than him.

Allow me to say that he fucks in an anxious way. Hands shaking and his mantra "Does that feel good to you darling?"

You just need to praise him a little. (A lot)

He doesn't last that long but he'll be sure to rub your clit so you don't either.

When it gets too real, he tears up at the end, like a baby that's holding back from crying. But you're there to hold him until he calms down.

He's usually too tired (and still nervous) afterwards for proper aftercare. Vox likes to be babied though. It's more personal attention after all.

Oh to be cleaned up and tucked to bed! Only then will he feel comfortable enough to run his fingers through your hair and mumble a faint thank you.

Vox's head has a bit of an awkward shape for cunnilingus. However, he has a surprisingly long tongue that can reach more than enough to have you moaning out how good of a boy he's being.

He usually cums in his pants while eating you out.

And when you return the favour it's usually to relieve his stress at work. He feels like a teenager when you do it. It's an act of service, really.

He low-key fucks your face, not enough to choke you but you do gag around him. It makes him feel in control. It makes him feel like a man.

To sum up, Vox is a bit dependent on you and on your validation, but he would never hurt you or become too overbearing.

He's needy, but not stupid.

He is the definition of a manchild and I think I proved my point.

But he's your manchild sis!

Support a struggling university student! Thank you so so much🫶 CLICK HERE (PayPal link)

~~~

my masterlist || Hazbin Hotel masterlist 🦷

Vox divider by @rubra-wav

Support divider by @cafekitsune

The explicit content one... I don't remember :(

~~~

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bestworstcase · 2 days

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So, regarding your Tai post,

https://www.tumblr.com/bestworstcase/748954216598470656/the-perennial-tai-discourse-is-really-interesting?source=share

I had some thoughts: I technically cover it in a separate post

https://www.tumblr.com/tumblingxelian/749060919422861312/really-solid-addition-here-much-like-with-qrows

But I'm unsure if the links will work so here is a slightly edited & expanded version:

Now, the idea that Ruby & Yang had very different childhoods is not an idea I strictly disagree with. But, I also think it is a bit inaccurate to treat it as outlined in your post.

What I mean is that while Yang is definitely more overt in the fact she feels Tai and the other adults failed them and defaults to centering family moments on Ruby. (For instance she frames the Zwei package as something to cheer Ruby up, its not for her & Ruby's the one really excited, Yang's just kind of there about it)

Despite that, Ruby herself doesn't have a simple relationship with Tai, or in fact she just might but that's not a good thing.

See, Ruby does not think about Tai very often, he's largely an afterthought in her letters for one. But more to the point he is not someone Ruby goes to for advice or guidance or even comfort.

Post Beacon, she mostly gets an update from him and is not bothered to see him go. She is OK being a bit more vulnerable around Qrow.

But the person she actually seeks out and seems utterly shocked at not receiving comfort from is Yang. It was also Yang who she questions for what to do next and Yang whom she confided her plans in before leaving.

Again she is shocked when Yang cannot supply these things to her.

Tai is her dad, but its a superficial relationship, he's nice, he can be fun, she does love him. She does not however, seem to perceive him as a reliable or responsible adult from whom she seeks protection or guidance.

The person she always defaulted to for that was Yang until she could no longer fill the role post V3 which likely fed into her issues with showing vulnerability in V9.

I tend to think she might have been more open to it in V5 given the breakdown tears & hug, but then Yang demonstrated she was still very much not all right & Ruby had no clue what to do. So she just sort of locked into her head that Yang needed 'her' protection now, not the other way around.

I would also just straight up note that even Ruby said it was Yang who raised her. Like, that wasn't even subtle, she knows who the parent was in that house and it wasn't Tai or Qrow. I don't think she'd say that if their childhoods were 'so' different that Tai was a functional parent to her but not Yang.

She definitely has a less... frosty relationship with the two grown men who she grew up around, Largely because they project the saintly Summer onto her and the Wretched Raven onto Yang.

Again, let's not forget Qrow's entirely willing to accept Yang brutalized a kid for shits and giggles or is "crazy". Or that Tai outright sees a lot of Raven in Yang, despite most of the traits he described not meshing with Yang's demonstrated or self described persona.

But even with that more positive relationship being projected onto and still raised by a sister two years your senior isn't exactly ideal. Both sisters had a shitty childhood, both were deeply neglected and failed and suffered because of that fact.

all true! but the nature of parentification is that the children experience the neglect in very different ways; the elder child is forced into an adult role, parenting the younger child, who is harmed in more invisible ways because they do have a caretaker—their sibling. anecdotally nearly every account of a childhood i’ve read by an adult who was raised as a child by older siblings has either alluded to or outright described 1. a much better childhood than their caretaking sibling(s) got, 2. because their sibling(s) shielded them from the worst neglect or abuse.

with that in mind and taking into consideration things like the different reactions to the package from tai (this will cheer ruby up vs ooh, something from home!) and yang staying behind at beacon when tai takes ruby to visit the memorial stone, and now these clear differences in how the girls feel about the boba shop (yang: unsure, downplaying the surprise, maybe it’s dumb / ruby: boba!!!) which probably reflect their emotional experience of the outings with dad (yang: fun, happy that ruby is so excited, not that special otherwise / ruby: magical)…

well, let’s put it this way:

yang did not have a real caretaker starting from age five, when she became the de facto main parent to her three-year-old sister with at best sporadic breaks when qrow wasn’t too blackout drunk / tai was having a good day.

ruby had a primary caretaker who struggled but was always there (yang) and a dad who had to work a lot but made time to do special things like the boba trips so that he could spend quality time with his family (tai). plus an uncle she sometimes needed to help her sister deal with.

yang being parentified has the effect of insulating ruby from the severity of tai’s neglect; in a functional single-income household where one parent stays home and the other works to support the family and both parents are adults who chose this dynamic and enjoy their respective roles, the working parent is not bad or neglectful simply because they aren’t around during the day to take care of the kids, and they can foster close, loving relationships with their children by making the most of the time they have at home. the childhood ruby had was a dysfunctional imitation of that dynamic.

and then factoring in the summer-vs-raven projection, when tai was around he focused on bonding time with ruby moreso than yang.

the net result is that the harm to ruby is much more invisible (yang by virtue of being a child herself could not provide ruby with healthy parent-child boundaries or the emotional stability children need from their parents to feel secure and develop good emotional regulation; tai’s favoritism of ruby being intertwined with idealizing of summer fucked ruby’s sense of self really badly; in the first few volumes ruby feels hurt and bewildered every time yang acts like her sister instead of her parent).

ruby sees clearly and states in volume nine that yang raised her; i don’t think she would have been able to articulate that so plainly in volume one, and this is something she’s come to realize after leaving home / living independently. in v1 it’s “yang used to read to me when we were little” and i’d bet that’s how ruby would phrase everything yang did—as discrete habits, not the combined pattern of “yang raised me.”

whereas yang like. the first thing she does at beacon is try to step away from ruby: encouraging her to meet new people then ditching her to catch up with friends, not wanting to partner up with her for initiation… much as yang loves her sister and enthusiastically supports her, it’s also pretty obvious that yang saw beacon as an opportunity to focus on herself for once. which says to me that she’d already grasped that their home life was messed up and that she needed to break those patterns once she left.

#profoundly different childhoods not much in the sense of good/bad but covert/overt harm.#which is p typical for any kind of favoritism dynamic #the favored child will have a happier childhood that masks the insidious ways the dysfunction Fucks Them Up

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heliads · 2 days

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Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme: kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect.

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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alexas-fandom-and-random-blog · 2 days

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I need to get it out of my chest so here's some Striker theories/speculations fandom has come up with that I heavily dislike and why.

Striker has some royalty blood from one parent or both.

Oh God that would suck so much if it became canon cause it absolutely defeats the purpose of his character so far, that of being a lower class imp hating royals with valid reasons even if his actions are violent and sadistic.

As he is he has such an interesting antagonistic role in the story and offers a bunch of good lines directly opposing and questioning the heroes values, choices and morality.

His mere presence and open bashing of the upper class is just good social commentary! If his hatred stems from a combination of his narcissistic nature and bitterness that being born an imp (even mixed or hybrid) robs him from ascending further into the social ladder or even if he survived a traumatic encounter with a royal as its implied and it's fuelled by anger or a combo of all those things all are good for telling a compelling story! All can be done in very interesting ways!

But making him yet another character tied closer to royalty than just being a random person that got screwed over is honestly an underwhelming concept.

Getting screwed over for no good or justified reason should be common with Hell's racist and classist system as its been presented so far and we should get confirmation of that instead of having Striker added to the trend of each of the main characters having special connections with higher ups. It's not only redundant at this point but would make his motivation and social commentary that much weaker.

I swear if it just becomes another daddy or mommy issue imma rage quit so fast!

Striker is half shark demon

His sound design is explicitly constantly emulating the noises a rattlesnake makes. Since he's most likely a hybrid and he says to Blitzo how they are "superior to most of our kind" he's definitely part imp. So we got two halves and we got snake demon and imp, so it's basically covered? lol I don't know how this theory became so popular😅

He doesn't even look close to the design of the other sharks

he only looks like Chaz a little bit.

And lots of characters share similar characteristics like that snout.

This one had some merit with the ringed eyes and imma be real I haven't noticed those elsewhere but like even if he had a grandpa shark what purpose would that serve?

Bah I just don't like it. Let the man be a slimy snake! Its more unique and it suits him better!

Striker is asexual cause he got grossed out by sex jokes

No...just no..

To be clear you could totally read him as asexual! But the reason being the damn sex jokes is giving me whiplash. Striker got flustered and frustrated at best cause the timing of each sex joke was inappropriate as all hell and cause everyone did it as he tried to be intimidating and threaten/kill them. If anything they were bruises to his ego not any indication to his libido.

But like... In all seriousness asexual confirmation deserves more than a reaction to sex jokes.

Hellaverse does it better with Alastor. In his case it does tie in with his sexuality.

Same goes with all the theories that he's homophobic too.

He did the sexy villain thing trying to seduce Blitzo like so explicitly and smiled when Blitzo called it hot then! What are you talking about?

Different situation, more receptive to sexual undertones and instigating them too. That's what I'm trying to say!

And again. Asexual reading can apply. But it can't be just the sex jokes alright?!😭

(yeah yeah it's a joke on itself. still valid I get it.)

Striker is related to Crimson and Moxxie.

Oh this one is the worst one and absolutely gives me a heart attack and thank goodness for the crew's soft confirmation that they aren't via strixxie fanart cause no joke I'd cry since its my favourite ship!

It's just similar horns!!! Striker was designed as a mix between Moxxie and Blitzo and that's the only reason why!

Striker also had sexual tension with Blitzo on screen are you gonna tell me they are related too cause he was designed with half of him in mind?

I hate this theory so much.

Granted purely for shipping reasons but holy shit it got popular and I hated that!

I've had enough with turning every ship into potential incest just cause and harassing fans over it!

Got such "Fizz and Blitzo are siblings" deja vu😬

Ahem...

Anyways yeah that's all.

To end it more positively I love the snake man! Didn't spot him on the trailer but still hope we see him in the upcoming episodes🥺

Preferably doing shit like this and traumatizing everyone lmao! (with no godawful statue jokes in sight thank you very much)

#rant #Striker #alexia posts #helluva boss #helluva boss striker #helluva boss critical #fandom critical #this is mostly unserious #😂

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miller-n-morgan · 1 day

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And I Feel Fine (.ii)

Joel Miller x Jackson!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: A new journey lies ahead, and on the very first night you become sure of something that will completely change the trajectory of your entire future.

Warnings: leaving most of the warnings the same because they apply. mentions of death, violence, gore, blood, mentions of sex abuse and trafficking. Mentions of teenage pregnancy. Mention of drugs and substances. Again, literally has ✨️the works.✨️

Word Count: 7k (i'm going absolutely wild)

Now we're cookin'.... enjoy this slice of my brain that I spent entirely too long on. And also know that the first part of the Arthur Morgan series will probably drop this week.

“I ain’t shittin’ you.” You were fine to leave it at that, but he sure as hell wasn’t. For a guy that hated long conversations, he seemed to like poking around in your business. “And what makes you think that?” You honestly didn’t want to tell him. He’s not Tommy, he might make fun of you, might store away the information later on and use it against you. You have no idea, actually. You don’t know him.

Your contact had gotten you to an apartment. It was worn down, just as every other place in the QZ seemed to be, but it was better taken care of. The people living here must have been attentive about the appearance of their home. A good enough family to leave your baby with.

She stopped you in the hallway, knocking three times on the old wood door, hearing a lively voice from the otherside before it opened. The woman standing there was lovely, about thirty or so, a half smile on her face when she saw you both had arrived. This plan had been in the works for some time now.

“Hello, I’m Maxine Williams,” she greeted, reaching for your hand to shake. You did your best to match her kind and infectious energy, giving her a smile in return. She is after all going to be doing you the favor of a lifetime.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you replied, keeping your head low between your shoulders, though you felt comfortable in her presence.

She leaned into your contact, turning her head, but you heard the whisper “She’s so young…”

“S’why she needs help.”

You understood that this didn’t look right. You should not be pregnant at your tender age, should not have been put in this position. You’ve seen more horrific things than any person ever should, and it all started when you were eight… outbreak day.

“Of course… come in, both of you.”

The pleasantries went on for a while, exchanging information of where you came from, why you were in this area, what you did before being in Boston. She mentioned her husband, her two sons and their love for older things, wishing for the world the way it was. It was all just small talk, leading up to the actual conversation topic: the baby she was about to take off your hands.

“You’ll stay with us until the birth, if that’s okay,” she offered, but it sounded more like a demand. It wasn’t a harsh or cruel one. Even if you slept on the rickety couch you were lounging upon now, it would be better than camping in the woods, sleeping on the hard ground like you’d been doing only a month ago.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

Your contact was happy to see both ends so receptive. She’d never seen a deal containing human life go down this smoothly. Probably because this was a bit more sensitive of an exchange.

“Good… that’s good. I’ve heard you’re interested in a closed adoption?”

You glanced down at your stomach, feeling the weight of it, crushing inwards on the rest of your body. Having this baby and giving it away will relieve the weight both physically and metaphorically. They’ll be in good hands, better than your own could ever be.

“I think it’s probably best. I used to have siblings, but I never really took care of them… I’m not sure I could do this,” You shook your head. You saw her younger son peeking his head out of the bedroom door in the corner, backing away as soon as you caught him. Even in an apocalypse, a child can be happy… just not with you. “I want to give them their best chance.”

“I understand… and we’re going to do our best to make sure they have a normal childhood,” she responded, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on your knee.

“Thank you…”

You had sat down on one of the containment units, feeling as though the adrenaline rush from the ambush was beginning to wear off. Tommy found Maria not far away from where you were sitting, and began to ask his special favor. It was crazy, he knew it, you knew it… but it had to be done. This girl was somehow important, to the fireflies and to all of mankind, and you were starting to wonder why. Joel hadn’t said a word, sitting across from you and awaiting the news that would surely come from his brother’s discussion with his wife.

“So, you’ve been traveling with Ellie?”

He looked up at you from his boot laces, his eyes were heavy, and he didn’t seem in the mood to talk. He was grumpy in nature, but you could tell there was more underneath the tough exterior.

“I have.” And no further explanation was given.

You didn’t think it was best to keep trying your luck, keep on asking him questions. He wasn’t the talking type and you figured you’d be wasting your time… but speak of the devil, Ellie came up to him just as the conversation between Tommy and Maria was getting heated.

“What’s that all about?” She nodded in their direction. She looked scared, like a deer caught in headlights, just not as frozen. Wide eyed and unable to look away from the scene. “Does that have anything to do with me?”

She was smart, she’d pick up on the words they were saying - more like yelling - to each other. The context clues were there, Joel would have to be an idiot to think she’d just let him off the hook.

“We’ll talk about it later…” he grumbled, his annoyance already at a high from your unimportant questions and the fighting in the background.

“Did he tell you where the lab is?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she got even closer to hear them.

The lab? Is that where the fireflies would be? You vaguely remember the days you spent with the resistance group, but you don’t remember anything about a lab…

“We’ll talk about it later,” he repeated himself, almost as a warning.

She turned to Tommy and Maria, then back to Joel, her face one of distrust and sadness. She knew, she could tell. Joel was trying to get rid of her.

You wanted to say something, to jump in and tell her that she didn’t need to be scared, didn’t need to be worried about where she was going. That you would go with her and it would be okay… but that wouldn’t help a damn thing. Even if you turn out to be her biological mother, you are most definitely not her mom, and cannot console her as one.

“Later… right,” she trailed, backing away from Joel and off to another sectional of the checkpoint.

Joel looked back to you, your eyes already on him.

He sighed, at first not saying a word… but when he made a full rotation of his eyeline and you were still staring holes into him, he had to speak up.

“If you’re lookin’ to judge me, then just-.”

“I’m not.”

Your interruption cut him off, and he didn’t really know what else to say. He nodded, not looking away from you, but rather trying to figure out what it is you needed from him. Your stare was not discomforting but it felt demanding. It wanted something.

“How long have you known her?” You finally spit out, tucking a leg under your elbow as you sat back. You knew you’d gotten his attention, now.

“Few months, now. I’m supposed to take her to the fireflies as a favor to someone.”

“What do the fireflies want with a fourteen year old kid?”

He sighed, raising his shoulders in a shrug like he didn’t know. He must’ve been lying, right? You’d gotten pretty good at reading people, but for some reason you couldn’t tell with him. Maybe you just didn’t know him well enough…

“M’not really sure. All I knew in the beginning was that I could get paid pretty well, so I took her.”

You nodded. He didn’t seem like the person that did things for the sake of them, Tommy had told you stories about him, the things he used to do. If it was for his survival, he’d do it… but just for the sake of getting paid? When barely anything left had real monetary value? It sounded like bullshit.

“She seems to trust you an awful lot,” you gestured between him and the empty space she’d left.

There was another beat of silence, to which he didn’t use for reply. Instead he sat, his back curled over and his shoulders sunken inwards. He was tired, he was worn. He needed to rest, but this life wouldn’t let him.

“She knows you’re handing her off…”

“I reckon she does, yeah.”

And right over your shoulder you heard the climax of Tommy and Maria’s argument. She held a pointed finger in his face, before he finally insisted on Joel’s plan. She couldn’t move him. He was going to do this whether she liked it or not… which is something you haven’t seen out of Tommy for years. Joel must mean a hell of a lot to him, to up and leave Maria on a dangerous errand like this.

You stay seated when Maria walks over to Joel, and then when Joel stands up to talk to Tommy. You stay seated and think… I can keep Tommy safe. I’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to gain from learning about this girl. I can bring him home to Maria, even if it means my life.

But you immediately stand when you hear Tommy’s rapid speech. “That girl of yours. she took one of our horses and rode off,” and then he glanced at you with an eyeroll. “She took provoker…”

You huffed a sigh, following the men over to the front of the sectional, the open trail up ahead. Maria was mad at Tommy, so obviously she wouldn’t be accompanying them… and that left you. Casper didn’t like men.

“Damnit, which way?” Joel asked, his steps were heavy on the muddy ground.

“I just saw her riding out of here!” Terry yelled, loosening the reins on two more horses he’d brought over for assistance.

“Alright, get back inside, help the others clean the place up,” Tommy told the man, nodding for you to mount the back of his horse after he’d climbed up himself. You chanced a look at Joel, riding across from you both. His face was mixed with anger and determination, and it reminded you of what Tommy looked like after hours of hunting. They were the epitome of brothers, though you’d never met the other half before.

You all followed the tracks, leading every which way it seemed. Some of the tracks were fresh, and some were older, but it was hard to tell when the grounds here were moist all the time, never really drying up and creating lasting prints on the dirt.

After a while of riding, and running into some raiders - who were easily fended off - you saw your horse standing in front of an old farmhouse, the reins tied to a pole holding up the roof of the porch. You jumped from Tommy’s mare and ran up to Casper, petting his mane and making sure he was alright. There didn’t seem to be a scratch on him.

You watched Joel enter the house, waiting back with Tommy. Even though Joel was the one she ran away from, you couldn’t imagine she’d be thrilled to see you or Tommy instead. Joel had a good reason to do what he did. He didn’t feel strong enough or fast enough for this job anymore. He didn’t feel like he could keep her safe. You unfortunately understood that feeling a little too well, and if you were correct on your suspicions, it would have been with the exact same kid.

Tommy unstrapped his gun from his back, holding it steady and watching the surroundings whilst he leaned against the porch beam you were standing by. He was trying to gage whether or not your horse was calm enough for him to approach you closer, knowing what would happen if he wasn’t.

“I think you’re right, you know…” He trailed, his voice quiet on the off chance of an open window.

“You do?”

You turned to him, you didn’t exactly have to think twice about what he meant.

“Yeah,” he nodded, a chuckle falling from his lips. “It makes sense… the timing n’ everything. She looks a hell of a lot like you… and she’s caused about as much trouble today as the first time I met you.”

“Causing trouble is genetic?” You laughed, your eyes watering a bit at the implications he made. She might be yours. Your daughter, who you didn’t think you’d see again.

“Hell, it might be. Your kinda trouble, anyway… stealin’ horses and shit.”

The nod of your head was slow, the thought of this all sinking in. It made perfect sense and yet coming to terms with the facts of ‘it is’ instead of ‘it could be’ makes you feel light headed.

You didn’t know if he was being serious or if he was just trying to make you feel better, but the look on his face told you the former. He wouldn’t just lie to you, he knew you could read him.

“I keep turning it over in my head, tryin’ to think of ways I could prove it to myself… I think just seein’ her was enough for me. I’m remembering things I thought I forgot about a long time ago.”

Now it was his turn to nod, but your moment was caught short when you heard a branch snap around the corner. You instinctively pulled your gun from your pants, holding it out in the direction the snap came from. Tommy raised his rifle, doing the same and gesturing for you to go inside. You both made it in the doorway before the threat made itself known. Two guys, coming around the corner. They hadn’t realized you were watching them yet, but they did a quick scan, making sure there wasn’t any immediate danger.

“Get upstairs,” he said in a whisper, but you snapped your head to face him.

“No way, the odds are even if I stay,” you argued, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a fight right now. It was too risky to have you both down here.

“Go tell Joel to get his ass down here, you stay up with the kid.”

“Like hell I’m going up there. Your brother scares me,” you say in a half joking mumble, keeping watch on the two strangers that were now surrounding your horse. They were about to get kicked in the ass if they didn’t step away.

Tommy realizes that them being distracted gives a good amount of time to leave without cover.

“Alright, but you first,” he shrugged a shoulder towards the staircase, and with one last glance to your horse, you left your corner by the window.

You quickly ran up the stairs, ducking a head in a few rooms before finding the one Joel and Ellie were in.

“Get it together, we’re not alone,” Tommy said as soon as you got inside the door.

“I got two walking in,” Joel leaned towards the sliding window to get some eyes on the situation.

“There’s more inside already…”

You backed against the door, Tommy against the dresser on the opposite side. Joel stepped over in front of you, and Ellie behind Tommy. You didn’t realize until now, but taking a glance at Ellie, she looked even worse than when she left. Her face was sullen and her head was dropped. She didn’t seem to be snapping into reality, even with the weight of the situation.

You stayed by her throughout the house, when Tommy and Joel started shooting, you stood in front of her, covering them from back behind. It was weird, these maternal feelings that had never sparked within you before, only now arising for this specific human that had no clue who you were.

Once outside, it seemed strange. The dynamic between the four of you was so incredibly awkward. Everyone was thinking on a different topic, and the silence could echo on for miles. You nodded for Ellie to mount the back of your horse, since she didn’t seem comfortable to ride with Joel for the time being. She climbed up behind you and for a second you smiled, because this is your daughter, you know it… but soon after, your mind quickly succumbed to the general silence.

The nature and scenery surrounding you seemed to be duller than before, the pretty autumnal colors becoming ugly in the sense that you didn’t appreciate them right now. You loved the beginning of fall, but the feelings spread among you are tense and terrible, worse than raking up the fallen leaves before winter.

The feeling never leaves, it stays until you all reach the edge of the town.

“I’m not hungry,” you swore, shoving the extra plate of food away from your placemat.

Manxine’s husband was hungry, and you’d noticed him and his wife being decent enough to give you some of their food the past few days. It wasn’t necessary, because you weren’t working, and you weren’t barely helping them. They were helping you, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Taking extra food that wasn’t just lying around felt like stealing. You’d never been a stranger to it before, but these people were far too kind, too gentle. They made you feel like maybe the world wasn’t completely at its end. It still turned, and people were still good, despite everything.

“Yes you are, and you should be,” Maxine pushed the plate back in front of you. Her goal had been to ‘put a little meat on your bones’ as long as you were under her roof.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Promise or no promise, you need to eat more. You’re still too thin to try and survive childbirth, ya hear?” She put the old fork back into your open hand, and you sighed. It was sometimes hard to eat more than you normally did, on the account of your body not being used to it. If you ate more than usual would it make you sick? If you threw up the extra rations they were spotting you, you’d feel terrible, but she kept insisting.

You opened your mouth to take a bite, swallowing it down and feeling the slight discomfort start to settle. Already you’d been eating a lot more than before the QZ, and you didn’t realize how slowly your appetite would have to grow.

After a few more bites you had to drop the fork to your plate, feeling too full already to keep on. You felt terrible, refusing extra portions that were meant to keep you healthy. Whether or not it was caused by the pregnancy hormones, or just your own emotional breakdown, you weren’t sure… but you started tearing up while sitting at the table.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, covering your mouth and sitting back while the tears rolled down.

“Don’t you apologize, sweetheart,” Maxine uttered softly, her presence at your side immediately.

To her, none of this effort was wasted, or overdone. She and her husband, though some of the better off people in the QZ by job merritt, couldn’t seem to have another baby. It wasn’t for the lack of trying, or stress that they couldn’t afford it. It was simply the fact that after six years from their last child, they couldn’t conceive another. This baby, your baby, was going to be a gift to them. They were happy to take any necessary steps into getting you to childbirth.

“I just can’t eat anymore,” you tried to justify your emotions, but now it only looked like an overreaction. People are dying without food, and here you are, crying about there being too much.

“It’s alright. Leftovers don’t go to waste in this house,” she spoke, a bit of a chuckle in her tone, which alleviated some of the pressure you felt.

“Okay,” you nodded, letting her take your plate to the other room, likely where her husband had retired to.

The campfire was crackling, the smoke filling the hazy navy color of the dark sky. Trees had covered it mostly, but there were a few stars peaking here and there. You’d just finished a can of chicken soup, tossing it on the pile that had been started by the others. It was crazy, how you suddenly remembered so much, just by eating food out of a can again. Days on the run, with the fireflies, being a raider even… it all came back.

It had only been a few hours or so since leaving Jackson, but after the fiasco of today, the three of you had gotten extremely tired a lot earlier than you should have.

The three of you meaning: Yourself, Joel and Ellie.

After the silence of the horse ride back to the commune, something had changed. Joel realized not only what Ellie meant to him, but what he means to Ellie. He’d decided Tommy was no longer required, and that he could fare the journey on his own. Of course, you immediately volunteered an extra pair of hands and a quick gun as assistance. To your surprise, it was Ellie who was your greatest advocate. Her, and the fact that you remembered the lab’s location, could probably get her there on your own if you had to.

The mirror building… you don’t remember it being a lab, but as soon as Tommy said the words it jogged your memory.

Now you were here, sitting with your back against a log, and staring holes into the shoulder of a fourteen year old girl.

“Whatch’u lookin’ at?” Joel asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he lazily reclined against a tree.

You only looked away for a second, too fixated on what was just barely peeking over the collar of Ellie’s shirt and jacket. It had fallen down a bit when she laid down to sleep.

“Nothin’,” you shrugged it off. He was a man of few words, surely he’d drop it on account of having to speak more if he didn’t… but God help him, he’s like a damn cat, his curiosity could kill him.

“You’re very focused on nothin’,” he teased. There was something off about you with Ellie, he’d taken notice of it. He didn’t know what it was about but it didn’t seem like a danger.

You rolled your eyes over to him, but could tell by his glance back that he wouldn’t quit. He’d already volunteered to take the first watch, and he had nothing else better to do.

“It’s a long story, you’d get bored.”

But again, he had nothing better to do.

“Try me,” he raised his shoulders in a shrug of his own. He seemed much more docile of a creature in this setting. The early hours of night, so quiet, and dimly lit. His voice was gentle and his features were soft. He was relaxed.

You took a deep inhale, trying to brace yourself for whatever came of this. He was a fresh face, someone new to explain an old wound to. The scar had finally healed and you were about to dig a blade back through and rip it open… but you suppose you’d sharpened the knife by coming along in the first place.

“I think Ellie’s my daughter,” you breathed out, not checking for a reaction until he’d been silent too long. His eyes were narrow, and he tilted his head, looking between you two. She was fast asleep by now, but he had a picture of her in his head, comparing it to you.

“You’re shittin’ me, right?”

You blew out another long breath, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know this feeling you have or the fact that you’ve never felt it before. He doesn’t understand that you’d come to peace with the fact that you’d never see her again, and then she appeared like a ghost from your past. You thought she was your past self at first, taunting you, making fun of who you were now.

“I ain’t shittin’ you.”

You were fine to leave it at that, but he sure as hell wasn’t. For a guy that hated long conversations, he seemed to like poking around in your business.

“And what makes you think that?”

You honestly didn’t want to tell him. He’s not Tommy, he might make fun of you, might store away the information later on and use it against you. You have no idea, actually. You don’t know him.

You let your eyes flick up to the stars, hoping by some miracle they will fall from the heavens in the form of angels to give you a message, that message being: shut the fuck up and don’t spill your guts to a man you met this morning.

“When I was thirteen, I was by myself. I fell into a weird group of people that could probably be considered a cult. There was this one guy that treated me better than the others…” you trailed off, not sure if you’re ready to rehash all of this. But it’s been a long time since you talked about it. You need to get it off your chest if you’re to somehow make a relationship with the product of your past. “He was in his twenties, so a lot younger than most people in the group. Pretty sure I was the youngest. I didn’t realize he was using me.”

Joel was tense, but not because he was uncomfortable… he was genuinely invested. Wanted to know this story and how it connected with Ellie. His Ellie.

“We left the group, and I found out I was pregnant a few months later. I’d barely had my cycle a fucking year… wasn’t even sure what it meant when I didn’t get it. Anyways,” you had to stifle a laugh, because just looking back… what the actual hell? You kept blinking to make sure no tears escaped in front of this man. You weren’t there yet with him. “I think he just lost all interest in me after that. He didn’t really speak to me unless it was necessary, and wouldn't look at me. Stuff like that.”

But that wasn’t the worst part, and Joel knew you were working your way up to it.

“Before I was pregnant I used to sneak into places most people couldn’t. I was real skinny like that. Was able to smuggle stuff in and out of different QZs across the country. We peddled rare narcotics for the most part… but I had to stop when I, you know…” you made a round hand motion around your stomach, hoping he got the jist. “I didn’t fit in the smaller spaces.”

“What kind of narcotics?” Joel finally asked a question, and it wasn’t really the one you were hoping for… but you understood he’d probably fallen into the same scheme over the years.

“Vicodin, mostly. Up in Princeton there was this one apartment… we’d searched it top to bottom because of how many secret hiding places there were. Vicodin everywhere. Whoever lived there was either severely addicted or preparing for the worst.”

“Maybe both.”

Yeah, probably. Damn shame he never got to use them.

“We used it as a trading token most of the time. It was actually what got us into Boston,” you waved off your tangent eventually, getting back to the story and where Ellie came in. “Pretty much gave the rest of our stash to a contact we had there… she got us a family we could hand the baby off to.”

And now he got it. You’d been knocked up by a predator, and said predator wanted you to give up the baby so he could go about using you some more. He’d seen and done some cruel things in a post apocalyptic world, but he would never stoop that low, and grimaced at anyone who possibly could.

“I had her when I was fourteen. Lookin’ at her today was like looking in a mirror,” you rambled on, still not quite to your point. “She’s the right age, from the right location… and that birthmark on her shoulder…”

He hadn’t even noticed it all this time. Months with the kid, and he thought nothing of it. But to you, it was clarification. It was the confirming piece of evidence that pulled it all together. You’d barely taken your eyes off of it since you saw it. You wanted to make sure you weren’t seeing things. Wanted to make sure it was the right shape and placement, just so you could be sure.

He nodded, seemingly coming to this conclusion now, too. It didn’t take him any more convincing. It was clear by now that your hunch was not just a hunch.

“Her dad, he still… around?”

You shook your head with a light hearted laugh.

“No,” and you could have left it with that simple answer… but that was never much your style. “I shot him in the head.”

His low whistle cut the air, and you almost felt proud. You’d killed the one thing in life that ever hurt you directly.

“He deserved worse.”

“Yeah, he did.”

And then it was quiet for a minute, all the words the two of you had spoken up until now were rotating over and around in your heads to make sense of them, until he spoke up again.

“I’m sorry,” he nearly whispered.

“S’okay. Not your fault…” you shook it off. It’s in the past, it’s done.

“Not yours either,” he replied, raising a brow to you. “M’just, sorry you went through that.”

He was soft, he was gentle. You supposed he was like Tommy. He didn’t judge you or make you feel inferior because of your tragic mishappenings. He just listened, and felt sympathy.

“I don’t mind it so much now… I got her back.”

And both your gazes shifted to the sleeping teenager, her breaths steady with the humming of the night around you. She has no clue, and for now you’ll have to keep it that way.

Yeah, you think… I got her back.

It only took two weeks. Riding, eating, sleeping, and talking, rinse and repeat. There was the odd occasion of dealing with infected, but they were never in large groups, and cleared out easily.

You remembered exactly where to go when you entered the city limits, guiding them towards the college campus you once lived in as a firefly. It was almost ten years ago, but you remember it pretty well. It’s where you met Tommy. Not in the lab, obviously. You’d both been put on security detail one morning, having never met beforehand. He proceeded to ‘teach you’ how to shoot a rifle properly, only to find you could hit a perfect bullseye on your first shot. Probably because your dad was a man who loved his guns, and you’d been shooting one since you were a kid before the outbreak. He laughed about it, and you two were friends ever since.

“Are you getting any of this?” Ellie asked you, pulling you from your thoughts as you rode alongside them.

For the last hour, Joel was attempting - and failing - to explain the rules of football to the young Miss Ellie. And she didn’t understand one lick of it, not that you blame her. You’d been to actual football games in your youth, but you couldn’t get it even then.

“Nope, I was always more of a baseball fan…” you trailed, and smiled at the thought. Baseball was fun, you remember it well. It was your biggest obsession right before ballet, and right after fingerpainting.

“Oh really, now?” Joel cut in, his surprise evident in his raised eyebrow and tilted gaze in your direction.

“Yep. You’re looking at the MVP of the Acorn’s jr. little league team.”

Ellie laughed. She didn’t know a thing about baseball either. She’d seen some old collectors cards though here and there. Apparently they used to be valuable. They were only knick knacks to anyone who saw them now.

“What position did you play?”

“Shortstop… or second base, technically. No shortstop in jr. little league,” you admitted. Your dad always called you shortstop, so that’s what you tell people now. Anyone who asks, at least. You can count on one hand the number of people who have.

“Seein’ you around infected… I bet you swung like hell,” he chuckled. Ellie was still confused about the rules of the last sport, much less how to play this one… but she listened intently because Joel was interested, so she was interested too.

“I always got on base, didn’t always stay there, but always got on. Plus, I was the only kid who never picked their nose at the plate, so… Obviously I earned my title.”

“That must’ve been an amazing accomplishment. How old were you?”

From what he understood, you’d been eight on outbreak day. You couldn’t have been too much younger to have started a sport, right?

“Probably six or seven at the time. I did ballet after, had kind of a short attention span when it came to after school activities,” you explained, a smile on your cheeks when you spoke about the things you used to love doing. You probably would still like doing some of them, had they been an option in Jackson.

“I know about ballet!” Ellie jumped in, nearly scaring Joel off the horse. “That’s the dancers that used to wear those weird shoes and shit.”

“Pointe shoes?” You chuckled, more at Joel trying to compose himself than Ellie’s funny recollection of footwear.

“Yeah, those. They looked like torture devices in some of the paintings I saw… did you ever wear any?”

“No, I would have had to train for about five more years to have gotten to that point. That was the dream at the time, to be a pointe ballerina. Of course, the end of the world happened…”

Joel turned to you from his forwards facing stare, a sadness in his eyes before he looked back onto the road ahead of him. Was that… pity? You were slowly learning to read him, his little mannerisms and tells that made him like everyone else, yet just a tad different, in a way that only he could be.

“Maybe after all this is over you can teach me some steps,” she suggested, but you scoffed.

“Maybe,” you shook your head at how funny the thought sounded in your head. You’d only danced for what? Ten months at most? And as an eight year old? “I think you’ll probably be too busy with Joel’s guitar lessons.”

She laughed it off, shaking her head and leaning it back onto Joel’s shoulder in front of her. The three of you kept along until reaching the building you remembered, but instantly it was a disappointment. The fireflies weren’t here, and likely hadn’t been for over a year.

“This isn’t right. There should be a checkpoint set up and a security blockade surrounding the place,” you mentioned, getting off your horse and running up to the door in the front. You peeked inside, and there was no sign of life anywhere.

“You’re kidding,” Ellie grumbled.

Joel dismounted the horse and followed after you, looking around and trying to find any signs that they might have been here at all.

“You sure this is the right place?”

“Positive. I remember this building, I met Tommy right over there,” you pointed down the sidewalk, where a half torn down barricade of cement was still sitting, but just barely. You walked to the corner of the crumbling stairs and grabbed a piece of old broken up brick, chucking it through the front door in order to unlock it.

Joel chuckled for a moment at your frustration, watching the scene play out.

“Baseball… right,” he teased, leading the way inside with you and Ellie in tow.

Maxine’s boys were at Fedra school. Her husband was at work in a different sector. Maxine herself was trading ration cards for supplies. It was the first time she’d left the apartment since you’d been there, and of all days, of all mornings for it to happen… your water broke.

You were alone, and scared. You weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for fear of the neighbor’s suspicion. Maxine’s family would be torn apart by Fedra if anyone found out what was going on, so no matter how terrified you were, you couldn’t risk going outside for help.

“Not now,” you cried, the tension in the pit of your stomach slowly turning to pain when your first contraction started. “Please, kid, I’m begging.”

You suck down against the wall of the living room, trying to find a sitting position that doesn't kill you from the pain. You wished more than anything you had some of those pain pills left over from the exchange, but they would probably only hurt you right now.

“Please, don’t,” you tried to even your breathing, the tears crawling down your cheeks at a fastening rate. “I can’t do this…”

The walls were closing in, you weren’t prepared for this. It didn’t seem to be the right time, either… but it was happening, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it. The baby was coming, and if you wanted to live to see another day, you were going to have to get your head straight, and push it out of you.

You didn’t know how long you’d have, but from the time your water broke to the last contraction, things were moving relatively quickly. You were still on the ground against the wall, biting down on the sleeve of your shirt to try and not make noise.

You hoped and prayed that you would not deliver this baby on your own, but it looked like that was your only option right now. They had all left around an hour ago, they would be gone all day.

“I don’t know what to do, kid… help me out here,” you cried out again, but the baby didn’t exactly listen. You felt more weight bearing down on your lower half by the minute, and all you could do was panic.

It had happened so fast, the attack. Too fast, nothing you guys could have prepared for. It was all within minutes, and the ringing in your ears following your last gunshot seemed to put everything in slow motion. The way Ellie was yelling but you couldn’t hear it, the man that was coming up from behind you, and the one that was wrestling with Joel near the edge of the rail.

Too fast, the man on your rear grabbed at you and pulled backwards, keeping you from being able to stop Joel’s attacker… You got trapped in a headlock, a gun to your temple, and another man was about to get Ellie. Joel and his attacker broke through the railing, tumbling over the edge and falling into God knows what. You sunk deadweight in the man’s arms, letting Ellie shoot him with her raised gun before you shot the man coming for her.

She ran to the edge first, freezing as she looked down. You followed and peered over, unsure what you would see.

“Shit,” you lowered yourself to a sitting position before scooting off the edge and dropping down to where he was. Your voice was in a panic “Joel?”

He was alive, but fatally injured if you didn’t get him out of here right now.

“I’m gonna need you to pull,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. His face was scrunched in pain, and you knew better than anyone how hard it was to stay quiet when you’re hurting that bad.

“You could bleed out,” you shook your head, kneeling down and flinging off your backpack. Digging through, you only have the most basic of supplies… nothing substantial enough to stop mass amounts of blood, or, worst case scenario, a deadly infection.

“Just pull, damnit,” he grunted, offering his hand.

By now Ellie had come down, watching in fear as the only figure of importance in her life was nearly on his deathbed. It couldn’t be exaggerated because it really was that bad. He could drop down at any moment and never get back up, but he kept pushing on.

You did as he asked, hoisting him to a stand, letting him lean on you for support. Ellie went on ahead, leading the way as she cleared the place with her own gun. You had to assist here and there, unwilling to let Ellie get shot on account of holding Joel up on his feet.

It was practically a miracle that any of you made it outside. Your horse had already taken care of a raider, it seemed, the man lying unconscious on the ground behind him. He likely got to close, touched him, even. Ellie shot the last obstacle standing between you and an escape, and once he was cleared, you mounted your horses, helping Joel onto his, first.

You rode in front of them, looking for a place to take shelter. Looking for an empty house, or gas station even. Anything would work, as long as it was safer than here. You rode for miles down the road, unsure if there were people in the area. You’d finally reached a neighborhood of substantial size, with no signs of life or proof of human activity.

But before you could even find a safe shelter…

“Joel? Joel!”

And you quickly turned around. Joel fell off the horse, out like a light.

Tags: @orcasoul

#joel miller #reader insert #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us #joel

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typenull · 2 days

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on laios's approach to his consumption and desires

i am so sick of people making laios’s entire thing about “eating monsters” and turning him into someone that would eat a pokemon or whatever given the chance, when his entire thing is actually about both being the monster that’s eating, and the human being that’s getting devoured. because “monsters eat humans, that’s why they’re so cool (and everything i want to be).”

laios’s interest in eating monsters stems from his desire to understand the individual species, and has since he was a child reading about their taste in books. it most definitely isn’t from an innate fascination with their value or specific usage as food. laios doesn’t eat monsters the same way that a human eats animals! this is most obvious when you compare him and senshi, who is focused specifically on the usage of monsters as a food item, and a foil to laios - who is willing to eat whatever just in order to understand it a little more.

he may be curious how specific species taste - do walking mushrooms taste like regular ones? do nightmares and living armor taste like regular shellfish? - but these questions stem from a desire to understand them deeper and in turn get closer to a world of animality. personally, i think he would be offended at the idea that his desire to eat monsters stemmed from something so human-centric.

(notice how he seems to care significantly less about being a ‘murderer’ than a ‘dragonslayer’ lol. )

we know that laios has been curious about the taste of monsters since he was a child, but he still takes it seriously. the only reason he eventually resorts to eating monsters with his party in the first place is because they were in a situation of life or death - and laios, like a monster operating under the rule of ‘kill or be killed’, knew that they were going to need to do so in order to achieve their goal on such low supplies. but he isn’t a surplus killer, nor does he kill solely for the sake experimentation or pleasure! he's actually extremely respectful towards monsters, all things considered.

on top of everything... even though laios is clearly pleased about getting a chance to eat monsters initially, since he finally gets to fulfill a childhood desire - this actually sours for him fairly early on. in the monster tidbits page for the cockatrice, we see him lament on the fact that the information he'd idolized for so long ended up being totally fabricated, and doesn't seem too happy about pursuing his 'dream' of comparing the taste of cockatrice and basilisk anymore. i think this says a lot about his motivations and feelings when it comes to consuming monsters overall.

basically tl;dr - what i’m saying is - yeah, laios eats monsters, sure… but he wishes he was a monster too, and he wants his own human form devoured. with this idea in mind, you can consider that by eating monsters, he becomes closer to them, and a little less “human”. (even though he knows it isn’t that easy.)

this actually has A LOT of influence over late-game spoiler-related events - but i'll keep all late-game spoiler meta talk and panels under the cut:

even in death, laios's ultimate dream is to be consumed by monsters and become part of the natural world! but i think what's most indicative of this approach laios has towards consuming monsters is when kui kind of makes it incredibly obvious during the fight with the winged lion, lol. it's the definining point of the entire thing, isn't it?

laios, finally becoming his true monster form, is so overwhelmed by an unstoppable desire to consume his human self, erasing it from existence. he's so overcome with this desire to consume himself that on a surface level, it actually almost ends up becoming his downfall...

..but laios knew this would happen already, and with it in mind, he incorporated it into his ultimate monster self. he allowed himself to be able to consume other's desires - including the winged lion's. by consuming the demon disguised as himself, he's able to get to the core of the demon's appetite...

his same "kill or be killed" monster mindset is what allows him to win against something beyond human comprehension, something even beyond the human-monster dichotomy of this world. laios's existence as a monster and approach to life under these carefully considered rules of respect and curiosity are exactly what literally save everyone's lives, including himself and falin. it parallels all the way back to his initial decision to eat monsters at all as a last-resort decision of life or death to save someone he loves! laios saves the day by not being aligned with humanity at all!

through this laios gets to prove his love and devotion for those he cares about despite how far removed he feels from the human experience. he doesn't need to be understood by humans, nor does he need to understand humanity... as long as he has his strong desire to keep those he loves safe and love them with all his heart, it doesn't matter at all. this entire fight is one giant reflection of laios's inner workings throughout the entire series, and i don't see enough people view it through that lens.

laios is such an important character to me, and this wasn't even supposed to be a meta post, but i got so tired of seeing people make jokes about laios eating monsters nonstop!!! thanks for reading! check out my dungeon meshi tag for more long posts like this one :)

#dm #dungeon meshi #the only series to consistently get me writing meta posts

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lichenes · 7 hours

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"Emo boy..."

Little something to get me back into writing... Feel free to send me asks! Enjoy :D

CW: kinda mutual pining, mischaracterisation probably (.-.), it'll get better in part two if you guys want it :D, SFW wc: 699

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿_____

He entered your little shop, looking incredibly strange amongst the cornflowers and alliums you were displaying. "Mornin'! How can I help you?" You asked cheerily, way too happy for the hour that was shown on the clock just behind you.

König had just recently retired. He loved the military life, truly the only thing he could say he deeply and passionately loved. Taught to always sleep with one eye open, he wasn’t adjusting to civilian life very well.

‘The quickest way to brighten up your house is to decorate it with flowers!’ He heard from the overzealous neighbour, truly delighted to meet him (and afraid for the safety of her and her kids, obviously). Immediately, he looked up a flower shop near him. Not being allowed to keep more than a flip phone on himself, he wasn’t used to the freedom internet gave.

The next day, he got up bright and early to avoid people as much as he could. König was hoping for his visit to escape everyone's attention. Admittedly it was difficult, with his overbearing frame, towering over nearly every person he stumbled upon.

You weren’t fully conscious yet, having woken up less than an hour ago. Running your own business could be quite a feat, especially with alarm clocks which don’t work quite well. Your hair was a bit dishevelled but you were hoping to fix it around your lunch break.

He was staring. You noticed something was off about him but you just waited politely for him to ask you for whatever it was he was here for. In the gentlest voice he could muster he asked. “What do you have that would brighten up a house?” He used the same phrase as the neighbour, her name not quite cemented in his brain. You were taken aback for just a quick moment but slipped back into your customer service voice.

You went on about the types that would suit any home, and he listened intently, opting to go for daffodils. König paid for his bouquet and thanked you. While you were wrapping the flowers you tried to make polite conversation. “Did the missus send you here?” He looked around, chuckling nervously. “No, no, I needed something to get me out of the house you know?” That was an obvious lie, but you didn’t question him further.

The next time he showed up at your shop, you recognised him as that window shopping, huge guy who usually walked past your shop, gracing it with a fleeting glance. “Hello! What can I help you with?” For a guy his size, he sure knew how to make himself look small. You weren’t quite sure what he wanted with you, but your ego didn’t allow for you to think all this was about you.

He scared you a little, but you’d never admit that. His anxious demeanor of a lost puppy was neutralising his terrifying presence pretty effectively. “Sorry to bother but-” You waved your hand as if to say ‘not a bother’. “There's this person I’m trying to thank…” He went on about their personality, gushing at how inviting their presence was. You were drinking it up like fine wine, becoming more and more interested in him by the minute.

“She’s my neighbour actually! So I was hoping to repay her for giving me the idea and buying her flowers.” He blushed a little. Not that you would notice under the face mask he was wearing. “I need to ask, flowers do have meaning after all.” You tried to explain yourself, not wanting to seem too intrusive. “Is it supposed to be a friendly bouquet or a let’s-go-on-a-date kinda thing?”

He waved his arms in front of his chest. “It’s nothing like that!!” You smiled at his antics as he added. “I’ve got my eyes on someone else…” Your cheeks, suddenly, felt hotter than they should’ve for the conversation you were supposedly having.

He got out with the bouquet you suggested and thanked you profusely. König didn’t even give you his name, and you could already feel being smitten by the cruel, cruel gods of love. God damnit, you were hoping to see him soon.

pt. 2?

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿_____ masterlist

#x reader #writing #konig x reader #könig #konig cod #cod #cod x reader #fluff #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig mw2

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buddiebeginz · 3 days

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I’ve made posts about this before but I’m gonna keep on about it. Please if you love Buddie (when you have time) you need to be posting about them on every social media platform there is. Also liking and commenting on posts especially ones that are on official 911 accounts like the main ABC one or the actors or when interviews come out.

If ABC posts about Buck/Eddie or Ryan and Oliver you need to remind them in the comments we’re rooting for Buddie. I know Buddie fandom is bigger and louder than B/T fans but I keep seeing them all over. There's no reason that pairing with two eps of build up are getting anywhere near the level of attention as Buddie does.

I’m not saying as fans we have all this power over what is going to happen on the show but we have some sway. It’s part of how bi Buck has even happened. So us being so vocal and supportive of Buddie all these years and even more now while the story is still unfolding matters.

I don't want Tim or anyone else getting the impression that we want T*mmy sticking around any longer than necessary at least not as a love interest.

I know there's been a lot of talk about how the show needs take their time and build Buddie's story if they're going canon and I know some want Buck to be with T*mmy so Buddie can have that slow burn towards getting together. While I do think it's important that Buddie's story is not rushed and handled with care that fact is we really have no idea how many seasons the show even has. I wish some of you would realize we are not living in the golden age of tv anymore. We are living during a time when tv shows get canceled even when they are successful just as a way for networks to cut costs. It's why Fox canceled 911 before it was moved to ABC.

So as much as I do want the show take all the time in the world with Buddie I also want us to actually get to see them go canon. I also feel like we've been in a slow burn with them for six years especially those of us who have watched the show for its entire run. I want to see the show make some progression in moving Buddie's story further along. I'm not saying I want them to be in a relationship tomorrow, absolutely not. But I do think that moving into season 8 I'd like the show to have given us some kind of canon sign that both men feel something for each other beyond friendship. We know they do but I mean something that can't be taken any other way like say an almost kiss at the wedding for example. I'd also like for Eddie to be dealing with his own sexuality storyline by next season.

Back to T*mmy in all honesty the main reason I don't want to see him sticking around much longer is because of his fans. I'm tired of just how much the B/T fans have taken over our fandom. All the tags even ones on other social media platforms are being overrun by B/T and worse by negativity towards Buddie and Eddie and the complete minimizing of the importance of Buddie going canon. I'm glad that T*mmy has helped Buck with his bi awakening but he is so clearly not meant to be an endgame love interest. I just want to see him gone or have the storyline at least move on to where if he's still on the show it's as a friend for Buck, which I personally think he needs more than a relationship right now. Someone who is queer who can help him navigate this newly discovered part of himself.

#buddie #911!

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gofancyninjaworld · 3 days

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No one is born knowing how to communicate

A: And that's okay...

Dr Kuseno made it look so easy. He just swanned into Saitama's apartment, proferred him a gift of beef and the hero's hostility melted away.

Fubuki felt positively foolish, and yet encouraged.

Since then, however, she's found that the only thing meat bribes pull in are dogs. Literal dogs:

And even dogs need more than meat to be loyal.

What gives? Well, it's obvious that Fubuki mistook Dr Kuseno's gift for a bribe: more on that later. Probably. And yeah, it's funny, but it's more interesting than that.

Learning how to communicate is complex. There are a ludicrous number of unspoken conventions and rules in every human society, so much so that we don't fully learn how to smile socially until we're in our forties. Dr Kuseno carefully judged his gift: he had a legitimate reason to offer Saitama a gift in the first place, out of gratitude for Saitama going out of his way to mentor Genos. Then he chose a gift Saitama would be sure to appreciate and presented it at a time when Saitama would be thinking about dinner. The worst that could have happened is that Saitama took the gift but insisted on the doctor going home (and taking Genos with him) -- it would still have left the desired positive impression. And things went really well. Kuseno made it look effortless.

Fubuki is only in her early twenties and her experience to date has been far from typical. She's learned that either she can intimidate people or she can flatter them into doing what she wants. With Saitama (and later Bang, Bomb, and Kuseno), she has to learn how to talk to more powerful people whom she cannot overpower, over whom she has no leverage, and who are unimpressed by her looks, simpering, or flattery.

Fortunately, Fubuki is nothing if not astute. She's worked out that she needs to develop complementary skills if she's to make herself useful to the S-Class heroes she wants to hang with. How to talk to them to get the help and cooperation she desires? Ah, that's a work in progress.

B: ...Unless it's not

Let's move onto another miscommunication.

Something that I hadn't before was that, unlike the webcomic version where Saitama only thinks to himself that Genos seems depressed, in the manga, Saitama out and out asks him if this is the case. He wants to know.

It mirrors King asking Saitama that very same question and getting Saitama to open up and be vulnerable for the first time (ever, in any version of the story). So it is very appropriate to see Saitama trying to do the same for Genos, particularly as he is openly fond of the guy.

However, it goes wrong. Saitama feels himself under pressure to say something wise to make it better. So he puts on his best 'confident' face and inadvertently makes everything much worse. Oh dear. What makes this particularly painful in the manga is that Saitama is much more invested in trying to reach Genos, and it's made Genos think that Saitama saying that he doesn't see what he's doing must mean that earlier times when he's praised him must have been just Saitama being nice. For sure, Genos could have pushed back and made Saitama clarify what he meant, but he's even worse at communicating: and Saitama's glib remark about being bright struck him square in the insecurities.

I'm going to come to something that I only realised once I started typing this up. Even though I've pointed out their abilities to communicate, neither King nor Kuseno have the perfect words to say. Kuseno started out by first committing a faux pas in bringing his great big outside boots into Saitama's flat, then nearly boring Saitama to death with a long-winded explanation. King started out by trying to guess what was bothering Saitama. Both, however, did the most important thing about effective communication: they picked up on their going wrong and changed tack.

It's not about saying the right thing: it's about responding to the person you're talking to.

The thing that King did that Saitama was trying to do for Genos was to ask Saitama open questions, and shut up in the interim, letting Saitama talk to fill in the silence. He'd only speak to ask more open questions when Saitama ran out of things to say, and through that, gently started to challenge Saitama's thinking.

But doing so means being comfortable with several seconds of silence. And that is excruciating. It is almost irresistible to jump in and say something, anything. And it would have been a longish wait, for Genos to slowly sit down and decide to start speaking, which might well have started being about something only tangentially related to his worry. King did that for Saitama: Saitama started out talking about what was bothering him on the surface -- being too strong -- before eventually coming to what was really bothering him, feeling lonely and profoundly isolated from everyone around him. Saitama does not yet know how to wait a person out.

It's a problem in this case because it's introduced a big barrier between those two, not an insurmountable one for sure, but one that could easily compound later.

Ah well, no one is born a communicator. We just have to wait and see if they work out a way to open up and be honest with each other. So it goes! There's more ways to introduce conflicts than to have a monster trample Tokyo, after all!

And so help me, the struggle to learn how to communicate is 1000% worthwhile.

#OPM #meta #Saitama #Genos #Dr Kuseno #Fubuki #King #communication is hard work #I love how well ONE brings across some of its subtleties #the pressure we put ourselves under to stay the 'right thing' when listening and openly receiving what we're hearing is more important #the true struggles for the characters are rarely monsters #but rather lie within themselves and between the people they want to understand #damn that's a little too IRL for comfort #ah well no one is born knowing how -- let's all struggle forward to do better!

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barelylivingscholar · 1 day

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Arlecchino with a daughter tw: unhealthy family relationships, manipulation, and gore(?), suicidal thoughts, unstable/mentally ill daughter. Not for the faint of heart, heavy angst, a somewhat positive ending in the last part(?) (Do not read if uncomfortable)

An: I am backkkkk, second semester and last semester’s finals kept me busyyyyyy but I’m here again to post some stufffffff!! Not hsr related but like I also write for Genshin now, apparently… Will post a part two, I guess? “Father. When am I able to hang around with the others? I have done everything that you’ve asked for.” A young girl asked, to which “Father” responds with, “You need to focus on the task in hand. I still have many more missions for you to do before I set you free.” The girl sighed, knowing very well that she may as well never be able to be allowed to play with the other kids… For a moment, the girl had wished that she wasn’t the only one to deal with this kind of burden. The burden being, the “successor” of “Father.” She wanted to play with the other kids as well, but alas, her father does not permit her to do so. Instead, excuses are made, and the standard Fatui discipline is instilled in her mind, always have to act proper and professional, not allowed to shed a tear, or to feel strong feelings regardless of what the matters are. I hate it here. I do not wish to stay here any longer. Every day feels like I am only made to be the person that “Father” wishes me to be. I am never truly happy. I am sinking. Father was not family. This whole thing is and always was, a lie. Do I ever get to be free? Perhaps I can set myself free. There is a way. ̶T̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶q̶̶u̶̶e̶̶s̶̶t̶̶i̶̶o̶̶n̶ ̶i̶̶s̶, ̶a̶̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶d̶̶o̶ ̶i̶̶t̶? --- After burning the corpse of their enemies, I return to the House of the Hearth, albeit bloody and face that is smudged of dirt, the smell of blood and gasoline lingers around me. With every passing servant, caretakers, and also children as well, unsettled and left shaken up at the sight of me. I stained the carpets red. I wonder if “Father” would notice as the carpet is in the same shade of the blood of her enemies…? Will she punish me and discipline me? Although words are exchanged, no form of physical harm done, I am still left isolated. Like I am to be a monster kept away from people… I feel caged.

This time, I didn’t bother to clean up and went straight ahead to father’s office. Where I know I’ll be punished for such a careless mistake. “Father, I have returned.” I greet, looking to see her eyes staring straight at me. For once I don’t cower. I simply walk up to her and wait for her response. I have no reason to be scared, right? I don’t think I care anymore. Father’s eyes narrowed. The sight of blood that wasn’t mine, the smell of gasoline, in her eyes, I may as well be the filthiest child in the house. One that is simply, uncouth for the position of “successor.” “Why have you not followed protocol? Especially contingency 8? Have I not taught you well?” Her voice sharp, dissatisfied with my performance. It must be a surprise for her that her “successor” had become disobedient. What is she going to do to me, I wonder? Dispose of me? Or would she find someone else who is to succeed her as the “Father” of the House of the Hearth. “I… I have no other excuses.” I was unable to control my voice. It was shaky, wavering. I hate it. Father’s eyes seemed to had harden. I am interested with what is going to be the left of me once this is all over. I look forward to it. I want her to snap at me. Kill me. Foul words for a child like me, but this is what I planned. Maybe it is best that I sleep in eternal slumber instead rather than live a life full of misery. I have nothing to be grateful here. I am not thankful that I am still alive today. “…You are hereby stripped of the title “successor.” You are no longer worthy of the title. I am disappointed.” Is that it? No severe punishments? My mind raced; I was unable to comprehend why had she punished me in a way that is so… Little? Had she gone soft? I do not remember anything that made her want to punish me lightly. Don’t I deserve… More? My brows had furrowed. “Father” did not miss that. “Daughter… Are you, upset?” Her voice sounded confusing, to me. Why do you suddenly care? I don’t understand you at all. I do not feel safe at all. Are you really “family?” “…I’m fine.” I say, my voice a little tight. Unshed tears on my face, I am no fool. I do not need your love.

“You are now excused.” Never had I ever left her office so quickly after that. I had to get away…! I need to get out of here… I breathed heavily as I ran and ran… Until there is nowhere to go. The heavy snow had engulfed me. And soon… I was unconscious. I awoke to an unfamiliar place. This is not the House of the Hearth. I quickly got up, ignoring the sudden rush of blood shooting up due to how fast I went up. I ignore the throbbing pain on my forehead, I focused on my surroundings instead. Where am I? This place is… Different. I jolted as I felt a hand on my shoulder, immediately backing off and grabbing a hidden dagger in my boot. “Stay there! I will stab you!” I hissed. Glaring at the mysterious figure. They looked… Kind. I am not supposed to feel that way. There are no kind people in this world. Everyone I know will always lie to me, manipulate me for their gain. Just like “Father.” Just like them…

The stranger had knelt down and attempted to soothe me. I only responded with aggression and threats. They weren’t phased at all. “Who are you? I am no ordinary orphan! I am a murderer!” I shouted, clearly agitated. The man in a familiar coat had not reacted violently at all. I am confused. And angry. “I am Pantalone. “Regrator” from the Fatui. I assume you are one of the Knave’s lost children…” My eyes widened at the statement. He is no ordinary man… I should’ve known, I gritted my teeth and gripped my dagger tight. “I am not her orphan! I am no longer a part of that… I could care less if you are a part of the Fatui, I will die gladly in vain if I have to fight for my freedom!” I hissed. The man is amused. I can tell by the look in his eyes. “I have a better proposal for you, child.” “Regrator” inquired. I had not chosen to back down even at the prospect of an offer. “What makes you think I will take it?” I replied, gripping the dagger tight. “I will not surrender you to the Knave. Rather, I’ll take you in as my disciple.”

Disciple? Is this man sick in the head? Why would I agree to that? It seems “Regrator” had heard my thoughts, and so, he added, “Although, it is up to you if you would rather be surrendered back to the Knave… Or join me and I’ll give you a much better purpose, in life… Not that you have any choice on the matter if you decline my offer…” I had no sense of purpose to live for. I am merely an empty shell of what I was once. I have nothing to achieve… In the end, I don't have what it takes to truly end my life. So I will follow my new superior. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be easily obedient. I am rather mad.” And it was the start of something anew… I had become, “Regrator’s disciple.” I wonder how “Knave” will react to such arrangements… An: Part two will include Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. There will be other characters who will be included as well but, part one's story was set before Lyney became the sucessor of the House of the Hearth. I am thinking of interesting ideas to write for this story and some alternate routes as well... We'll see once I whip up part two.

#platonic genshin x reader #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact #arlecchino x reader #pantalone x reader #fatui harbringers x reader #platonic genshin impact #daughter!reader

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